This is one of the hardest things I’ve written.
Not because it’s complicated. But because it’s shameful.
I’m going to tell you four stories from my childhood. Stories I’ve never shared publicly. And by the end, I want every parent reading this to hear something important.
Story 1: My Brother and the Remote
I was in fifth or sixth grade. My cousin and I had a favorite hobby, annoying my younger brother.
We had nicknames for him. We filmed him through the bathroom door while he was showering. We did it repeatedly, not once, not twice, but again and again because his reaction entertained us.
He was small. And he couldn’t fight back properly. So he’d grab the TV remote and throw it against the wall just to release his frustration.
We thought it was hilarious.
Our parents would tell us to stop. “He’s getting annoyed, leave him alone.”
We’d stop. For a while. Then start again.
Because telling us to stop without any real consequence meant nothing to two boys who were having fun.
Story 2: The Girl We Called “Daba”
This one I’m most ashamed of.
In my intermediate days, at my academy, there was a girl. She was slightly heavy weight. So we, a group of boys started calling her “Daba.” A box.
We called her this repeatedly. In front of everyone. We thought we were being funny.
One day she walked home crying.
And you know what we did?
We celebrated. Laughed about it. Like we had achieved something.
I am writing this today and I feel sick thinking about it. A girl walked home in tears because of us. And we felt proud.
We had no idea we were bullying her. For us, it was just fun. Because people had done similar things to us and nobody had ever told us this is wrong. This has a name. This causes real damage.
Story 3: “Golden”
Second or third grade.
There was a boy in my class who had a disease. I don’t know what it was. But it caused his teeth to turn very dark yellow.
He was a child. He didn’t choose this.
Our entire class called him “Golden.”
Every single day.
He’d get frustrated. Irritated. But we kept going.
A sick child, mocked daily for something completely out of his control. And every one of us thought we were just joking around.
Story 4: The Ice Cream
This is the one I am most ashamed of. Even today.
I was at my barber. My younger cousin(Ahmad) was with me. He was very small.
He asked the barber for ice cream.
For me, in that moment, it felt like embarrassment. Like he had shamed me somehow by asking.
So I beat him. Not a small slap. I beat him badly.
His parents were there. They didn’t say a word to me.
And that silence, that also taught me something wrong. That what I did was okay.
It was not okay!!!!
That child just wanted ice cream. And I hurt him for it.
I am still ashamed of this. I will probably always be ashamed of this.
Why Did We Do All of This?
Because nobody truly stopped us.
Not with real consequences.
My parents would say “stop it, he’s getting annoyed.” And we would stop. Temporarily. Because there was no real weight behind it. No punishment. No serious conversation about why it was wrong.
So the behavior continued. At home. At school. At academy. In groups. Alone.
We genuinely did not know it was called bullying. We thought it was normal. Because it had happened to us too. And nobody had ever sat us down and said what you are doing to that person is destroying something inside them.
What I Want to Say to Parents:
I have always praised my parents. They are good people who raised me with love.
But today I want to say one thing clearly:
Telling your child to stop is not enough.
If there is no consequence, there is no lesson.
Your child will stop in front of you. And continue everywhere else.
The girl who walked home crying, her pain was real. The boy with the disease who was mocked every day, that stayed with him. My cousin who I beat over ice cream, I had no right to touch him.
None of us were bad children. We were just children who were never truly taught where the line was.
Teach them. With words, yes. But also with consequences.
Because correction without accountability doesn’t change behavior.
It just moves it somewhere you can’t see.
Umar H.
Originally posted on Facebook on 24 April 2026.
