Wednesday, June 21, 2006


I wasn't that big of a kid until I got to high school and I got knocked around a bit.

I'm not sure why I was the target so often, but I'm betting that I did something to either encourage or allow it. Many times I had to run crying home to my mother and she grudgingly had to drive me to school because the jerks at the bus stop had terrorized me enough to scare me out of getting on the unsupervised (yes, I said unsupervised because the driver is driving, not supervising) orange social fishbowl they called a bus. I'm sure she was sympathetic at first, but it had to have gotten old.

This went on until I finally gained some size (and subsequent bravery) in high school. I spent many a class afraid to go to the schoolyard at recess because I knew what was going to happen. The thing that kills me is that I don't recall getting beat up that much--just severly intimidated. The physical action didn't actually take place until I stood up to them, and then got summarily smacked down.

I wish I could stand in front of the bullying bastards that made my life miserable while waiting at the bus stop. I am extremely sensitive to any issues my kids are having at school regarding bullies. One day recently my wife and I were walking in the local park while the monkies rode an electric four wheeler that we bought them a couple of years ago. They were about 20 yards in front of us. Two 10-year old punks pulled up alongside them and were having fun running them off the track and laughing while Princess kept shouting at them to stop. I waited a while to see how they would handle it until it was obvious that the older kids were malicious. Princess pulled over and Cowboy was beginning to cry.

That's when I stepped in...

When I got up to them the punks were laughing at the pain they were causing. I may have been small as a kid but I am conisderably larger than average now. And I was pissed.

I shouted pretty loud at them and the laughing stopped. Just as loud I told them to get the hell off of their bikes. I then began a quick interrogation of how much fun they got picking on little kids. When I was satisfied that I had scared the living shit out of them I told them to leave. They went direct to their parents on the other side of the park and didn't leave their sides for the rest of the time that we were there. Not wanting to start even more of a conflict, and happy with the result I got already, I didn't go talk to their parents. I probably should have.

My kids will not feel those pains that I did. I don't care what I have to do, they will never feel afraid to go to the bus stop.

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