My son asked if he could change schools.
He didn’t complain, didn’t cry, didn’t make a scene.
He sat across from me and, almost whispering, said:
— “Could I study somewhere else?”
I tried to understand.
I asked if something had happened. He said no.
I asked if he felt okay. “I don’t know,” he muttered.
I asked if anyone made him feel guilty. He stayed silent.
That night I couldn’t close my eyes.
The next day, without telling him, I went to the school.
I pretended to drop off some papers but lingered.
I waited for the break.
I saw him, alone in a corner of the playground,
head bowed, knees drawn together, eyes fixed on the ground.
A few children passed by: one “joked” and kicked him—no joke at all.
Another ripped off his cap and slammed it against the wall.
A group of girls pointed at his clothes and laughed.
And he? He did nothing. He stayed still, as if he knew no one would intervene.
The worst part wasn’t that.
The worst part was watching a teacher observe everything…
and do nothing. He crossed his arms, looked away, then left.
I wrote to the school, explaining that my son had told me about the teasing, the hiding of his belongings in class, the nicknames and the imitations in the hallway.
Their reply? “We will look into it.”
But nothing changed.
That afternoon, when he came home, he asked:
— “Did you decide about changing schools?”
I said yes, I had already taken care of everything.
He asked no more. He simply took his backpack off his shoulders with a sigh, as if shedding a weight he’d carried too long.
Now he studies elsewhere.
Not a fancier, not a better school—just a more humane one.
A place where people notice, where they listen, where he doesn’t have to pretend everything is fine just to be left alone.
A child doesn’t ask to switch schools on a whim. He asks when he can’t endure it any longer.
The most painful thing isn’t what his peers do, but what the adults—who should protect him—choose not to do.
I hope this story isn’t unique to me.
One thing never fades from memory: the day a child quietly asks to leave the only place where he should feel safe.
**Bonus**
Many parents don’t realize how common this is. Bullying isn’t always a shout; sometimes it’s a whisper. It doesn’t always leave visible scars, often it wounds only inside. And the scariest part: the pain often comes not from children’s cruelty but from the adult crowd’s inaction.
A child shouldn’t have to beg to be safe at school. School isn’t just a place for knowledge—it’s a place of trust, protection, acceptance. When that’s missing, learning loses its purpose.
Every parent has the right to ask themselves: could my child be sitting in a corner like that? Could someone have walked past my child with a hand on his arm?
No school can truly be “good” if even one child remains invisible, and no child should ever feel that only leaving school can bring relief. 🕊️
My Daughter Asked to Switch Schools: No Complaints, No Tears, No Drama—Just a Quiet Request to Learn Elsewhere
