(Back in the 90s, when I am a little kid, my dad’s house is at the end of a cul-de-sac. This means that most kids end up playing near my dad’s house to avoid traffic. My dad has no problem with this, and he even nicely set up a walking path through some nearby woods behind our house so the kids can safely explore nature. There is one boy, however, who is a complete neighborhood terrorist. He uproots the stepping stones from the nature path, and he steals from other kids. My dad, one of the most patient men in the world, ends up hating this boy because of it all. One day, I am riding my bike in loops down the street and back. The bully is playing with my basketball and my full-size basketball hoop right next to the house. I want to avoid him but I can’t, since he’s standing in my dad’s driveway to play. He sees me coming and tries to throw the basketball at me but fails to make me fall off my bike. In a rage, he runs over and shoves me off the bike and takes off with it. I grab the basketball and, despite my complete lack of sports prowess, manage to throw it right into the front wheel of the bike, which causes the bully to topple over the bars and smack his face on the road. My dad, who saw the whole thing from the backyard, catches up and grabs my bike and basketball.)
Dad: *to the bully, sternly* “Did you learn anything?”
(He had been sitting there dazed, but as soon as he gets an adult’s attention he starts sobbing dramatically without tears.)
Bully: “SHE HURT ME!”
Dad: “She wouldn’t have hurt you if you hadn’t hurt her first and tried to steal the bike. So, did you learn anything?”
(The bully keeps intentionally scream-sobbing for attention, even occasionally stopping to glance around to see if anyone else is coming.)
Dad: *sigh of frustration* “Shut up and go home. Now. You got what you asked for.”
(The bully sprints home. My dad does some yard work and I relax in our swing-bench. A short time later, the bully’s mom, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes, stomps down the street in a thigh-length leopard-print silk bathrobe.)
Bully’s Mom: *snaps fingers at my dad* “HEY! You need to deal with your f****** b****!”
Dad: *sets down the tools and turns to face her* “What did you call my daughter?”
Bully’s Mom: “I called her a f****** b****. The little whore hurt my kid and I want money to take him to see a doctor.”
Dad: *shrugs* “Only on one condition.”
Bully’s Mom: “And what is it?”
Dad: “You and your son have to replace everything he’s stolen or broken from the other kids around here. I know this includes one electric toy car, two model planes, several sports balls, a baseball bat, some action figures, and a telescope. Additionally, I want payment for the hours I’ve spent fixing the walking path after he’s torn it up. If I can get that, then we can talk about seeing a doctor for the singular scrape I saw on his chin.”
Bully’s Mom: *enraged* “HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE MY SON–”
Dad: *calmly* “It’s not an accusation until I take the security camera footage to the cops. I have, on video, everything that happens on the walking path and in front of my house. I can do that if you’d like.”
(The mom raises her hand like she’s thinking of hitting him, but she stops herself and storms off. To no one’s great surprise, a police car comes and parks outside our house. The officer knocks on our door.)
Dad: *while opening the door* “Hi, officer. I’d like to see about getting help returning some stolen items currently in the possession of the [Bully]’s household.”
Officer: “We can talk about that, but first I know your daughter hurt a boy today–”
(I am about half of the bully’s height and maybe a quarter of his weight.)
Officer: *looking at me* “–but there must be some mistake about that. Moving on, then.”
(My dad gave a copy of the security footage of the thefts and destruction of property to the officer. The next day, several cops were at the bully’s house; they took the bully and his mom to the station. I never had to deal with the bully again, because he ended up being sent to live with his aunt in another city. It was discovered that the bully was stealing higher value toys and collectibles at his mother’s demand to fund her drug addiction. I was mad at the time that he never got punished, but today I just hope that the better environment made him learn how to be a good person. I’ve never managed to dunk the basketball or hit any other target intentionally before or after this singular stroke of karma.)
