All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
I became the school’s most feared bully already before second grade had ended. Not even the older guys liked hanging around me because they knew I played it dirty unless they did what I wanted them to. Needless to say it was hell being around me.
Arthur from the grade below came to learn this quick. He’d moved with his family all the way from England and naturally his accent made him the perfect victim. Not a day passed by without me tucking at his hair, filling his school bag with water and stealing his shoelaces (I proudly wore them on top of my own as if they were a sign of a won war).
But unlike the other guys he never got angry and he never cried. He just watched me emotionless as I played my tricks and got away with it. Once the teacher pulled him aside after class to ask if he was doing okay and he looked the man straight in the eyes as he replied:
“Yes, I have a best friend now,” before pointing towards me. It had been in the beginning of July. On the 4th I invited him home for dinner and celebrations. While Dad got drunk and Mom prepared the dinner, we sat in my room eating cake while talking about the others from class. Well, Arthur ate the cake and I did the talking; I spoke of how fat Elizabeth had gotten and how stupid German Gilbert was, and I grinned like a maniac as I made my way through the story of how Ludwig’s homework was stolen. I expected some sort of reaction from Arthur. But instead he just kept staring at me with those emotionless eyes. It annoyed me.
“Are you dead inside?” I asked him as I stopped my stories to look at him.
He merely shook his head and brushed some crumbs off of his hands.
“Then why don’t you say something, man?”
“I think you’re dead inside,” he said, “every time you speak you smell of rot.”
“F*** off,” I said insulted and with a slight surprise, and Arthur got up as if he naturally just followed orders.
“You would be much more entertaining if you could speak of yourself for once,” he said before leaving. I was fuming. I spoke of myself all the time!
But when I started thinking about it, there was a lot I couldn’t do. I couldn’t pass maths like Ludwig or make jokes like Gilbert, and Elizabeth was better than anyone I’d ever met at soccer. And Arthur? Well, Arthur was my friend and he could entertain me. That was more than could be said of anyone.
The next day in school I walked up to Arthur as he was sitting by his table doing homework. He looked at me confused as I stopped in front of him, but as I spoke, a smile started spreading across his face.
“I really suck at being nice!” I said as I stared him in the eyes. “Can you teach me?”