If I Could Tell My Childhood Bully One Thing, It Would Be This
Kindness is a superpower
I get home from school and run upstairs to my bedroom. I don’t want to face my mom after what happened at school today. When dinner is ready, however, there’s nowhere to hide, and I walk downstairs with a giant bruise on my arm.
“What happened darlin’?” my mom asks.
I want to say my bully acts like a shadow and follows me everywhere I go. He taunts me, calls me ugly, and makes me feel like I’m not good enough.
But I don’t want to break my mom’s heart. Not again. I can see worry etched on her face, the lines of pain deepening with each passing day. She’s already been through a lot with Nana in the hospital, and I don’t want to add to her stress. So, I keep my mouth shut and bury my emotions where no one can see them.
“I slipped,” I say unconvincingly. “I’ll be less clumsy next time.”
My mom raises her eyebrows and hands me another box of tissues. She doesn’t say anything, and neither do I, but we both know what happened.
“Brighter are days ahead,” my mom says as she places a slice of home-cooked lasagne on the dinner table.
“I hope so mom,” I reply.
