Meet the Bully

Goofy Steve seemed so sure of himself. He stood alone in the middle of the street, nose to nose with Down the Street Bully Brad. Though he faced what appeared to be insurmountable odds of surviving the next few minutes, he never wavered. Bully Brad had gone too far. He had teased Goof’s little sister, and it was time to put a stop to it.

We stood on the curb a safe distance away, just as Goof had instructed us. Only he knew what was about to happen. It was one of those legendary moments that made Flamingo Street so magical.

Goof had carefully measured Bully Brad and determined that he, too, had a weakness. Brad was lacking muscle tone around the midsection. When Brad started to swing, Goof sidestepped, kicked him squarely in the belly, and ran like crazy toward the adjacent vacant lot. He disappeared into a small clump of trees, leaving the bully of Flamingo bent over and gasping for air.

Before Brad could regain his breath, an object about the size of a basketball arched high over the small trees lining the front of the lot and landed at his feet. When the hornet’s nest split open, an angry black cloud swarmed out and covered one very unsuspecting bully.

The fight that afternoon forever put an end to the bullying of Goof’s little sister. Brad screamed down Flamingo Street, hornets and our laughter stinging him all the way home. Goof had faced his fear. With a little creativity, he overcame it. He beat his bully.

Now it’s time for me to beat mine.

I’ve met my biggest bully since leaving our childhood home on Flamingo, and he is me.

No one gets out of childhood without bringing along a few scars. Some are visible. Some run much deeper. For me, it has always been the nagging belief that I’m not the sharpest crayon in the box.

I know that may sound strange. After all, I’ve written a newspaper column every week for more than 26 years. A person can’t be too dull of a crayon and keep that up for very long. Still, childhood has a way of leaving us memories, both good and bad. Along with those memories comes something else.

Baggage. Some people carry theirs for a lifetime.

For years, I carried the quiet belief that I wasn’t smart enough, talented enough, or capable enough. The funny thing about bullies is that they don’t always live down the street. Sometimes they live inside your own head.

Lately, I’ve decided to fight back.

As we start down a new path, Yours Truly is writing a book. It’s a workbook designed to help fifth graders learn all about cells. Not in the traditional way, either. This book is going to be fun. Now, is it insurmountable odds to finish and one day get published? Perhaps. But every day I spend working on it makes this crayon feel just a little sharper. Every page I finish chips away at an old belief that probably should have been left back on Flamingo Street.

Goofy Steve beat his bully with a hornet’s nest and a clever plan.

I’m beating mine one page at a time.