My father always advised me not to speak harshly to others during my childhood, but I didn’t listen. I was nice But if someone made me mad, I would yell at them and tell them off. But now that I’m older, I realize my dad tried teaching me that for a reason. He taught me that just because someone says or does something to you, it doesn’t mean you have to be mean. Sometimes, you have to ignore things because people often do them to get a reaction from you. There was this one time I was in second grade. I was being bullied that whole school year. I didn’t understand why she was mean to me. I didn’t understand what bullying was at the time, so every time she did something to me, I would tell the teacher when really I should have ignored it. However, I grew tired of it when she pushed me down on the playground, which happened when I lived in Canton. I was honest, I didn’t know what to do, so I kept telling on her until someone finally talked to her, which only made her angrier, and I still didn’t know what to do. I never found out why she was being mean to me. I was never mean to anybody because I was the same as I am now. I didn’t talk to anyone. I kept to myself. I didn’t like being noticed. But she noticed me, and she was mean to me. To this day I always wonder why she was mean to me. I was pulled out of that school in my third-grade year, and I never saw her again. The school I went to after that was a Catholic school. Honestly it was hard. There was chapel every day.