The year is around 1980. I, a boy about twelve years-old, quietly exit the school bus; I hope to avoid detection. Unfortunately, I do not. The bullies subsequently harass me as I walk home in quiet humiliation. Repeatedly, they shove me hard enough to lose my balance and fall to the ground. The bullies continue yard after yard. Other kids meanwhile watch in fascination as they witness the altercation but do not intervene.
Months later, I attend school like any other day. Some boys and I take a break between classes, and we start to horse-play. In one of those exchanges one boy shoved me much like those instances off the bus. This shove was different; this time another boy kneeled behind me. In this position, I failed to break my fall and land squarely on my clavicle, fracturing it. I initially believed that they merely dislocated it; my friend naively tried to pop it back in place. It hurt… a lot. With the pain persisting, I went to the school nurse, who consequently called my mom.