A week ago.  The day started out nice.  Sun Su and Ooseung were playing with the other neighborhood kids while I sat in the driveway studying review books.

“Tell me I’m fat,” Billy the Bully said to my six-year old girl.

“What?” she looked at him funny.

“Just tell me I’m fat, Ooseung.”

“… You’re fat?”

“I know you are but what am I,” Billy rode off laughing on his bike.  Ooseung ignored it as if he were speaking a foreign language.

Billy’s always been the neighborhood bully, in size and demeanor, ever since he was five (he’s ten now).  I figured maybe his parents had taught him a new defense to use at school, in case he was picked on by the older kids, and he was just practicing it.  My little girl didn’t seem to be bothered either way.

No harm, no foul.

The kids had wandered over to the neighborhood dog, a playful orange retriever.  Billy was showing them how to “shake hands” with the dog.  It was the first time Sun Su saw a dog raise his paw like that, and his laughter was the loudest.  It was music to my ears since he rarely laughs like that.

“You laugh loud,” Billy said.  “Look I’m Sun Su, HAR HAR HAR HAR!  HAR HAR HAR HAR!”

He repeated this three more times.

The other younger kids including Sun Su laughed along, not quite realizing what I realized as my blood began to boil.  I remembered myself as a boy, laughing at the big kids’ jokes at the bus stop because I thought they liked me too.  They all made fun of me for laughing too much.  So I stopped, for many many years.  The things we never forget.  In comics, this is how supervillains are born.

Maybe this was Billy’s misguided way of making friends.  Maybe my own childhood bitterness was clouding my perception.  Honestly though, I just didn’t have the heart to stop my sweet boy’s laughter and tell him he was being teased.

That was strike one.

I looked up from my studies occasionally to see the kids riding their bikes around the island in the center of the cul-de-sac.  Sun Su zipped up and down the sidewalk with joy, occasionally slowing down for one of the littler boys to catch up.

“Sun Su, you’re so cool,” Billy said riding behind him, “You’re so cooool!”

My attention perked up to see where this was going.  Maybe he was trying to make up for teasing him earlier, I squinted.

“You’re cool, aren’t you, Sun Su?” Billy kept asking him.

“I don’t know,” Sun Su answered.

“Say you’re cool then.”

Eventually Sun Su innocently replied, “I’m a little cold right now.”

Cracked me up.

“Sun Su’s COOL everybody!”

Something about Billy’s tone didn’t seem right.

Then I heard another one of the kids explain the opposites game they were playing, “If you say you’re a JERK, then you are really COOL.  If you say someone’s COOL, then that means they’re really a JERK.”

“Sun Su’s such a coooool guy,” Billy said again.

Strike two.

Sun Su just rode away from Billy.  One thing I admire about him is that he doesn’t feel the need to follow Billy or other kids.   I loosened my grip on the lawn chair and let things pass for the moment, while still keeping my eye on them.

Billy’s gaze continued to follow Sun Su as he rode up closer to him.  It wasn’t an inviting or smiling gaze.  It was more calculating and quiet.  Then Billy swooped in so close that he ran Sun Su off the street and he crashed.

Strike three.

“GODDAMMIT!!!”  I shouted, as the spine of my book cracked on the concrete.

I could see Sun Su was already getting back on his bike, but that didn’t change anything at this point.  I marched right up to Billy’s excuse-popping face.

“You fucker, Billy!  I saw what you did!”

“It was an accident.  I didn’t even touch–”

“You lying little shit!  I saw you make him crash!  I’ve been watching you all day!”

“No.  I–”

“I know you were teasing him with your fucking opposites game – you’re so COOL, Billy!  I heard you making fun of his laugh!  Is that supposed to be funny?  AM I FUCKING LAUGHING?!!”

I half expected other fathers to rush out of their houses and attack the raging lunatic in the street (me).  I couldn’t blame them for trying, but right or wrong, and I was probably wrong, I was ready for them.  For everyone.  I had never been so mad.

I walked back to my lawn chair undisturbed, the pounding of my heart could have killed a small animal up close.  I picked up my bent-up review book, and pretended to read like nothing just happened.  I looked up, still seething.  Billy was already inside his house.  My sweet Sun Su rode his bike in slow autistic circles, ignoring the calls of his friends, and my heart sank.  Either he was frightened by the area effect of my rage, or he realized, from what I said, that Billy had been making fun of him all day long.  I went inside the house to remove my darkness from his light.

“I kind of went crazy on Billy,” I began telling Amy, still upset.  Our little girl perched next to her.

“I would have got him for teaching them the word ‘jerk,’” she said.  Then there was a knock at the door.

Ooseung checked and reported in pretend spy-mode, “It’s Billy’s parents!”

“Don’t get mad,” Amy said as she chased me to the door, “Don’t get mad.”

Billy’s mom.

“Hi.  Billy’s kind of rattled.  I just want to find out what happened,” she said.

I took some deep breaths, “Sorry, I’m still … pretty emotional about the whole thing,” and started explaining.  She took it surprisingly well.  It’s got to be hard not taking your child’s side, but he’s been on the wrong side so many times before, they almost assume it.  She slyly reminded me that even though Billy looks 12-14 years old because of his size and attitude, he’s still just ten.  And with great parental effort, he has gotten better this year, which I absolutely agreed with, except when it came to my kids.  She admitted it has been a challenge with him though, especially with a house full of teenaged daughters too.

“I’m sorry.  I… uh… overreacted.”

“No, I understand.  It’s your child.  Billy needs to get rattled like this.  Maybe he’ll change.  If he acts like that again, go ahead and overreact.”

Later, Sun Su came inside.  He had been having fun with friends again.  He seemed fine.  I came up behind him and gave him a gentle over-under hug and didn’t let go.  He put his little hand over mine.

That evening.

“Appah, what does deluxe mean?” he pointed to my new Batman and Robin graphic novel.

“It means special.  This a hard cover special deluxe edition Batman and Robin.”

“Robin looks different,” he noted on the cover.

“In this storyline, the original Batman is dead, and Nightwing, that long-haired guy, becomes the new Batman.  This new Robin is just a kid, but he’s really angry and messed up.  Batman is the nice one this time, and he tries to teach Robin how to be patient and good and not kill all the badguys.  It’s kind of funny,” I chuckled, then thought better of it.

“Appah.”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s play chess.”

“Okay.”