A Piece Full World

"Ten Steps to Some Sanity" for Bullied Educators
Bullied By Your Principal? Start Here.
An Abuse Full World: Kim's Personal Story
Kim's Blog
Apologies to Dr. Seuss
A District's Bullying and Harassment Policy.....
A School District's Workplace Violence Policy
Kemp Mill ES
NEA Articles About Bullied Educators
The "Bully" Movie
Services/Contact Kim
Helpful Links

 "There is no perspective when it comes to abuse. 

There is only abuse."-K.W.



"Public education is being mobbed and bullied."
--Kim Werner

Click here for your state's model "Bullying and Harassment" policy!

Earth Spinning
(Click to enlarge.)


A Piece Full World's goal is to end bullying in our schools.  When employees are safe from workplace bullying and children are safe from school bullying, we transform our schools into places of honor, courage and character. Ultimately, we transform our world. One school at a time, we put together the pieces of....

                        A Piece Full World.

Click for Minding the Workplace

School Board Rule: Code of Ethics states: All members of the School Board of (School District's name), regardless of their position, collective bargaining status or role, because of their dual roles as public servants and educators are to be bound by the Code of Ethics..to create an environment of honesty and integrity...the freedom to learn and to teach and the guarantee of equal opportunity for all..strive for professional growth and seek to exercise the best professional judgment and integrity...to achieve and sustain the highest degree of ethical conduct.



 School Board Rule:Responsibilities and Duties states: All persons employed by the School Board of (School District's name) are representatives of the (School District's name). As such they are expected to conduct themselves, both in their employment and in the community, in a manner that will reflect credit upon themselves and the school system. Unseemly conduct in the workplace is expressly prohibited.

"Many people, especially ignorant people, want to punish you for speaking the truth, for being correct, for being you. Never apologize for being correct or for being years ahead of your time. If you're right and you know it, speak your mind. Even if you are a minority of one, the truth is still the truth."

Click here!
Join the movement!

"Real progress requires pushing and shoving and urging and cajoling and coaxing – and then pushing some more (courteously when you can, not so mannerly if the former doesn’t work)."  
--David Lawrence Jr., The Children's Movement of Florida

Click here for U.R.A.J.E.R.K: A humorous play starring Mr. Bully Boss and Captain Effective Leader.



"Be ashamed to die before you have won some battle for humanity."

Horace Mann


Teacher w/pre-school students
Click for the Olweus Bullying Prevention Program

Click "No Place for Hate!" The Anti-Defamation League has terrific resources for creating a school wide bullying prevention program!


 " All over the place ruminations...."

"Sometimes I just feel like running,"  Aunt Deane said.  We were on an exercise walk--just past Davey Slater's Road--and the air was crisp as the sun set over the small town of Mt. Cory, Ohio. We'd earlier sat on the swing outside her garage and talked; reminisced about her and mom's youth in this town. We talked a lot about my dad.  His and my mom and Aunt Deane's lives are woven together as only lives in small towns can be.  I'd arrived from Miami for a visit. Aunt Deane and I were waiting for my mother, her identical twin sister.

Aunt Deane's house sits just outside the railroad tracks of that speck of a town.  She and I were on State Route 235, vigorously walking out to the stop light on "Old Route 25" and back.  We'd passed the pen and house that, in my youth, had kept and slaughtered buffaloes.  A restaurant in the nearby small town of Bluffton, served buffalo burgers and so that meat was fresh.  

Aunt Deane's house is the "grand dame" of Mt. Cory. Its elegance transcends time.  Five acres of grass surround it.  On three sides, corn fields protectively wrap its grassy lawn. From the front of the house, one views the grain elevator across the street. 

Aunt Deane loved to mow. She'd "gas up the rider" and get down to the roaring business of assuring her house's yard met her--and really her mother's, for aren't we all products of the generations that precede us?--high standards.

I feel Mt. Cory in the roar in my mind of Aunt Deane's mower. I feel its lush stillness.  Ha!  A roaring mower takes me to a mental place of pure quiet! A place of shade trees and dappled sun.  Languorous afternoons of childhood daydreaming. 

My Aunt Deane's roaring mental mower takes me to a place of freedom.

Deane's there, in my head, complainingly proud and seated on the rider. Back and forth she goes.  Every once in a while the roar stops with a screech as she puts her rider in reverse to attack a troublesome spot.  Sometimes the mower putt-putt-putts in my mind as Aunt Deane takes a contemplative moment to survey the work already done.  But mostly I see her resolute in getting the job done!

State Route 235 runs right in front of Deane's house and is Mt. Cory's Main Street.  There's a speed limit for the semi-trucks and cars barreling through town.  It's rarely honored, But there are few cars and fewer trucks and, so, Main Street is pretty much true to its peaceful reputation.  With the exception of the weekly volunteer fire station and squad's blaring of the siren, cricket chirps and bird songs are its background sound tapestry.   

Aunt Deane--the oldest of the twins and number eight of eleven children--has lived in this town and in this house since she was fifteen.  That's five years after the death of her 42 year old father of a heart attack.  He died in the fields; just keeled over and died after working all day in the sun. He left his wife, my grandmother, alone to raise the last five of the children.  

"Old Route 25" has never been young.  It's never been new and kicky and sassy. It's never had convenience stores and fast food restaurants lining its sides.  With the exception of Winnie's small gas station on the way to Findlay, there's not much to purchase on "Old Route 25."  

But "Old Route 25" has got it some history.  It's got stories to tell about the lives of people living in the farm houses lining it--way back from the road-- Bluffton in one direction and Findlay in the other. Maybe people dying there too. Right there--1967?--is where the house trailer blew up and killed everybody inside.  The boy who lost his toes in a lawn mower accident lives there.  

"Cancer took him," my dad would say as he pointed to a house, almost as if it was the house that had suffered the illness. "It was a long and valiant battle." I've since learned he'd gone to high school with that cancer stricken man. "That woman there", my mother would add as she pointed to the house in the opposite direction. "She died of cancer too."   It was almost as if my parents spoke of the houses as well as the people living and dying in them.

 Instead of billboards advertising easily attained divorces and "sue-anyone-for-anything" opportunities, "Old Route 25" had signs about Jesus.  "Seek ye the Lord while He may be found:" and " He who hath the Son hath life." are the two I remember.  

I'm sad the Jesus signs are no longer there. I miss them. Thank God, though, they've not been replaced with the ubiquitous lascivious attorneys, like in Miami, smiling down at me with perfect teeth, perfect hair and perfect opportunities for them to get rich.

Aunt Deane and I, turn at Old Route 25's stop light to walk back to her house, side by side on State Road 235.  

The air is fresh.  The sun is setting.  It's all so beautiful.  We both feel like running.