A Texas mom decided to teach her son a lesson after she learned a valuable thing about his personaIity. The boy was causing trouble in school. Administrators at the school he attended came to his mom to explain that he was a bully toward other students at the educational institution.
The Texas mom claimed that her son went down the wrong path and was calling other students “idiots” and “stupid,” which is why the mom decided to make her bully son wear a T-shirt that proclaimed, “I am a BULLY.” Mom wanted her son to be recognized as a bully at Greenleaf EIementary School in his community.
She knew that other students at the school had heard that her son was a horrible person to other students. However, she wanted everyone to know that she believed them, and that’s why she forced her son to wear a T-shirt that humiliated him in front of hundreds of people at the school – not to mention thousands of people onIine who saw his mom’s social media post on Facebook. See the image of the shirt down below:
“He was calling other boys stupid (and) calling them idiots,” the Texas mom, Star, who asked that she be identified by her first name only, told KTRK-TV. “I’m a very old-school parent. I don’t coddle my children. I don’t sugarcoat the world to them.”
Star wanted as many people as possible to know that her son was a bully, so she posted a picture of the boy wearing the T-shirt to her Facebook account. Star wrote, “I posted it to reach out to the parents of any of the kids my son may have bullied so that each one of them couId get a personal apology.”
Although some people felt that Star went too far when it came to punishing her bully son, Star stood behind her actions and defended herself against critics in the online community. “I wanted to know what he learned from it, and he said, ‘I learned that I didn’t likе the way that that felt, and I don’t want anybody else to feel that way because of me,’” Star said. “That’s exactIy what I wanted him to take from it.” Professionals in the child development world do not support Star’s punishment.
Although her son was a bully who was hurting other children, a child psychiatrist at Baylor College of Medicine denounced Star’s treatment of her son. “Not a good idea to embarrass your child and solidify a negative identity in an elementary school child,” the child psychiatrist said. “She needs to find somebody to help her, and I think the school is one resource.” AIthough Star had critics on social media and across the internet, she claimed that her son’s school district approved of her decision. Splendora ISD said, “parents have the right to make important decisions and take certain actions on behalf of their child.” What do you think about this mom’s punishment of her bully son?
MY MOTHER-IN-LAW GOT A KITTEN AT 77 — AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO THINKS THIS IS A TERRIBLE IDEA?
The soft mewling sound echoed through the phone, a high-pitched, insistent cry that sent a fresh wave of frustration through me. “Isn’t she just the sweetest thing, darling?” my mother-in-law, Eleanor, cooed, her voice bubbling with an almost childlike delight.
I clenched my jaw, trying to keep my voice even. “She sounds… energetic,” I managed, picturing the tiny ball of fur wreaking havoc on Eleanor’s pristine living room.
Eleanor, at 77, had decided to adopt a kitten. A tiny, ginger terror named Clementine. And I, frankly, thought it was a terrible idea.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like cats. I did. But Eleanor was living alone, her health was… delicate, and the thought of her chasing after a hyperactive kitten filled me with dread.
“She’ll keep me active!” Eleanor had declared when she’d announced her new companion. “And I’ve been so lonely since Arthur passed.”
I’d tried to be diplomatic. “That’s wonderful, Eleanor,” I’d said, “but maybe a fish would be a better choice? Something a little less… demanding?”
She’d waved my suggestion away with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “Nonsense! Clementine is perfect. She’s my little companion.”
“Companion” was one word for it. “Chaos” was another.
Kittens were a whirlwind of claws and teeth, demanding constant attention, requiring frequent vet visits, and possessing an uncanny ability to find trouble. I could already envision Eleanor, her frail frame struggling to keep up with the kitten’s boundless energy, the inevitable accidents, the scratched furniture, the sleepless nights.
And then, there was the inevitable. What would happen when Eleanor’s health deteriorated? What would happen when she could no longer care for Clementine?
I knew the answer. I’d be the one left to pick up the pieces, to find a new home for the kitten, to deal with Eleanor’s heartbreak.
My husband, Michael, was no help. “She’s happy,” he’d said, shrugging. “Let her have her fun.”
“Fun?” I’d retorted. “She’s going to break a hip chasing that thing!”
But I was the only one who seemed to see the impending disaster. My friends, my family, even Eleanor’s bridge club, all thought it was a wonderful idea. “It’s keeping her young!” they’d chirp. “It’s giving her a purpose!”
I felt like I was living in a bizarre alternate reality, where everyone had lost their minds.
Weeks turned into months. Clementine grew into a mischievous young cat, a ginger blur that terrorized Eleanor’s houseplants and shredded her curtains. Eleanor, surprisingly, seemed to be thriving. She’d developed a newfound energy, a spring in her step that I hadn’t seen in years.
She’d joined an online cat forum, sharing photos and videos of Clementine’s antics. She’d even started taking her to a local cat café, where she’d made new friends.
One afternoon, I visited Eleanor, expecting to find chaos. Instead, I found her sitting on the sofa, Clementine curled up in her lap, purring contentedly. Eleanor looked radiant, her eyes sparkling with happiness.
“She’s been so good today,” she said, stroking Clementine’s soft fur. “We’ve been having a lovely afternoon.”
I watched them, a strange mix of emotions swirling within me. I’d been so convinced that this was a terrible idea, a recipe for disaster. But I’d been wrong.
Eleanor wasn’t just keeping Clementine; Clementine was keeping Eleanor. She was giving her a reason to get out of bed in the morning, a source of companionship, a spark of joy in her life.
I realized then that my concern, while well-intentioned, had been misplaced. I’d been so focused on the potential problems that I’d overlooked the simple truth: Eleanor was happy. And that, in the end, was all that mattered.
As I left her house, I smiled. Maybe, just maybe, I’d been the one who needed to learn a lesson. Sometimes, the best things in life are the ones we least expect.
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