by John Mcsteinberg

Created on: January 08, 2009   Last Updated: January 20, 2009

You never forget your first bully. There is just something special about your first time that sticks in your mind. I don't want you to get the wrong impression, I've had plenty of other bullies throughout my life. I don't want to brag either, but I would bet I've had dozens. I've had my head smashed into a bus window, been thrown into bushes, had my kick ball thrown onto the roof of the school, had rocks thrown at me, been sit on, had my fingers squeezed really hard, been caught in the middle of keep away, had my face pushed into the snow, had a soccer ball kicked into my baby maker and got a good old fashioned butt kicking. But still you always go back to that first time.

I don't remember his name, but his image is still burned into my brain till this day. I can remember he was so tall that when i looked at his face, I had to shield my eyes from the sun. He had to be the tallest kindergartner that ever lived. I'll give a conservative estimate and say he was probably about twelve feet tall.

His hair was the same consistency of a mans face that hadn't shaved in two or three days. It was the shortest crewcut i had ever seen in my life. And i could swear he had a five o'clock shadow. His dress was simple. A tight Guns and Roses T-shirt that smelled like Budweiser, clung to his giant tree trunk arms. And a pair of blue jeans that looked as if they hadn't been washed since his birth came down to just above his ankles. Around his arm was a single black wristband, and he was the only kindergartener I knew with a learners permit.

I remember it was our first class picnic. The sun shined behind his head like some kind of heavenly halo, as he took my bag of doritos. The ease at which he worked looked so natural, it was a thing of beauty. He was so good I didn't even protest, I just watched him walk away in awe. It's been many years since then but I kind of feel lucky to have been able to have watched him in his element. It was like getting the chance to see Tiger Woods in his first golf tournament, or Michael Phelps first learning how to swim. I could tell from there, he was going to go somewhere. He was going to do great things.

I never asked him if I was his first, and the next year he moved away. But i kind of like to imagine that somewhere, in some county jail he is throwing some new prisoner against a pane of shatter proof glass, and remembering me.

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