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~*~THE DUMP~*~

Michael Adams held tight to his red knitted cap, clasping both hands to the top of his head to hold it down. A whole gang of children were surrounding him laughing and trying to pull it off. They sang a cruel song mocking him. "Garbage Boy, Garbage Boy, Michael is the Garbage Boy!"

"Stop it! Get away from me," Michael yelled. His cries were barely audible above the demeaning mantra. "My daddy gave me this hat. Leave me alone," he pleaded.

"Your daddy got it out the dump," one of the bullies shouted back. This got the crowd even revved up, laughing and taunting him even more.

With all the strength an eight year old boy could muster, Michael held on to his cap. He used whatever strength he had left to fight back the dam of tears welling up in his eyes. He wanted to be strong like his daddy was. He was a big boy.

When Michael finally made it home from school, he brushed past his mother in a huff without even speaking. He plopped down on the sofa, folded his arms across his chest and sat glaring at the blank T.V. His mother glanced up from her writing and noticed the pouty scowl on his face and his disheveled clothes. Her eyes softened as her focus shifted from being a technical writer to being a mother. She walked over and sat beside him on the sofa and spoke to him in a quiet, soothing tone.

"What's the matter, Baby? Something happen at school today?"

"I ain't no baby, and I hate that stupid school," he replied.

"Well, I'm surprised to hear that. You told me just last week how much you like your teacher this year, and you've been doing really well. What don't you like about your school?"

"Those stupid kids that ride my bus."

"You mean the kids that live in our building? Why?"

Michael poured the whole story out to his mother about what had happened that day. She listened and tried to console him with motherly wisdom and assurances. But when Michael told her that he was being bullied everyday, and that the kids at school had given him the nickname Garbage Boy because his daddy worked at the dump, she had to excuse herself. She told Michael she needed to "check on a pot" although she didn't have anything cooking. Once she had composed herself, wiping at her tear-filled eyes, she came back into the living room with a big piece of chocolate cake and some milk.

"You've had a rough day, Honey," she said. "Today is Friday and you've got the whole weekend to do your homework. So why don't you take this in your room and put one of your favorite videos on.

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