Ron is a slight kid—maybe 100 pounds wet—with longer hair that nearly always hid is face. Today, was like any other day. He had been bullied unceasingly at school, where he was, otherwise, alone and received only average scores and little attention from his teachers—teachers who seemed clueless to the abuse he took on a regular basis. As he walked into his house and passed his father who offered no welcome, he muttered under his breath, “I wish I had never been born.”
The next day was more of the same. He lost count of the number of times he was bumped and pushed in the hallway or his books had been knocked from his hands. He just wanted to get through the day. At lunch, a couple of football players walked by and gave him a shove. The biggest one grabbed his pudding and said, “Thanks, Rhonda.” Very clever. “I hope you choke on it, fat jerk”, he thought as he ate what was left of his school lunch. More of the same until the final bell. Another day.
As he lay on his bed, he wished somewhat aloud, “I wish I were dead.” He dwelled on this thought for some time and considered how he might end all his troubles.
Days like these turned into weeks. Finally, one afternoon, he went to his father’s gun locker and just stared at it for what felt like hours. The key is in his father’s desk drawer. He could….
The next day seemed worse than the rest. The bullies were less active than usual, but the isolation was unbearable. Friends he had had in elementary school seemed to move on in middle school. Now, in high school, there seemed to be no one.
After school, he got the key to his father’s gun locker and took a .45 revolver and its clip. He sat for much of the evening just staring at the gun.
The next day the football lineman was back for his dessert at lunch. “I wonder how far a hunting knife would sink into his fat belly”, he thought.
After school, he pulled the revolver out from under his pillow and thought, “How many of those jerks could I hit before I shoot myself?”
The next day was more of the same. He looked around and thought about how many guns he could sneak into the school.
Lunch was a bit different this day. Sure, he sat alone in his usual corner and the football players took his dessert, but, on this day, Kyle, the 220 lb wrestling captain saw what the football players had done. Coach had been talking to his wrestlers about how “team” extended beyond the wrestling room. This seemed to be the exact scenario he was talking about. Instead of sitting with his teammates, Jack and Rich, he by passed them and winked as they gave him a look of “what the…”. As he sat down across from Ron, he exclaimed, “What a jerk!” Ron just grunted and continued eating.
The next day, Kyle passed his buddies, again, and took a seat across from Ron. And introduced himself. Ron just looked up through his mop of hair with a puzzled look, muttered his name and kept eating.
The following day, Jack and Rich joined Kyle. Kyle introduced Jack and Rich and said, “This is my friend, Ron.” Ron managed a slight smile beneath the hair in his face. For the first time in forever, Ron participated in some dialog at the lunch table—albeit mostly “yes” and “no” responses.
When the wrestlers joined him at lunch the next day, Ron looked different. It was the hair. He had combed it out of his out of his face. Rich commented, “Hey, dude, have your seen our friend, Ron? Little guy. Looks like Cousin It from the Addams Family.” Kyle looked at Rich. “Addams Family?” Ron gave a sustained smile and seemed to even laugh a bit.
That afternoon, Ron hung around after school. He took a detour passed the wrestling room and glanced in the small window that was starting to become covered with steam. Tony, one of the light weights, came out in the hall to get a drink. He smiled at Ron and gave him a “’Sup?” Ron smiled back.
As Ron started to walk away, Coach King, stepped out the door and called to him. “Hey, you Ron?” Ron nodded. “I have heard good things about you. The team needs a manager. Interested?”
“Manager? Me? Part of a team?”, thought Ron. “I dunno.”
“The team could use your help”, replied the coach. “If you are interested, practice starts at 3:40.” Ron nodded and walked away smiling.
The next day, Ron was standing outside the wrestling room at 3:30–sharp. The wrestlers smiled, one by one, as they filed into the room. Kyle gave him a gentle punch on the arm and told him, “Welcome to the team.” Ron beamed at the sound of the word “team.”
That night, Ron. Pulled the gun from beneath his pillow and looked at it for a moment. He put is back and went to ask his mother if he could get a haircut. She obliged with a “’Bout time” and drove him to Sports Cuts.
The next day, the lunch table was filled with filled with wrestlers and a couple of cheerleaders. The cheerleaders were sitting next to Ron and commenting on his new haircut. As the football players walked by, Kyle called out to the big lineman, “Hey, Carl! You’re lookin’ a little thin. You want my puddin’?” Carl gave him the finger and kept walking. Ron smiled. The rest of the table laughed and offered up their desserts, as well. Most were cutting weight, anyhow, after all.
Ron went home smiling—something he had not done in a long while. His grades were improving. He was part of a team. He felt included.
That night he returned the gun to his father’s locker. He smiled. As he tried to sleep that night he thought, “I wonder if coach would let me wrestle, next year? They could use a little depth at 106….Now that I can eat my pudding.”
Be your best today; be better tomorrow.
Carpe momento!