Jim Ed Hardaway
Bullying Survivor
Male | Los Angeles, CA   United States
The Scrawny Little Leaguer
Bullying Type: Emotional
Posted By: BrainsOverBullies
1/02/13 8:20 AM
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I ran as fast as I could. My stiff blue jeans made a brushing sound as my legs passed each other going back-and-forth in a full sprint. The neighborhood dogs barked uncontrollably and chased me as I ran down the sidewalk beside a long chain-link fence. The untied laces of my sneakers flapped like the ears on a Basset Hound, and the worn out soles kicked up dust as I made a swift turn onto our driveway towards the front door. It was my first time ever to play Little League Baseball. Waiting for me inside the house was the news of what team I would play on.

The screen door slammed closed behind me as I dashed into the house. There it was, calling to me from across the room. The sounds of an angelic choir sang in my imagination as I stared in awe at its beaming glow. The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the window and illuminated that coveted red baseball uniform like a lightning bug at a campout. It was neatly laid over one of the dining room chairs with creases and folds that only a mother could make. A bright, red baseball cap with a bold, white “C” crested above the bill. Beside it, with the same crimson glow, was a t-shirt that read Cardinals across the front.

There was no time to waste; I had to try it on. I pulled that oversized t-shirt over my bowl-cut hair and tucked it so deep into the white polyester baseball pants that you could barely read the team name. Those elastic waist pants pulled up to just below my chest. I was a scrawny 10-year-old kid, one of the smallest on the team, and my big ears stuck out the sides of that cap like the wings on the Space Shuttle. The uniform was way too big, but that didn’t matter.

One day my parents drove me to the practice field next to the old red-bricked middle school. I dreaded every mile as our car sped over the battered asphalt, because there was an older kid on the team who had been bullying all the younger players. My nemesis was a portly—but stout—kid named Scott, and I was scared to death of him. Scott had more freckles scattered across his paunchy face than cupcakes have sprinkles, and a piercing, cold stare that burned a hole through your skin. He gave me the heebie-jeebies so much so that my bony kneecaps shook violently, as we got closer to the field.

My parents dropped me off behind the rickety old backstop behind home plate, and my pitiful shoulders sagged as I stood there in my dusty cleats and watched them drive away. In the next few minutes, I prayed and promised God that I would keep my pigsty of a bedroom clean forever if he would please let one of the coaches arrive before Scott did; it was the only way I would be safe from his devilish menace. It didn’t happen. I saw Scott coming towards me across the field, his eyes already burning a hole through my delicate flesh, and a look of disgust spread across his face like he’d just gargled nails and been released from prison. I was shaking in my undersized cleats and I tried tossing my baseball into the air to ignore him. That didn’t work either. I was clearly locked into his radar and in line to be his next unfortunate victim.

Scott walked straight up to me and bumped me with his well-upholstered chest, then leaned his sun-scorched face next to my ear. His words mixed with his reeking breath as he told me he was going to take off my pants and hang them in the tree, leaving me stranded in my tighty-whitey underwear for all to see. I was absolutely mortified! The scene ran through my head like a nightmare and I was completely defenseless. If only I had a baseball bat in my hand instead of that stupid glove I might stand a chance. So, I did the only thing I could, I ran like hell! This mild profanity is totally appropriate considering the fact that I was terrified at the mere thought of possible indecent exposure.

I had no idea where I was going but I ran as fast as my skinny body could go, leaving my synthetic leather glove as collateral and my baseball cap sailing off into the wind. Scott was hot on my heels! There was a neighborhood on the other side of the tree line—behind the field—and I had to make it to one of the houses. I wheezed with every stride and my throat burned from the humid air, but there was no way I was going to slow down. If I had one thing working to my advantage it was my speed, my love for Cap’N Crunch, and a fear for my life. Finally, he gave up chase letting me fade away into the distance. I could hear his mockery and laughter echoing behind me as I disappeared into the trees. I can still hear it today.

Source: http://www.jimedhardaway.com/JimEdHardaway/Blog/Entries/2012/12/29_The_Scrawny_Little_Leaguer.html



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Comments
Posted By: BeYourself | 1/02/13 11:30 AM
OMG you were the cutest kid! Did you ever come back and play on that team?
Posted By: GoMamma | 1/04/13 1:28 PM
SOO cute!
Posted By: Marion | 1/03/13 12:07 PM
I think its important for coaches in particular to take the biggest kid aside and explain to him how he can take advantage of his size for the good things in life and show him the positives about being the bigger kid so they dont take the easy road and bully kids like Jim was
Story Details


Name: Jim Ed Hardaway
Age: N/A
Country: United States
Location: Los Angeles, CA
Gender: Male
Zodiac Sign: N/A
Maiden Name: N/A
Relationship Status: N/A
Profession: Other
Education level: N/A
University: N/A
Ethnicity: N/A
Hair Color: N/A
Eye Color: N/A
Height: N/A
Weight: N/A
Tattoos: No

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