Bobby Greer

Bobby Greer
His name was Bobby Greer. Bobby was an enormous specimen of fourth grader, who looked into the teachers' eyes and stood several heads taller than any of the other children. He wore his black hair in a flat top, and there were rumors that he shaved and had his own parking space. He must have been held back three or four times at least. Bobby was a Golden Gloves boxer, and was built like a tank: Thick neck, small, beady eyes and little, round ears-almost as if every spot on his body that might be vulnerable to attack was minimized as much as possible.

It was mid-December, not long until winter vacation, and it was during Channuka. The teacher asked me to bring in Gelt and Latkes and talk about the holiday and what it meant for all the goyim.
Later that day, as Bobby passed me in the hall, he bumped my shoulder and called me a Kyke.
I didn't know what the word meant exactly, only that it was as bad as calling a black person a "nigger." The way he spat out the word made the skin on my cheeks hot and my eyes itch. I spun around and faced him.
"After school at the bike rack, you faggot." I didn't know what that word meant either, but I did know it was the one thing I could say to incense him as much as I was.

By the end of school, everyone knew about the fight, and the bike rack was packed. I snuck around behind the rack and took a running leap onto his back.

We stumbled forward together, and he went down face first. As he struggled to get back up, I slammed his face into the ground, and he didn't move. I stood up, picked up my backpack and started to walk away, utterly calm and quite proud of myself.
I saw this girl named Julie standing in front of me gapemouthed. As I walked toward her, her eyes suddenly widened, and her gaze left mine and trailed upwards, over my head.