Today my brother called and left me a message asking for some information.  Apparently, he was gathering facts for an illustration for his sermon this Sunday.  And what was he inquiring about?  The details of an encounter that happened when I was in sixth grade.  And I blame him completely… 🙂

It happened on the school bus coming home from South Bay Elementary.  Seemed just like any other day in Lacey, Washington.  Tom, the grouchy bus driver yelling over his shoulder telling 60 plus kids to “Shut up!”  Spit wads being thrown.  The smell of leftover tuna sandwiches wafting from metal lunch boxes.  Kids hanging upside down from their seats.  Just another happy ending to another school day.  Or so we thought….

Denise.  Female school bully.  Feared by everyone.  Loved by no one.  She was everything that I wasn’t.  Blond.  Tall.  Terrifying.  She had the mouth of a sailor and a heart of stone.  And in all of the six years of my educational career, I had never, ever  crossed her.  I knew that if I did, things would not go well for me.

As I sat on the bus that day, I heard Denise and her foul mouth taunting and threatening.  This was not unusual.  Normally, I would just ignore her outbursts and hope to stay out of her direct line of fire.  But today was different.  Today the recipient of her jeers was my little brother, Jeff, who was a quiet and shy third grader.  The poor kid was no match for this bully, and sat silently in his seat as she carried on.  I  got up from my seat, timidly walked up to her and politely asked her to stop teasing my brother.  Foolishly, I thought she might listen to me.  She did not.  More firmly and heartfelt this time, I asked again.  She laughed in my face.  A hideous laugh like the boy with the “yellow eyes” in “A Christmas Story”.

At that moment, something inside of me snapped.  I lost all sense of reason.  All rational thought left my mind.  And before I knew it, my hand had turned into a fist and was flying through the air, right into Denise’s eye!  Which was, of course followed immediately by her fist being planted in my eye socket as well.

Dazed and completely mortified, I went to return to my seat.  Tears were streaming from my eyes.  Part pain.  Part humiliation.  But mostly guilt over the fact that I had, for the first time (and only time), hit someone in the face.  But at least I had the satisfaction of knowing that i had stood up for my brother.  Until he looked up at me and asked, “What did you do THAT for???”

I called Jeff back and gave him my recollection of the story.  And it all came back so clearly.  I don’t know how he’ll end up using it in his sermon, but he graciously (finally!) thanked me for my heroic effort and for wearing a shiner on his behalf.  And you know what little bro?  If Denise ever picks on you again, I will do a repeat performance – but do I have to ride that horrible bus?