I was terrified of him and his big square head. I don't remember him doing anything to me in the presence of a teacher, but he made every recess and the minutes immediately before and after school miserable for me.
If he had any friends, I was unaware of them. I'm not sure he wanted any friends - I don't know if he actually liked anyone.
I recall that he hated our third grade teacher, Mrs. Kemper. (But we all did.) One day she suddenly left the classroom for some unknown reason and this kid took advantage of the opportunity by standing up, unzipping his pants, and leaving a small puddle of urine in the middle aisle between the columns of desks. When Mrs. Kemper returned a few minutes later, she stepped in the middle of it on her way back to her desk.
She never gave the slightest indication that she noticed the puddle or knew what it was.
As for me, although my bully often threatened to beat me up, he never hit me. But it was enough to make his very presence intimidating to me day after day.
One time as we walked to school, my older brother Spencer hit my bully with a metal lunch box in an effort to chase him off. It left a dent in the lunch box. The next day this kid's mom yelled at Spencer for bullying her baby boy.
Spencer was my hero for while.
It's funny now to reflect on how pressing, urgent, scary, and traumatic the day to day events of childhood could be.
Anyway, all this went through my head the other day when my bully's name popped up among all the people who wished me a happy 56th birthday on Facebook.
I gave his birthday wish a "💗".
I think he's an insurance salesman now.
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