Baby Bully
by Brenda Joy Dobson
When I first laid eyes on Trina Bee, she was being roughly held on her brother's fidigity lap sucking on a bottle of Similac. I was five. Her brother, Gee, was six and hated playing "nurse-a-kid" while his mother busied herself writing numbers in the front seat of her customized Austin Healey.
Ah, Trina...a pint-size baby bully by the time she was two. Hair pulling, spitting, and kicking people of any age or size, had become her favorite past-time. In church, her mom and dad took turns holding the over-stimulated, tiny terror dressed in fancy frocks with matching hair bows, socks, and patent leather shoes.
Ah, Trina...some ten years later, at age eleven, was often engaged in pushing, shoving, and sometimes pinching folks, especially me. Even after she found her "naughty-words" voice and whispered them under her breath to us kids during prayer, didn't bother me. I had reached the age of fifteen-and-three-quarters, had found "my center," and managed to hold it in place during Trina's distracting outbursts.
My Christian parents taught me not to hit, especially kids younger than me. So I tolerated Trina's behavior until one day, I lost "my center," jumped down two flights of stairs and kicked her ass, pulling those cutzie little bows out of her hair, for calling me Skinny Minnie.
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