Frank The Bully

As a kid, I was always small and underweight and so I was an easy mark for bullies. There was one in particular that I had to face every day in my high school P.E. class. Whenever we played flag football, Frank would always find a way to position himself directly opposite me on the scrimmage line. Once the ball was snapped, he would slam his large body against my small frame and then he would continue to push and shove me long after the ball was down and the play was finished. The taunting progressed and, before long, he started slapping, kicking and punching. I’m not much of a fighter but finally one day, I had had enough of his ritual pummeling and I felt my blood pressure rising up in my neck and my hands clenching into fists. Suddenly I delivered a quick, solid blow to his head and the fight was on. Frank desperately attempted to retreat hoping to postpone the fight until after school. I knew that he knew that any more fighting during school would result in his suspension. That really gave me the advantage and now the adrenalin was flowing so, with strong resolve, I just kept hammering away. Frank sported a great shiner for about a week. I was really proud of that. When the altercation ended, I knew that my troubles were not over. Like most bullies, Frank derived his power from his association with other school thugs. The gang leader, John, was big and bad and he was Frank’s older brother. And to make matters worse, John sat directly across the bench from me in a shop class. I knew I would have to face him later that day and I was scared. by the time lunch was over, the talk of the fight had already spread throughout the school. I made my way toward the shop class, meekly entered the classroom, and took my seat. Then John came in. With his eyes coldly focused on me, he crossed the room, sat down, and said, “You gave my brother a black eye!” I slowly lifted my head and, with all the courage I could muster, looked him squarely in the eyes and unflinchingly bluffed, “That’s right; I did! And if he bothers me again, he’ll be wearing a matching pair.” I knew I was dead meat. But from that day on, John always treated me with a distant respect. His brother, Frank, never bothered me again. The LORD supports the humble, but he brings the wicked down into the dust. Psa. 147:6