Enduring bullying is one of our family weirdnesses, Steve's and mine, like the intelligence paired with crippling depression thing we have going.
I don't remember much bullying in Pennsylvania, just a couple incidents {two girls on the playground at Rennerdale Elementary conspiring to get me out in four-square; they did};
the new family with many sons who moved into the big house near "the corner" that used to belong to Carol Last_name_begins_with_B {help me out here?}.
The boys came over one day for a rock fight. Not a good idea. Dad was irate.
Everyone was irate the day the boys came over for a three-legged race.
It took layers of skin from my foot. I still have the scar.
My siblings behaved well, for the most part, except a Neopolitan ice cream pie fight
My siblings behaved well, for the most part, except a Neopolitan ice cream pie fight
or locking Jack out of the house so that he had to climb through mom's rock garden
then over the laundry tubs to get in.
But in California, the first school I attended, Melvin Avenue Elementary,
seemed filled with violent children.
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