How to Love a Bully

Across the street two elementary school-aged boys, are arguing. One boy, his small face subdued, trudges forward. The other boy walks backward in front of him, muttering viciously. Suddenly he jerks forward and screams into the other boy’s face: “Nigga!” The harassed boy stops. “Don’t talk to me like that,” he says quietly. “I don’t like it.” “Nigga! Nigga! Nigga!” “Stop it,” the boy says. “I don’t want to be talked to that way.” Most adults won’t admit it, but this is the point at which they hurry away. I cross the street with my dog. “Hey, what’s going on?” I ask. The boy who was cursing flashes a charming smile. “Nothing,” he says. It’s obvious that life has taught him how easy it is to dismiss adults. But I’m not like most adults. “Is it true nothing is going on? I heard you swear at him.” There’s no hint of anger in my word, only curiosity. “I didn’t swear,” he says. “Is the N word a swear word?” He ponders the question. “Yeah,” he says. “Did you call him the N word?” His swagger droops. “Yeah.” My gentle inquiry continues. “Did he ask you to stop?” “Yeah, but that word doesn’t mean anything.” He boosts himself up on his toes and grins at me. I smile. He’s a good kid, I think, one who needs the right kind of attention. “That’s not an answer to my question,” I say kindly. “My question is, did he request that you stop?” “He’s my cousin!” “That’s not an answer to my question.” “Yeah, he asked me to stop.” His feet are flat on the sidewalk now. “Why didn’t you stop? He asked you nicely.” “I’m just playing.” “Okay, I want you to know that that word is not to be used when you are playing.” The boy who had tried to defend himself, pipes in: “I don’t like that word. I don’t want to be called that.” I smile at him. “I understand,” I say. Then I turn back to the boy who had been using the N-word: “Do you want to be respected?” He nods. “I want you to be respected,” I say. “I want you to respect others. I want people to know that you know how important you are and that your talent and success are necessary for this community and the world. So when someone asks you to stop doing something they do not like, stop. Do you understand?” “Sorry.” “Thank you but I want you to apologize to your cousin.” “I’m sorry,” he says. As I walk away with Jake the dog, a little voice inside tells me to turn around. When I do, the boy who was being bullied at is looking back at me. He mouths, “Thank you.” If we really want to get beyond conflict and the tragedies that often result, it’s simple—we must treat every child as our own.  The only way forward is love. ©JoeyGarcia All Rights Reserved. This story originally appeared in the Sacramento News & Review