The night before last, I dreamed that I was in my childhood bedroom. Through the window I could see a couple of bullies outside on the front lawn, about middle-school age. I knew that they were part of some larger amorphous group that was out to get me.

One of them put up a ladder and climbed up to my window, on the second floor, while another of them taunted me. The ladder guy reached my window and was at eye level with me. I was terrified, but also angry. So I pushed him. The ladder tipped backward and fell onto the lawn, and so did the bully. I saw his head clunk against the grass. He was clearly unconscious, and maybe dead. The other guy, who’d been taunting me, looked on in awe.

I felt awful and scared. The guy might be dead, and his parents were sure to find out and have me put away for life. What had I done?

***********

When I was a kid, we had these next-door neighbors who had moved to the New Jersey suburbs from Texas. The father was a local minister. It was a strange family. The older son would chop wood in the backyard, and I was scared of the younger son, Chris, who was a mean bully and a year older than me.

One spring or summer evening, I was in my backyard with my best friend. We were playing on the swingset. Chris was in his backyard, and for some reason — with no immediate provocation — I started taunting him. I’d never done that before. I supposed I felt protected by my friend’s presence.

I recited a long impromptu speech. The only part I remember saying is, “This is my be-bullied-no-more speech.” It went on for a while.

Later that night, my family was eating dinner in the kitchen. My brother, four years younger than me, said, “Chris said he’s gonna kick your ass.” My dad asked why, so I told him the story. My dad responded, snidely, “If I were him I’d want to kick your ass, too.”