Bullied by Patrick Connolly Page A

have long to live, I am going to fix it so that I am not easy to kill. Maybe I will start killing my bullies, one by one, instead. I have to do something about my fear because it is so big now that I can hardly think about anything else. Some of the kids, when they call me names like “Redhead” and “Red” also taunt me that redheads are supposed to have hot tempers. Maybe I can change this terrible fear into real anger, which will make me strike back at the monsters that do these things to me. If I do this rather than being afraid, maybe they would not be so quick to push me, or punch me, and call me names. Yes, I am going to work hard on changing these feelings - - - - - - - - - - - - every day until I make it happen.
    On cold winter mornings, I have to get up, shiver in the cold, crouch near the family room stove with my sister to try to warm up while we put on our clothes and get ready for school. So today, I put on a pair of grey pants, white shirt, tie, and a thick dark blue pullover sweater to keep me warm. As long as the white shirt and tie show after I put on the sweater the Nuns will think it is okay to dress this way. I am always cold and have to have a sweater on or I will freeze, even indoors. This morning we are having breakfast at Grandma's house downstairs because Mom has to leave for work early.
    After Lauren left for her walk to school, I am still sitting at the breakfast table. The kitchen clock shows minute by minute, it is getting closer to 8:30 AM when the bell rings and we have to enter the school. As the clock moved towards ten minutes after eight, Grandma started suggesting that I should leave right away or I might be late. Only when the clock reaches fifteen minutes after eight, do I get up, put on my jacket, pick up my books and race out the door. At my age, I am walking faster than I used to but I cannot get there too early or it means trouble, but I cannot be late either, I thought. I have to time it just right.
    Things go smoothly as I pass the corner of my block, make a gradual right turn, go down Broad Street and past another short block towards the school. I pass the Boys Club on the right, go to the next block and pass the public school across the street. When I start to cross the street to the St Ambrose schoolyard, I notice one of the big kids named Bob, standing outside the school entrance watching me. Just then, the bell rings and everyone starts to go into the entry doors to their classrooms. I have to go in the door on the right, but that is where Bob is. He did not move and he smiles when he sees me coming across the street. He is waiting for me.
    After crossing the street, I wait near the curb until the other kids file into the school, then I know there is no choice but to try to pass him. As I get closer to him, he looks around real quick and then punches me in the stomach. "Queer, weirdo”, he said as I stand hunched over, and then he gives me another punch, this time in my left side. After that, he laughs, steps inside and runs up the stairs to his classroom on the second floor. I also had to go upstairs and so I run up the stairs as fast as I can but I am still last to enter the classroom, so I get a stern look from Sister. I go to my seat and sit down as quickly as possible, but my stomach and side still hurt. I have tears in my eyes but Sister does not seem to notice. After all, there are about forty-five of us in this small room with her.
    This is just a normal way for me to begin the day. At least I am safe for now. I try to focus on what Sister is saying at the front blackboard, but I cannot help fidgeting and looking around me to see what the other kids are doing in this packed room. "Pay attention Patrick,” Sister said. She comes over to my desk, looks at me closely and says, “Look up here at the blackboard when I'm talking, Patrick”. Trying to get through the whirl of commotion in my brain and the ache in my side, I focus my eyes on the Sister. She looks back at