Every day I sit behind the wheel of a 5,000-pound motorized machine, put pedal to metal and go barreling down the highway at speeds upwards of 60 miles per hour. I do this in the midst of hundreds of other motorist, some of whom are probably a bit crazy, maybe had a bad day, or are in no way paying attention to what they are doing. And I’m not afraid.

I stand toe to toe with semi-trained martial artists, some of whom are twice my size or half my age, limber, and strong, and I let them throw punches and potentially flesh bruising and bone cracking kicks at me. And I am not afraid.

But when the nurse at my son’s high school called me last Thursday and told me there had been an altercation on the school bus and my son had been injured, I was instantly terrified.

It didn’t matter, that the next words out of her mouth were that he was alright. All I could hear, just above the thumping of my heart pumping blood, seemingly all of it to my head, was some woman repeating, what happened, what happened. It took a few seconds for me to realized that voice was my own. I was afraid. I was getting the call no parent wants to get. Something had happen to my child and I needed to be there, where he was. To put my eyes on him. I couldn’t take her word that he was alright.

Turns out, another student, for no apparent reason - maybe he was angry about something that had happened at home that morning and felt an uncontrollable need to unload - decided to sucker punch my child and then proceeded to pound him in the face. By all accounts, the pounding was preceded by this student saying some pretty ugly things to my son. Then, without warning, hammering his fist into my son’s face, two, maybe three times or more. It happened too fast. I was told later that my son was sitting in a bus seat and pinned against the window, unable to defend himself or block the blows. My son’s no wimp. I’ve seen him sparring in Tae Kwon Do and throw a roundhouse kick to the gut with enough power that it would make a grown man double over.

Within minutes of receiving that call, there I was, again behind the wheel of my car careening down the highway to the school to see for myself how bad off my son was.

This was the first time I’d ever been in the position where one of my children had been hurt, the school, or anyone for that matter, had to call me and give me that kind of news at work. My oldest was horsing around with some of his buddies once and fell off the back of a pickup truck. He was a little banged up, mostly scrapes. But his dad was the one who got that call. By the time I found out about it, he was home.

This time it was my heart pounding.

When I saw Jordan in the nurse’s office, I was shocked. An ugly purple bruise circled his eye which was swollen nearly shut. His jaw was puffy and his tooth chipped.

I wanted to talk to the principal, right now. I was angry. I wanted to see the video recording from the camera that all school buses are supposed to have on them. I wanted to know who this other kid is and who are his parents and what was the school going to do about this. What kind of punishment would be meted out to this kid.

No, I was told, the principal is busy. No, I was told I can’t see the video. No, I couldn’t get the students name or be told anything about him. And no I the school could not discuss with me any punishment or even if there would be punishment.

I prayed. “Lord please don’t let me lose my temper.” what in the world is the video for if not so you could see what happens in situation like this. It made no since to me. And how would I know that my child would be safe at school if they couldn’t even tell me if this kid would be back on the bus the next day or bumping into my son in the school hallways or sitting next to him in a classroom. I left the school my son in tow and no answers, just a promise from the school that they would take care of it.

Needless to say I was back at the school the next morning with more questions. I did learn from the school police officer that the student had been suspended from school and banned from the bus, that the City of Independence would press charges against the juvenile. And I was also told that if my son had defended himself, you know punched back, he would have been suspended too.

NOW THAT JUST SOUNDS CRAZY TO ME.

A visit to the doctor uncovered that my son had suffered a concussion, from the pounding.

I can’t help asking myself, does this kind of craziness happen all the time in schools, on school buses? How often?

Have I just been lucky, until now, that my boys have escaped being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Or maybe, even with all the shootings and insanity that has happened in schools across the country, I’m naïve. I thought my kid were safe in our school in our community. Reality check, school is a scary place.