Sugar and Spice

When I was growing up, I was often bullied. Some kids are prone to it. The ones who are too fat, or thin, poor or slow, those were the usual targets at my school. I was bullied for being skinny, poor, and thin-skinned. I was never bullied at my other school, so this was all very new to me.
Many of the adults would tell me not to let it bother me. They would always tell me to ignore it and it would just go away. My mom used to say, "Don't cry in front of them; if you show them that you are hurting, they won't stop the teasing." What she didn't know, because I didn't tell her (too scared to) was that it went far beyond teasing.
In elementary school, it was teasing, name calling, and always being tripped up on the playground. I was almost always getting a band aid from the nurse for my cuts and scraped knees. The boys in school always got into trouble for their bullying, but no one ever really disciplined the girls who were far meaner than the boys.
There was this one girl in junior high that loved to sucker punch kids as they turned the corner in the hallways. If you had a new outfit on, then be sure that some jealous chick was going to conveniently trip you into a mud puddle. Of course if you had great hair; that meant you would probably end up with chewing gum in it. Then there was Bridget.
Bridget was the ultimate queen of mean. She was as sweet as you like if there were adults around, but when they weren't, she became the female version of Attila the Hun. No kid was off-limits for Bridget. She used to bully even certain boys if she thought that she could get away with it.
She would have always around her, a small circle of female minions, willing to do anything to anyone so that Bridget's anger didn't fall on them. They were loved by those who didn't know better, yet feared by those who did. I tried to avoid these girls as much as possible, but in the end, if you will pardon the pun, I was child's play for them.
I grew up with two brothers, and I, like them, had a love for baseball. I wasn't known to be a tomboy, but my brothers taught me how to pitch, bat, and throw. We spent many weekend afternoons playing baseball like our heroes, Hank Aaron, Willie Mays, and Pete Rose.
I tried out for the girl's farm league teams. Even though I wasn't the best ball player in the world, I still loved the game, and I was so thrilled that for once my mom allowed me to play sports.
My brother was proud of me enough to lend me his well-worn, but much beloved autographed Hank Aaron ball glove. I was so happy, as I headed off to practice. I couldn't wait to show my girlfriends my cool Hank Aaron glove! Practice went pretty well, and our first game was going to be that Saturday.
What I didn't know was that Bridget and some of her minions were going to be playing too. On the way out of the park, three of them surrounded me as I was trying to make my way home. Then Bridget said to me, "Hey Lisa, nice glove." Since I didn't really know what they were up to, I answered, "Thanks." I heard the other girls giggle as I spoke my answer. Then, just as suddenly, one of the girls pushed me into Bridget, who snatched the glove from my hands.
"Give it back!" I screamed at her. "That is my brother's glove, not mine!" She laughed at me. I lunged at her, but Bridget's little army wasn't having any of that; so they hurled me to the ground and held me there as I watched in horror as Bridget soaked that glove in a mud puddle and then tossed it as high as she could. The glove landed on the roof of the concessions pavilion where no human could get to it without a ladder.
Then to add insult to injury she said to me, "It served you right, you ugly twit. If I ever see you in the ball field again, you will be sorry. No one wants you here, so go home and cry to your mommy." Then as if she had second thoughts, she said, "And don't rat on us either!" In desperation to let Bridget know how angry that I was I yelled after her, "One of these days, Bridget, you are going to mess with the wrong person, and they are going to beat the crap out of you!"
I could hear her friends laughing as she turned around to answer, "Ha! Just let them try." I sat there for what seemed like an eternity. After I was sure that they were gone, I picked myself off of the ground, and made my way home. Tears streamed down my face. "I hate those girls." I said out loud. My brother was told the truth about what happened, after all, it was his glove that she destroyed. He was angry too, but he understood why I couldn't tell our parents.
Saturday came. I tried to get out of playing that day, but mom wasn't hearing anything about it. She was anxious to see her youngest daughter play baseball. When we got to the park, my eyes scanned the horizon for Bridget and her friends. Good. I thought; they don't know that I am here. I had befriended our team catcher, a very popular girl, who everyone called Corky. I was chatting with her when all of a sudden; I saw Bridget and two of the girls that were with her at practice. My heart sank. "What is wrong?" Corky asked as I suddenly became silent. "I am so dead." I answered; "Bridget and her friends are here."
Corky laughed, "So what, and when we finish kicking their butts, then they will have to go home!" Corky's friend, Tracie laughed out loud as well as some of the other girls did. "No, you don't understand, they took my brother's ball glove and threw it on the roof! They said if they saw me here ever again then I would be in big trouble." Corky saw by the expression on my face that I was dead serious. "Oh yeah, well we will see about that!"
Before I could stop her, Corky was talking to her father, who was our coach. Then I could see Corky's dad, talking to the coach who was on the opposing team. Then, I saw the opposing coach talking to Bridget's parents. They looked horrified. The next thing that I knew, I saw Bridget and her two friends being benched, which was where they remained for the entire game. It wasn't long before everyone on both sides knew what Bridget and her friends had done.
My team and I played our hearts out. I can't remember the exact score, but we killed them. Mr. C, our coach rewarded us by buying us all ice cream at the local Dairy Queen. A few days later, Bridget's father came to our house. He had gotten a ladder and retrieved my brother's ball glove from the roof of the pavilion. He gave my stepdad money for the glove, and gave us his word that his daughter was never going to hurt anyone ever again.
At school she managed to give me a few angry stares, but I only smiled back. She kept her distance, and I kept mine. Kids still bullied me when they could, but life was a lot easier once Bridget was no longer a part of it.