Bullying isn’t funny for anyone
During my school years, I did everything I could to ensure I wasn’t mistaken for a target for bullying. That probably stems from an incident when I was about 5 years old in which an older cousin was doing a pretty good job of it.
I’m not even sure what the gathering was, other than it was at my maternal grandmother’s home in Ames, and all six million of my aunts, uncles, and cousins (I’m only slightly exaggerating there) were there. Among them was one of my cousins who wasn’t particularly the most kind toward me.
He was a bully, and, like all bullies do, he was picking on me, mainly because I was a few years younger than him. But, as my father later pointed out, it was because I was letting him pick on me. At the daycare I attended, I was taught to run to the nearest adult and “tell on” kids like him.
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