By the time I had reached the grand age of six, I had a finely tuned albeit slightly misguided sense of justice. 

I was a good little first grader; the darling of my class, having never pulled a card.  The “cards” were something you had to flip when you had bad behavior, first came a yellow warning card, then a red card, then a black card.  I do not know much about the infamous black card, other than that it meant you were in for a bad day.  But, my card always stayed the good green.

My best friend that year was T.J., our teacher sat our desks next to each other and each day I told him all about whatever I found interesting.  I even shared my crayons with him, which was an anomaly because I wasn’t much for sharing.  T.J. was extraordinarily kind and happy, and I didn’t know this at the time, but T.J. had Down Syndrome.

One day, our sixth grade reading buddies came in, and my young morals were tested.  Two boys sat down with T.J. and started to tease him.  They laughed heartily at how he talked, and mocked the way he pointed at the pictures in the books.  After a few minutes I set down the book I was reading with my buddy and said, “Excuse me.”

Both boys ignored me.  “Hey.”

They continued their taunting.  Frustrated, I stood up and flipped them the bird with my pudgy little fist.  I spat some colorful language I had picked up from my older brother and told them to leave my friend alone.

The teacher of the sixth grade class looked over and saw my act, but didn’t get the context.  He promptly sent me to my teacher’s desk to have a talk.  He explained to her what he had caught me doing and Mrs. Stacy looked at me in shock.  She asked if what he said was true.  Had I said mean things to the big kids?  My eyes welled up with fat tears and I shook, I had never been in trouble before.  I couldn’t speak so I nodded yes.  Yes, I had said mean things.  She looked at me sadly and handed me a note to bring home to my mom and dad, telling them what I had done.  I began to walk away but turned back and asked, “Should I go flip a card?”
She smiled at my offer.  “Yes Alex go ahead and flip a card.”

I walked to the wall and found my name.  I pulled out the green card and stared in horror at the sickly yellow now showing in my slot.  I felt shame, my life was over, my reputation tarnished.

Ten years later I understand that the thing I did that day, while unorthodox, was more important to my character development than any amount of straight-laced class time.  It wasn’t my brightest moment, but it was my boldest.  I hope that bullying makes people mad enough to speak out with the righteousness of a six year old.