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I was bullied.

It was the 5th grade, always during the multiplication quizzes, and this went on for weeks. I had no clue why this new girl at school had me in her crossfire, but she did. And day after day, she had something to say. A large majority of the teachers in the school were familiar with me. I didn’t bother anybody. In fact, I have helped others and always treated my peers kindly. I had won an award for outstanding leadership, citizenship, and sportsmanship. The days are now a blur, but what isn’t is the girl attacking me when the school bell rang, there in the middle of the hallway, as I was preparing to go home. She was tall. Tall, like, in the wrong grade, tall. Tall, like, maybe she played basketball, but I’m certain she had been held back by at least two years, tall. You get the point. 😁

She attacked me. And the scratch to my face, from the bottom of my eye to my chin, came from nowhere.

The scratch was nasty, and my mom was ready to call the police and press charges. She took pictures from all angles. This wasn’t a scratch with a fingernail. She believed the girl used a weapon.

My dad went and rang the doorbell of that young lady's house. He came back and said, “I handled it!” I don’t know what was said that day. I know I wasn’t bullied by her again.

Dads protect.