A Bullied Boy - When Will it Stop?
It started with orange seeds. I could feel them hitting the back of my neck and head, some of them going inside my shirt collar and sticking to my back. I shrunk down in my seat, working very hard at pretending it didn't bother me, trying to be invisible. Any attention would only have all the kids on the school bus laughing and staring at me. The seeds were being spit at me by the girl in the seat behind me. I could hear her snickering with the kid beside her. When I ignored her she leaned forward and whispered "Retard, retard, you're such a retard you should be dead." "Retard" was the worst word to use on someone back in 1967. Then she started kicking the back of my seat. I was frozen in my seat, afraid to fight back, afraid to say anything. It was drummed into me, I was a wimp, a sissy, a freak. It was said to me so many times by the kids on the bus, the kids at school. I was a discard, an outcast, a boy who no one wanted. This was what I made