“I don’t think my son was fighting. If that other kid is still standing, it doesn’t sound to me like my son was hitting him.”“I hate to tell...you this, but your son is a bully.”The rage within started to boil as memories of never being believed by authorities returned. He didn’t know how many times a small guy picked a fight with him in order to prove that he was some kind of tough guy. Always the jerk ended up flat on the ground and bleeding. If the kid that picked the fight with his son wasn’t. After a few more glasses of wine and laughter with others in the group, the party was breaking up. I suggested to Cathy that we go to have something to eat. She readily accepted so we said our goodbyes and walked off to an Italian restaurant a few minutes away along the waterfront. Nobody would have commented on our leaving together: it is a big organisation and lots of friendships were formed across the sexes.The night was a lot colder when we left the wine bar and the air misty around the. More

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