Bully

As far back as I can remember I had two bullies. People pick on the hapless. My bullies did the typical bully shit. Trip me. Steal my toys. Call me cruel names. And threatened me with physical violence. I don’t recall how long the bullying lasted, but I do know I hated them.
I wasn’t big stuff. My family was quiet. They were educated, held degrees and therefore lacked street credibility. It was cool to possess Master P’s “I’m Bout It” cassette tape before it hit the radio. It was cool to have a yard full of new cars too. (But the house can fall apart). I also wished my grandmother was ghetto so she could braid my hair on the front porch or put together a great combination of explicits to cuss someone out in a minute for me. Nope. I didn’t get that. She knew how to perfectly conjugate verbs and edit school papers. My mother was also a teacher so my words came out “proper”.
I sat up straight and wore neat little cartoon character clothes. I never had the latest fashions like a pullover Starter jacket or even a pair of Nikes, let alone Jordans. To have a pair of J’s or Filas was my pipe dream. All of this must have made me a target of bullying. To top it all off, I had no protection. The school I went to was an hour’s drive away from my hometown. So I had no big cousins to look after me. Not that I sought back up or even snitched on my tormentors. I wouldn’t have ever wanted to burden anyone else of my problems. It’s just that when anyone else was picked on I’d see cousins teaming up and knock the bully down. It just could have been nice to know you’re not alone.
One day I was with a group of four girls. We were supposed to be working on a class project. Other than that they would have never been seen with me. It just wasn’t popular to be my friend. Cold, yet I knew. The lead girl started a conversation about shoes. She had a pair of brand new Nikes. The paint on the Swoosh was still fresh. Two others wore Reebok. And the last girl, who I swore up and down wouldn’t tease me because she wore a dirty pair of L.A. Gear. Now, during that time, L.A. Gear was tired, played out! Yet, they accepted her on their side! I had a pair of dingy white shoes that my mom bought from Payless. No name, not even a tag on the tongue for decoration. As I looked around my shame could not be concealed.
They attacked in song:

“Bo, Bo’s, they cost a $1.99.”
“Bo, Bo’s, they come in every shape and size.”
“Bo, Bo’s, they cost a $1.99.”
“Bo, Bo’s, they come in every shape and size.”

Now, I wasn’t a cry baby. But they drew tears that day. They found it hilarious, that I cried.