The New Kid by Murray Heyert

Dear younger Marty,

           As I write to you today, I recount a memory that I simply cannot forget. I have several mixed emotions about this event, so I must tell. One afternoon, I raced past the dentist's office, past the new paint smell, the place where the new kid lived, the garlic smell from an Italian movie. I reached the door, waited for mother, and threw on my white sneakers. I then ran past all of the familiar scents again, but reached the ball game too late. All the players were out on the field, ready for the game and waiting for Eddie Deakes to chalk a base against the curb. I felt defeated; there was no way I was going to play ball. If I had made it on time, maybe I would have fit in.
          I begged and begged to be chosen, but not one person would take a chance on me. I racked my mind for ways to play. That's when I saw the kid, and the whole day changed. I thought that if another would join the game, then the teams would be equal. The new kid sat on his steps, eating rye bread covered in apple sauce, wearing boy scout pants. "He'll do good enough," I thought, and I raced over to his porch. At first he was dismissive, saying he had to go to the store, but he eventually caved in. It took some convincing to make Gelberg and Eddie take in the new kid and I. I ended up on Gelberg's team, but neither really wanted me. When it came my time to catch, I missed the ball and screwed up the play. I wished to fit in, to feel wanted, but I had messed up, and that was it. When it came time for the new kid to catch, he ran from the ball, and I took it as a chance to feel better about myself. I said "he's scared of the ball!" and "he's a yellow belly!" over and over again, feeling better about my mistakes as I yelled. My intentions looked great in my mind, but my words made the biggest mistake. The new kid slumped, and felt miserable. I took this as a chance to beat him up, and I can only say how much I regret doing that. For a young boy like you, fitting in was my goal. I wanted to be seen as a 'cool person,' but I never knew how. When the new kid came along, I took my chance to pick on him as the others had picked on me. Looking back on that day, I can only regret those things I said.
           I can only hope that when my son hears this story, he learns that bullying can only lead to harm. Being a popular person shouldn't define who one is, its the personality that really matters. I hope that my mistakes will teach my son to be the better person, and to always rise above. If I could go back, I would have never done what I did. It was nice writing to you, and I wish you a great childhood.

Sincerely, 

Older Marty.