The kid was new to the school.
Frightened, afraid and unsure, he and his family had just moved to the small, rural town. He was without friends.
The other kids didn’t make things any easier.
Suspicious and uncaring, they went out of their way to make the kid’s life miserable. They chased the kid everywhere. The kicked him. They punched him and they beat him.
Even the girls got into the act.
Once, as the kid walked home after school, a group of the girls chased the kid for four blocks. They cornered him in the woods and threw rocks at him. They beat him so hard his eyes swelled shut.
He stumbled to the door of his house bloody, bruised and crying.
On another occasion, when he was in class, a girl in the class kicked the kid over and over and over because he didn’t know anything about horses.
The girl wore pointy-toed boots. She was a cowgirl and she said the kid was stupid. She kicked the kid so many times, that his legs would carry the scars for the rest of his life.
Still, the kid stayed. He kept coming to school and he kept trying to make friends.
But his wounds were deep.
For years, the kid trusted no one. For years, despite the fact he prayed to God for help, his prayers weren’t answered.
He continued to get beaten.
And he continued to run.
So, as he got older, the kid lost his faith. He lost his faith in fellow humans and he lost his faith in humanity. The kid gave up on most of the world.
Then a funny thing happened. By the time he got in high school, the kid discovered he could write and tell stories and make people laugh. And he learned few people will hit you if you’re making them laugh.
So the kid became the class clown.
He pushed the pain and the fear deep down in his gut. He covered the scars and faked a smile.
And he survived.
Eventually, the kid moved away from the small, rural town and went to college. And, as he grew older, he got a job, fell in love and got married.
Then he had kids of his own.
One day, while the kid was in the park with his own children, a group of little girls began to bully his son. In his mind, all those memories of his childhood came flooding back; all the pain and all the emotion.
The kid wanted to grab a stick and beat the little girls until they were bloody. He wanted to throw rocks at them. He wanted to punch and push them down and kick them until they had scars.
But he didn’t.
He pushed those dark thoughts out of his head and walked over to the little girls and talked to them. He asked them how they would feel if someone bullied them. He asked them to consider what it would be like to be punched and kicked and hurt.
And when he finished speaking, the little girls cried.
The little girls said they were sorry to the kid’s son. They said they really wanted to play but they were afraid.
The kid said he understood. Then he sat on a bench and watched as the girls and his son played together.
That evening, when he was tucking his son in bed, the son hugged his father and thanked him for making the bullies go away. The son said the kid was a great dad. The son said he loved him.
And the kid smiled.
You see, even with his pain and his scars, the kid had learned a few things from being bullied. He learned empathy for the underdog. He learned that violence doesn’t solve anything.
And he learned that God really is there, but many times, prayers are answered much later than expected. Even today, the kid remembers all those horrible times of his childhood. Even today, the kid still hides the scars.
But the kid made it.
His life is good. And he’s taught his children there is no room in the world for bullies and that God is all around us.
The kid won’t ever forget.
Because the kid was me.
Frightened, afraid and unsure, he and his family had just moved to the small, rural town. He was without friends.
The other kids didn’t make things any easier.
Suspicious and uncaring, they went out of their way to make the kid’s life miserable. They chased the kid everywhere. The kicked him. They punched him and they beat him.
Even the girls got into the act.
Once, as the kid walked home after school, a group of the girls chased the kid for four blocks. They cornered him in the woods and threw rocks at him. They beat him so hard his eyes swelled shut.
He stumbled to the door of his house bloody, bruised and crying.
On another occasion, when he was in class, a girl in the class kicked the kid over and over and over because he didn’t know anything about horses.
The girl wore pointy-toed boots. She was a cowgirl and she said the kid was stupid. She kicked the kid so many times, that his legs would carry the scars for the rest of his life.
Still, the kid stayed. He kept coming to school and he kept trying to make friends.
But his wounds were deep.
For years, the kid trusted no one. For years, despite the fact he prayed to God for help, his prayers weren’t answered.
He continued to get beaten.
And he continued to run.
So, as he got older, the kid lost his faith. He lost his faith in fellow humans and he lost his faith in humanity. The kid gave up on most of the world.
Then a funny thing happened. By the time he got in high school, the kid discovered he could write and tell stories and make people laugh. And he learned few people will hit you if you’re making them laugh.
So the kid became the class clown.
He pushed the pain and the fear deep down in his gut. He covered the scars and faked a smile.
And he survived.
Eventually, the kid moved away from the small, rural town and went to college. And, as he grew older, he got a job, fell in love and got married.
Then he had kids of his own.
One day, while the kid was in the park with his own children, a group of little girls began to bully his son. In his mind, all those memories of his childhood came flooding back; all the pain and all the emotion.
The kid wanted to grab a stick and beat the little girls until they were bloody. He wanted to throw rocks at them. He wanted to punch and push them down and kick them until they had scars.
But he didn’t.
He pushed those dark thoughts out of his head and walked over to the little girls and talked to them. He asked them how they would feel if someone bullied them. He asked them to consider what it would be like to be punched and kicked and hurt.
And when he finished speaking, the little girls cried.
The little girls said they were sorry to the kid’s son. They said they really wanted to play but they were afraid.
The kid said he understood. Then he sat on a bench and watched as the girls and his son played together.
That evening, when he was tucking his son in bed, the son hugged his father and thanked him for making the bullies go away. The son said the kid was a great dad. The son said he loved him.
And the kid smiled.
You see, even with his pain and his scars, the kid had learned a few things from being bullied. He learned empathy for the underdog. He learned that violence doesn’t solve anything.
And he learned that God really is there, but many times, prayers are answered much later than expected. Even today, the kid remembers all those horrible times of his childhood. Even today, the kid still hides the scars.
But the kid made it.
His life is good. And he’s taught his children there is no room in the world for bullies and that God is all around us.
The kid won’t ever forget.
Because the kid was me.
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Ursa th' professa