In Spite of Mean Bullies

       There was nothing kind that Susan could say. But although she was older than Dona, Dona was supposed to play with her because she was the only child in the neighborhood near her age. And in the morning when 4 year old Dona would walk to school, Susan and the mean boys would follow, chanting her name. “Doonah, Doonah, Doonah” they’d say – like the song – “Doonah, Donut, who has a name like that!”
     All Dona could think was Why didn’t they leave her alone? And How could she avoid them. Every day they would follow her the long way through the park, over the snowbanks, and to the school yard where they all dispersed.
     Then as school let out, the crossing guard would stand in the road to make sure they would all cross safely, and Dona would feel protected for a minute until she had to turn right. Then the only people were the cruel children behind her, following no more than a few feet behind, chanting, jeering with Susan in the lead. Sometimes they'd run up close and shout or throw something hard and hurtful.
     They’d grab up dirt and form it into mud balls and throw them at her. They’d take rocks and stones, and in winter ice balls, and hurl them at her back, her legs, her head. This stung, leaving bruises she couldn’t speak of because no one at home would pay attention except sometimes to say

                “Sticks and stones may break my bones,
                 but names will never hurt me.”

    This went on for one year and then another, and all the time, Dona would think of the beautiful things she hoped to write about as soon as she learned to write: the flowers in gardens on the way, the smell of grass, the rainbow beauty of water as it fell from sprinklers, the sound of cicadas in the trees.      

     But every walk was torture that made Dona dread going to school and leaving school. Every long walk of blocks and blocks was another trial she couldn’t escape. So she just walked on without even looking at them, and this seemed the way to make her world bearable. But in her mind an idea formed: That she would write about this for other children like her who for some reason the regular children disliked. She would write about the beauty of the earth, something the mean children could not destroy, she hoped, no matter how much they ridiculed her and those like her. Mean bullies would always be mean, but they couldn't hurt the beauty she experienced and shared.

    Then one icy day when the bitter air was so cold it burned their faces and they were all surrounded by huge snowbanks, Susan behind her scooped up an ice ball, and running beside her, threw it at her, then ran ahead and fell in the road just as a car skidded to a stop no more than a foot away. Dona walked on and heard herself say to Susan still on the ground, “God did that because of how you've treated me.” Then she walked home, feeling protected no matter how mean people could be.  

*"Dona, Dona" - Hebrew song