The crowd of first and second graders huddling on the playground is my first clue that something is up. Shrieks of delight, then groans of disgust, then screams and girls running in different directions.

It's a large grasshopper.  His leg is broken, one girl tells me. As if on cue, the grasshopper hops high into the air, sending them all screaming and scattering. I watch them for a minute. Kids. So delighted, so amused by the grasshopper with the broken leg. They reassemble. Watching  and waiting, they want to see if he will jump again. The second grade boy lifts his foot high, and stomps on it. Everyone screams: He's dead, he's dead!

Noooooo, I yell, seconds too late. I tell him we don't kill things for no reason. He stares at me wide-eyed. I tell him, I tell them all, We don't EVER kill things for no reason. He can't defend himself. We need to protect all the creatures.

I can't seem to stop talking.  You turn into the bullies when you do things like this.

They are watching me closely to see what will happen next. The teacher is upset. I dig into my raincoat pocket for a tissue to pick him up. I only find a Post-it note: Fiber One Honey Squares. I try to scoop him up with it.  A boy pushes the grasshopper onto my make-shift stretcher and we carry him over to the grass. He's dead. Aw man, he is dead, some kid tells the crowd. I thank the boy and tell him he did a good thing. Good for your karma, too. I'm not sure I said that out loud. He runs off to join his friends. He isn't looking for thanks or praise or hoping for extra karma points. He's just a good kid. 

Yeah, he's dead, another kid confirms it.  Yes, he's dead, I say. Next time we aren't going to be the bullies, right? The kids nod and run off.  I stay with the grasshopper for a few minutes. The sun is warm and I think I should take off my raincoat. A little girl, blonde ponytail swinging behind her, runs over to me. Mrs. H, here's his other leg. She is holding the grasshopper's missing leg. Put it in the trash, I tell her. I can't fix him. 

She looks at me for a minute. I can't fix him, Honey.  She skips away dropping the leg in the trash on her way to the swings. 

Last month I watched in frozen horror as a group of high school boys surrounded another boy lying on the sidewalk. I watched as one boy's shoe came down on the boy's head. I froze, screaming noooooo in my head, as the police and ambulance arrived.

Please, I think, as I go back into class. Please don't let your babies grow up to be bullies.