When I was in the first grade in Texas (before they integrated schools), there was this boy named Robert (a 3rd grader), who pushed me down and took my lunch. He said if I told anyone, he’d do it again. That day, I tearfully walked home two blocks to find something to eat. When I got home, my dad was there and asked why I had unexpectedly come home for lunch. I told him about Robert. He quickly helped me make a sandwich and told me that ‘nobody had a right to hurt me-ever!” My dad, who was a relatively big man and stood around 6’4”, grabbed my hand and walked me back to school. Kids were still outside during recess. He quietly asked me, “Which one is he?” Then, he slowly approached the teacher on the playground (still holding my hand), and told her what had happened. She called Robert over and my dad told him in his firm booming voice. “My daughter told me what you did and you’d better never let me hear about you hitting her or any other person again…I’ll be talking to your mother tonight!” Robert never approached me again.