I was bullied in school. In 5th grade one named Richard challenged me, the new boy, to a fight after school. I put him off till he finally wore me down. I met him after school with some friends as witnesses. He pushed me, I pushed back, he fell to the ground. After that, we were the best of friends.
In junior high, Jay liked bullying me. Finally, I agreed to meet him after school. I waited at the agreed to location for over 30 minutes with a friend and finally left. Jay couldn’t make it ’cause he was a bad boy and had to stay after school (so he said).In high school, during my first year, I was a plaything for a big, dumb football lineman. He’d always want to play the flinching game. He’d jerk toward me and when I flinched, he’d draw an X on one of my arms and hit it with all his might. After enduring this game for several days, I hatched upon a plan. Taking a small coffee can, I cut out the ends and split it down the side. I wrapped it in rubber and wrapped my left arm, his favorite target, and covered it all with a sweater. It was perfectly disguised. When he flinched me, he marked the X on the arm, rared back and hit me with all his might. It still hurt as the metal was completely deformed into my upper arm, but the pain it inflicted on him made him leave me alone.Now, I tend to endure verbal bullying. My mother used to say, “Just consider the source,” and I did, and I do.
I was bullied in school. In 5th grade one named Richard challenged me, the new boy, to a fight after school. I put him off till he finally wore me down. I met him after school with some friends as witnesses. He pushed me, I pushed back, he fell to the ground. After that, we were the best of friends.
In junior high, Jay liked bullying me. Finally, I agreed to meet him after school. I waited at the agreed to location for over 30 minutes with a friend and finally left. Jay couldn’t make it ’cause he was a bad boy and had to stay after school (so he said).In high school, during my first year, I was a plaything for a big, dumb football lineman. He’d always want to play the flinching game. He’d jerk toward me and when I flinched, he’d draw an X on one of my arms and hit it with all his might. After enduring this game for several days, I hatched upon a plan. Taking a small coffee can, I cut out the ends and split it down the side. I wrapped it in rubber and wrapped my left arm, his favorite target, and covered it all with a sweater. It was perfectly disguised. When he flinched me, he marked the X on the arm, rared back and hit me with all his might. It still hurt as the metal was completely deformed into my upper arm, but the pain it inflicted on him made him leave me alone.Now, I tend to endure verbal bullying. My mother used to say, “Just consider the source,” and I did, and I do.