Education, the way we raise our children and how we interact with our neighbours and neighbours children, are the foundations of every culture. The way we teach our children, is the way how we shape our future civilisation.

This blog is meant for parents all over the world, to learn from each others ways and share experiences in how we deal (in all our diverse cultures, mindsets and values) with other peoples children in our communities, who can nag you, who can become your friends, who can become your enemies, who can make you loose it, but who can also teach you valueable lessons.

This blog will gain in value when the comments increase, wisdom is shared, but also the hardships that come with living in communities and the confrontation with the raw, and sometimes cruel childish behaviours.

Every person knows situations where he, or she gets frustrated to the bone, or even so angry that you could drink someones blood who crossed your line many times over. Other peoples children can be good at this. Even your own children can be good at this, but other peoples children are harder to deal with, because you have less power to make them change their behaviour, especially if the family of the little demon doesn’t cooperate, or is ignorant towards the raising of their child and leave them to the streets to be raised.

These are the main challenges of our lives where we can have succes stories, or extreme faillures from which we can learn from each other.

I’m also curious about cultural differences in dealing with everday life in a community of diverse people.

I wouldn’t have come to this idea, if I didn’t get inspired by a recent event in my life. An event that could make me understand the essence of killers and war itself and gave me a first hand look at how the beast inside us operates.

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My son came home, completely upset and in tears. One kid held him and another kid choked him by squezing his throat and then threw him over the sidewalk. My son was playing with his scooter. He is six years old and is about the nicest kid in the neighbourhood (not only according to me, but to most people who know him).

The kids who did this to him where 8, and the choker who squezed his throat and threw him unprovoked over the sidewalk, was even 13 years old.

I have never been this angry before and I even got more angry as the story evolved.

I don’t live in a gang banger area, but just a normal urban community in a western society (the Netherlands), where the kids play out on the street without danger to their lives.

My son was not fysically harmed, but he was hurt and scared, angry and didn’t knew what he did to deserve this.

First we went to the parents of the 13 year old kid and told them what happened. They didn’t react overly shocked about what they heard, but they went with us to seek the boy and hear him.

Along the way some kids from the neighbourhood joined us, including the girl who was playing with my son when it happened, who confirmed his story and told us the little psychopaths name. Michael.

I’m very good under stress and can keep my mind together. I also wanted to remain cool for my son who tagged along holding my hand.

When we found the kid, he denied everything as cool as ice. ‘I was not even here’ and he said where he supposedly was. Even with two witnessess against him.

Then we went to the parents of the other kid, who is not real smart, suffers from ADHD (which is no excuse) and who sometimes played over.

The caravan of street kids followed our procession.

The father cursed. ‘Everyday someone comes to our door to complain’, and he called out for his son.

When his son arrived he asked him if it was true what my son said. ‘Don’t lie to me’, he continued.

After a little squirming, the kid confessed. ‘I held him and he killed him.’(the words he used)

Third wittness, and the thirtheen year old kept denying and lying.

‘Go home, and you’re grounded for a week’, the mother said.

She appologised to us and went home.

Home, my wife and I got angrier and angrier, and worried. Would it stop now, or was this thirteen year old psychopath now so pissed at my son, that it would happen more often, or worse.

After a night with hardly any sleep, I went to work and tried to show some people how to relax with Tai Chi. Somehow it managed to get me a bit calmer, for a few moments.

Then I had to give some massages that demanded full concentration.

When I drove home, I saw Michael riding his bike…outside.

Grounded for one week?

I didn’t go home, but I went immediately to the boys parents.

‘Grounded for one week? I just saw him riding his bike down the corner.’

The father told me they had a conversation and send the kids out for a moment.

Again I expressed my anger and frustration with the boy, and if I had caught him in the act, I didn’t know what I would had done (probably break his bony ass in two).

Home again, and another sleepless night.

I was filled with adrenalin and decided to go for a run. An eight mile run, with the beast breathing in my neck with every step I took.

Then some martial arts to kick it and hit it and give this beast some satisfaction.

I was literally grawling like some kind of werewolf on dope.

At home… I calmed down with stretching and yoga and an effort to meditate.

How could I deal with this problem?

In my short pathetic effort of meditation, one word came into my mind.

‘Teacher’, but the word dissapeared from my mind as quickly as it came.

I needed to talk to this Michael and wanted to scare the shit out of him if he just came near my son ever again.

That meant I needed to wait for a week until I could confront him on the streets. He was grounded you know.

That meant patience.

The same evening I saw the kid on the street. Grounded my ass. I put on my shoes and went out, my wife and son went along.

I yelled at the kid and told him what a vile mean coward he was for attacking my son who was seven years younger and never had hurt a fly and I said that if he ever came near my son again, I would become his worst nightmare. I would hire some kids a few heads taller then him to trash his ass so he needed to have his dinners through a straw.

Instead of being intimidated, the kid yelled back. ‘What do you want man? It’s two days ago already. Do you think I’m scared of you?’

Thirteen years??? I would have trembled when a pissed off adult like me would come at me so strong, when I was that young.

What’s wrong with these kids today?

‘When you want war with me, you can have it! If you come near my son again, I will kick you’re ass that you will need weeks to pull my shoelaces out of your nose’, I countered.

That made the kids laugh, and my wife, and my son and I couldn’t help myself and chuckled. Finally we all were laughing at the looser.

The kid responded that he also had friends and he wasn’t scared of me and then he went home.

The rest of the evening I was full of adrenalin. I was actually hoping that some friends of the kid came knocking at my door.

I could see myself tearing them apart, breaking their bones, ripping their flesh of their skin and scattering them all over the street in parts.

This is even no exaggeration.

I really could feel the thrill of killing. The energy, the power, the joy of feeding the beast.

For a moment I could understand the essence of all wars. I could feel the beast, and it was great.

But then, the word came up again.

‘Teacher’

Now I could hear it, remember it.

‘Teacher’

The boy was my teacher...

The boy was my teacher...

And finally I came to my senses.

I needed to understand the essence of the beast, and the boy was my teacher.

This was my challenge.

I needed to talk to Michael again and clean up the mess I made and show him how an adult handles this situation.

I needed to take the responsibility and be the wise one. He was just a kid who didn’t know anything. Now I needed to teach him.

After another sleepless night, but now filled with thoughts of wisdom, I waited until it was late enough to go to the boys home again, for the last time.

At ten in the morning I rang the doorbel.

His mother opened the door and I told her I needed to speak with Michael.

Hesitating he came to the door.

Suddenly I saw how small he was. He didn’t look like thirteen, but more like ten.

I started with telling him I didn’t want to have war with him, and that I thought he also didn’t want to have war with me.

He did deserve my anger the day before…every little ounce of it. All my tension discharged at him. The rightful owner.

I went on.

With no power, or force in the world, I can convince you to make the right choices.

We all can destroy life and no one can stop us. It’s your choice to make.

I only wanted to hear you say that you would leave my son in peace.

Maybe you don’t understand this, but I considder you as my teacher.

You made me understand war, the killer and the thrill and sense of power it brings with it.

With a weak character, I could never have resisted that beast in me.

You can train character by making the right choices and choosing the right values.

People with character are the leaders of tomorrow. People see them as examples of the right behaviour and trust them, want to befriend them and join with them (for the record…I do not mean our political leaders).

People with no character are the scum of the street. They are so weak, they need to show everyone how tough they are.

My son has character.

A few days ago he told me he was playing on the street with a group of kids, and suddenly the kids started yelling at some old lady in her house:

’You old cunt’

Then they continued with throwing a ball against her window. Every kid threw the ball, but not my son, who was a bystander.

He told me he would never do that, even if they had given him the ball and told him to do it.

He is six years old. I was so proud of him. He was willing to make the right choices.

It’s all about being willing to make the right choices. Nobody can force you. Even your mother, or father cannot force you to make the right choices. They can only praise, or punish you.

You are willing to make the right choices, or you can fight everything someone wants you to choose by not choosing, or choosing the opposite.

That’s also your choice.

If you want to make something from your life, you need to start making choices and then you need to work for it to make it happen.

Everyone wants to be happy.

If you want to be happy, you need to think about what would make you happy?

It’s terrifying to start making right choices and setting goals.

Suddenly you can fail, you can loose your face to your tough friends, you’re fragile because you have something that matters to you, something of value.

It’s easier not to make choices, or rebel. It’s safe, and you know that you’re a faillure, that you’re a looser and all you have is a fake image that you need to defend to the teeth from all the people who make you look bad.

One of the all-time wisdoms is: ’Do not do to others what you not want done to yourself.’

It also works the other way around.

If you do to others what you want to be done to yourself, you start making some good decisions and create some wealth of character.

It’s your choice.

Can we leave it at this?

Then he said: ’I’m sorry’, and he reached out his hand to me.

I shook his hand and I said that it would be a show of character if he came to my house and appologised to my son.

I went home and told my wife that all was settled. He wouldn’t hurt our son anymore.

A few minutes later he stood at the door and asked for my son.

‘I’m sorry. Could we be friends again?’

My son didn’t answer, but when Michael left, he said:

’We never were friends.’

I don’t think they will be friends, but my son is fine.

He’s great.