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This is a question Bullies

My mum told me to stand up to bullies. So I did, and got wedgied every day for a month. I hated my boss.

Suggested by Mariam67

(, Wed 13 May 2009, 12:27)
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I, along with most of the population of b3ta, was bullied at school, by both pupils and teachers. I don't particularly want to think too much about it, so here's a story my mother told me about one of her experiences with bullying:

My maternal grandfather died when my mother was 10 years old. She's always talked of him in the best possible terms: a loving father, someone who would never discourage my mother and aunt from exploring and experimenting, who taught them how a car engine worked, how to break into a car if you've locked your keys inside (sadly it won't work these days), how to read, draw, play rugby, and generally lead a happy childhood. Most importantly, he taught them very early on how to defend themselves: if they're being bullied, hit back and harder. If a man attacks them, go for the balls, use your hands, feet and teeth to hurt your attacker, and run away the first chance you get.

My mother was devastated when he died. The other children at her school didn't know how to talk to someone who'd been bereaved, so opted not to talk to her at all. She was, and is, very shy, but has the most volatile temper I've ever seen.

So when, one day not long after her father died, she was enjoying a day tobogganing about on her sled, an older boy (let's called him John Smith) took it from her, she saw red. She was 11, he was 13, and much bigger than her. She asked Smith to give it back. He said no. She balled her hand into a fist and made a movement with her foot as if she were going to kick him. Smith instinctively put his hands down to deflect her kick, whereupon she hit him as hard as she physically could in the nose, breaking it. His blood fountained out, splattering into the snow in warm spurts. She grabbed her sled as he clutched at his shattered nose, and went home.

Later that afternoon, there was a knock at the door. It was Mr Smith, who had known my grandfather slightly. He asked to speak to my grandma, and told her that my mother had attacked his son John without provocation. My grandma asked my mother to explain herself, and therefore my mother expained exactly what had happened, and that she was just defending herself as her father had taught her. Mr Smith looked at her, a small, defiant girl, and nodded. He left. He went home, explained to his son that (a) his lie had been found out, (b) he should never try to take things that weren't his, (c) how dare he bully a girl who'd just lost her father, and (d) wasn't he ashamed that he'd been beaten up by a girl younger and smaller than him? He gave him four strokes with the cane, and then marched him over to my mother's house, and made him apologise personally in front of my grandma and aunt, completing his humiliation.
(, Mon 18 May 2009, 13:03, 7 replies)
Clicky for amazing amount of justice.

This has warmed the cockles of my shrivelled little raisin of a heart.
(, Mon 18 May 2009, 13:13, closed)

(, Mon 18 May 2009, 13:21, closed)

Great story!
(, Mon 18 May 2009, 14:49, closed)
(, Mon 18 May 2009, 14:59, closed)
Sweet, sweet justice.
I like this. have a click from me.
(, Mon 18 May 2009, 15:00, closed)
Nice story
But your mum's dad was your paternal grandfather? Were your parents brother and sister?

*sorry, couldn't resist*
(, Mon 18 May 2009, 15:13, closed)
Edited, cheers!
(, Mon 18 May 2009, 15:46, closed)

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