Dear Bully

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I know bullying. Personally and through my children. In elementary school, I was smart. Sort of pretty. A talented equestrian, singer, dancer, and creative writer. I was also chubby. Not obese. Not even fat, really. But not a skinny jeans kind of girl. You know, the kid who other kids called “Elsie the cow.” Luckily, I was strong—the kid who let insults roll off her because she knew in her heart she was destined to do great things.

That strength came from my parents, who believed in me. In turn, I believe in my children. My oldest son, Jason, is gay. He knew it before I did, and so when the bullying began, he knew why. But I didn’t. Never underestimate the power of a mother bear, and I became one. At the time, bullying wasn’t new, but confronting it was. School counselors told me to leave it alone. Things would get better. They didn’t. To escape the torment in California, Jason chose to live with his father (my ex) in New Mexico.

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