The Envious Die Not Once, But As Often As The Envied Win Applause

Let’s not pretend anymore.

Let’s not sugar-coat cruelty with the words “kids will be kids.”

Let’s call this exactly what it is: violence.

Today, during a quiet school moment that should have been safe—a grade assembly—a girl decided it would be hilarious to mock my daughter’s face.

Yes.

Her face.

The one thing she can’t change.

The face I’ve kissed a thousand times. The face I adore.

This evil little creature, who’s been trailing my daughter since primary school like a bad smell, decided that it was her moment to shine. She contorted her face—mimicking, mocking, humiliating—in front of the entire Year 8 cohort.

To impress her five likeminded friends.

To get laughs.

To dehumanize my child.

Her actions didn’t stop there — next came her verbal assault:

“Look at her shoes—they look retarded.”

That’s what she said — it’s part of who she is as a person. That’s what a child raised by other humans thought was acceptable.

⸻

These Girls Aren’t Mean. They’re Monsters in Training.

Let me be very clear: this is not a phase. This is not a mistake.

This is cruelty.

This is violence.

This is premeditated emotional destruction.

And it didn’t stop there.

Another girl—from an entirely different toxic group of students—decided she would throw a pen at my daughter shortly after.

Two different packs of wolves.

One target.

This is pack mentality, and their only goal is to break her.

⸻

Don’t You Dare Say “It’s Just Kids Being Kids”

No. These are not harmless kids. These are bullies being raised by adults who model this behavior.

Because it’s not just in the school yard—it’s in their homes.

Parents who excuse it.

Parents who enable it.

Parents who make snide remarks about families like mine, because they assume we’re “better off.”

Because they see a child with nice shoes and decide that child deserves to be torn apart.

This isn’t about shoes. This is about jealousy.

This is about poverty of character.

⸻

Let’s Talk About Those Shoes, Shall We?

Powder pink Nike Shox.

A bold, iconic staple in the Nike brand.

Expensive. Well-loved. Desired.

If they’re so “hideous,” why are they flying off the shelves?

Why are they everywhere in the fashion scene?

Why are people lining up to buy them?

Because they’re not hideous.

Your insecurity is.

And those shoes?

They weren’t easy to afford.

They didn’t come from nowhere.

⸻

I Sacrifice So Much for My Children—And I’d Do It Again Tomorrow

I don’t spend my weekends getting my nails done.

I don’t splurge at the hair salon.

I don’t party or go clubbing or waste money on things that don’t matter.

You know what I do?

I sacrifice.

So I can give my children joy.

So I can see their eyes light up when they get something special.

So I can build them up in a world constantly trying to tear them down.

And then a pack of miserable, mean-spirited children tries to rip that joy away.

⸻

Bullies Don’t Just Happen. They’re Raised.

The comments we’ve already heard from their parents this year?

Unforgivable.

Things like:

“You wouldn’t understand where we’re coming from.”

“It must be nice to be you.”

“We’re just trying to get by.”

Translation?

“If someone seems to have more than us, let’s torment them for it.”

What kind of twisted logic is that?

You hate your own poverty so much, you attack a child for having a pair of shoes?

Let’s be real.

If you’re raising a child to hate others for having nice things, you’ve failed as a parent.

And if your child is bullying others for their face?

You’ve raised a monster.

⸻

Jealousy is a Mental Cancer

To the girl who threw the pen:

Your aim is weak, just like your character.

To the girl who mocked my daughter’s face:

You will never break her. You will never reach her level. You don’t even deserve to be in her presence.

And to the parents of these girls:

Do better.

Your children are proof that hate starts at home.

You don’t raise your kids. You program them to hate, and then let them loose in the world to hurt others.

But let this be known:

My daughter is not the weak one.

She’s the one walking away from your warzone with her head held high—and powder pink Nike Shox on her feet.

She will thrive.

Your daughters? They will rot in their own bitterness.