Manual The Day The Bully Cried

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Jeanette Torello is raising funds for "The Day The Bully Cried" on Kickstarter! How one little girl overcomes her bully in a surprising way and.
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While looking after a flock of sheep near a village, every now and then he would cry "Wolf! One day the wolf did actually attack his flock, and the shepherd boy cried "Wolf!! But by then, the villagers had wisened up and ignored his cries. With no one coming to help, the boy could do nothing to stop the wolf feasting on his flock. Aesop concludes: "There is no believing a liar, even when he speaks the truth.

Does the video the US army produced indeed prove the accusation? So, who is telling the truth? Iran or the US and its allies? And why does it matter?

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The urgency of these questions is now a matter of war and peace, of life or death. After that accusation, the potential military confrontation between the US and Iran has increased exponentially. US Central Command confirmed the drone was shot down by Iranian surface-to-air missiles but denied that it had violated Iranian airspace. President Donald Trump called the downing of the drone a "big mistake", and then ordered a military attack on Iran only to reportedly change his mind and cancel it. There would have been approximately Iranian casualties, Trump said , and that would have been "disproportionate".

As the US and Iran inch ever closer to a military confrontation, the question the world faces at large is who to trust, what to believe, where to place our critical judgement? As of June 10, by Washington Post's estimate s , "President Trump has made 10, false or misleading claims over days. The newspaper further states: "The president crossed the 10, thresholds on April 26, and he has been averaging about 16 fishy claims a day since then. From the start of his presidency, he has averaged about 12 such claims a day. In this context, it would be a mistake to judge the particulars of politics with the proverbial "Sunday School" sense of morality that is farthest removed from the abiding concerns of those who habitually lie.

States, particularly the most powerful states, lie and these lies are for the best interests of the ruling elites in charge of those states. From Vietnam to Iraq , the US has systematically and consistently lied to advance its own warmongering objectives. But the US is not the only state that lies habitually. Each one of these forces has its own internal reasons to wish Iran harm.

They, therefore, manufacture lies, exaggerate facts, take a smidgeon of truth and weave a long tale around it, all to turn Iran into a demon, the way they did with Iraq and Afghanistan in the past. The US media is complicit in this charade. The first casualty of war they say is the truth. That means all wars begin with a lie. Is the explosion of this Japanese tanker in the Gulf of Oman the lie that will result in yet another calamitous war in the region?

Today the fragile being of more than 80 million people is at the mercy of that piece of news for which John Bolton and Mike Pompeo have been gunning most of their political careers. The regime of deception now code-named "post-truth" or "alternative facts" is predicated on what the French philosopher Guy Debord called "the society of the spectacle", where an image has assumed a reality of its own and it no longer matters what it actually means.

We see a ship burning and we read the story that the US imperial narrative ascribes to it and its media regurgitates. What actually caused that fire and what proof there is for the claim are all entirely irrelevant questions. Before I knew it, I was practically popular. I walked up and down the mall every Saturday with a gaggle of girls.

The US: The bully who cried wolf

I had boys calling me. But I admit now that the sting never left me.


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It is with me still. I want to spare Annabelle so many things.

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I don't want her to fail. I want her poems to be read aloud by the teacher and for her to be selected to dance in The Nutcracker. I don't want a boy to break her heart. Even though I know these things will happen and that she will recover, I don't want to ever see her disappointed or wounded or sad. That is every parent's wish. Those things, the hardships of life, come soon enough, even with a mother's love trying to keep them at bay. But to have them arrive in kindergarten seems especially cruel. Of course I wonder where a 5-year-old gets the urge to bully another child.


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I wonder what joy this little girl gets in taunting Annabelle. They are in the playground, swinging on swings and running through new grass. I find the bully's mother's e-mail address in the class directory and I write her. You have to make your child stop.

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I say it clearly and without blame. Just the facts. Then I climb into bed with Annabelle to read to her. I kiss the top of her tangled hair. My heart is full of all the desires and hurts of a mature woman. My heart is so full of love that I almost cannot contain it. I will battle anyone for this child.

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I will take on the bullies, their mothers, their sidekicks, all the boys who will break her heart someday, and all the people who will not choose her to act or dance or join in a game. The phone rings and my year-old son, Sam, appears in the doorway, holding it out to me. But I wave him away, not wanting to let go of Annabelle quite yet. However, when he mouths who is on the other end, I ease myself off the bed to take the call. It's the bully's mother, and in the few seconds it takes me to reach for the receiver all kinds of things run through my mind.

I know her from the classroom drop-offs and pick-ups, and local kid events. Although she has always seemed reasonable and nice, I find myself wondering if the bully's mother is mean or about to bully me in order to protect her daughter just as I am struggling to protect mine. I can't believe my daughter is the mean kid. Filled with relief, we talk about how to make it stop. She and her husband will talk to their daughter immediately.

We'll all stay in touch with each other and the teacher. When we hang up, I almost feel hopeful. But a cynical, wounded part of me makes me hold my breath and see.