“Our greatest strength as a human race is our ability to acknowledge our differences, our greatest weakness is our failure to embrace them.” Judith Henderson. Written with love and dedicated to anyone who has ever suffered at the hands of a bully.

People often ask me, "When did you know your son was gay?"

I suppose in hindsight, I always knew. Not just because he asked for ruby red slippers after having watched The Wizard of Oz for the skillionth time, or because instead of actually playing soccer, he skipped across the field holding hands with the other boys and picking dandelions at age four, but because inherently, I just knew. And I didn't care one way or the other; he is my son and I adore him just the way he is. 

I was sitting in my cubicle at Greenspun Media Group when the phone rang. I was an Account Executive for VEGAS Magazine and also had a well read column in The Las Vegas Weekly entitled WINK. Although I was a divorced, single mother of two, I had managed to maintain a strong, reverential relationship with my ex- husband. He respected my successes as they were self earned. The world was my oyster and on any given day, I felt pretty darned invincible. I was self assured that even in divorce, my ex and I were managing to raise our children as confident, poised individuals. But, like anything we think we own, confidence can be stripped away from us in the blink of an eye.


"This is Sonja Flaherty," I answered.


There was a pause on the other end, then I heard the exhale which immediately turned into gasping then sobs.


"Who is this?" I asked, fear filling my body immediately. 


"Mom....Mom..." more sobbing.


"Son? Is that you??? What's wrong? What happened? Are you OK? Where are you?" I was filled with panic but trying to remain calm.


"I did what you said, I just tried to...I can't believe it...Mom..." he broke off.


"Son, I need you to take a deep breath and tell me what happened." I said as calmly as I could muster.


"In the locker room, he threw wet towels at my head...punched me in the face...he called me a homo and a faggot...." he kept speaking but I was having a difficult time concentrating. My blood boiling, my teeth grinding, my hands in tight fists on my desk. My first reaction was to race across town, pick my son up in my arms and hold him and rock him and kiss him and protect him from the cruel, cruel world.

My second: to hunt down the bullying bastard who had hurt my boy and rip his scrotum sack off with my bare hands, hold the bloody, gooey mess up to his face before shoving it down his throat. I'd kick him until his eyeballs popped out of their sockets...then I'd take a not-so-lady-like squat over his stupid face and urinate into his ocular cavities. 

No. But that was bad, vulgar, highly immoral and, against the law. So instead of over reacting, I chilled. 


I asked my son for all of the facts. What events had taken place that led to the locker room beat down?


"Remember when I told you that I had a secret crush? Remember when I asked you what I should do and you suggested I write a letter to my crush and tell them how I felt?"


"Yes," I said cautiously.


"Well, my crush was the captain of the baseball team." he shared shyly. 


Shoot.


I guess I should have asked more questions before counseling him to write a love letter. Not that sharing one's feelings is a bad thing, moreover because it is one hell of a way to "out" oneself.  Shoot. ~ the captain of the baseball team? Like mother like gay son, go big or go home...


"Anyway," he continued shakily, "when I walked into class, a girl was reading the letter out loud...." 


"What girl," I interrupted, making a mental note that her ocular cavities were no longer safe around me either. 

"I don't know, Mom...some girl...anyway, I tried to get the letter but they all laughed at me and passed it around the room, I was humiliated. When class ended, I had to go to P.E. I was in the locker room and this kid, Joe, he's best friends with my crush, started in on me. He called me a fag and threw wet paper towels at my head and was smacking at me. I tried to stand up for myself, I threw a punch...but I missed..." 


"Wait..." I said, "You threw a punch? AND YOU MISSED?" I was disappointed that he felt that he had been pushed to violence instead of using his words, something I don't condone; but a little proud that he had the gumption to stand up for himself, but then a little disappointed that there was a swing 'n a miss.


"Yeah...that's when he punched me in the face. Hard. Twice. But that's not the worst part," he said.


To my way of thinking, getting punched in the money maker is bad enough, what could 'the worst part' be?

As if he were reading my mind, my son answered, "Now Joe keeps calling my cell phone! He wants to finish the fight. He wants me to meet him in the parking lot next to Target! He said if I don't show, it will prove what a faggot I am and he will beat me up tomorrow in front of the whole school! What should I do? MOM! What should I do????"  


It is important to note here that my mother was unconventional at best, but there was always a method to her madness; so too was there a method to mine.


"You're going to meet him." I said.

"WHAT?" screeched my terrified son.

"The way I see it,  if you don't meet him, he will continue to terrorize you, bully you and probably beat you up everyday. If you offer to meet him, hopefully he will at least have respect for the fact that you refuse to just hide out and take any future ass whoopings he feels like doling out. Son, today is a hard day, but it is a day that will teach you what it means to stand up for yourself and for what you believe in. Now, give me his number and I will set the fight up." I felt confident that what I was saying made sense and because he trusted me completely, my son agreed to meet his aggressor and finish the fight. 


After I wrote down Joe's cell number, I asked my son to go home and put on some comfortable clothes, nothing too tight or binding. I also asked him to stretch, I'd hate for him to pull a hammy during battle.


I dialed Joe immediately. I had a gut feeling about something and planned on getting to root of this kid's hatred.

Riiiiiing. Riiiiiiiing. Riiiiiing. Oh, come on you little bullying bastard, answer the phone. Riiii...."Hello?"


"Hi," I said sounding cheery, "Is this Joe?" 


"Yeah, who's this?" he asked.

"Oh, forgive me, my name is Sonja. I believe you punched my son in the face today and called him a faggot?" 

Pause. 


"Hello? Joe, you still there?" I asked.


"Yeah. But do you wanna know what he did?" he asked defensively.


"I know what he did. He wrote a letter to your best friend, the captain of the baseball team, right?"


"Yeah, but it wasn't just a letter..." I cut him off.


"Oh, I know what kind of letter it was, Joe. It was a love letter, wasn't it? He told your bff how he felt about him and wanted to know if he felt the same, right Joe?" I spat his name more than spoke it.


No answer.


"Is that right, Joe?" I prodded.


"Yeah. You know about your son?" he asked quizzically. 


"I sure do, and you want to know what I think? I think my son is the bravest boy in the world. I think it takes a lot of balls to know who you are and what you feel and follow your heart. I also think your friend should feel flattered. My son is very handsome and smart, that friend of yours could do a lot worse for himself." 


"What the???" he said. 


"So, Joe, my son says you want to meet in the Target parking lot near school to finish the fight. Is that right?" 


"Yeah, but if he's too chicken..." he started.


"No,no," I assured him, "He's not too chicken at all. In fact, if I leave my office now I can pick my son up and be at the parking lot in 45  minutes. Does that work for you?" I asked.


"Really?" he asked, obviously caught off guard.


"Really," I said. "You see, Joe, my son refuses to back down to a bully like you. In fact, he thinks you are weak minded and afraid of him because you fear what you don't understand or what you have been taught is different or wrong or dirty, is that what you think of my son, Joe?" 


"Your son is gay!" he spat with obvious disgust, "my mom says all fags should be put on an island and the island set on fire." 


Ah ha! My gut feeling had been spot on.


"Oh," I said, "So, your mom taught you to hate homosexuals, is that it, Joe?" 


"Yeah, so what?" he said indignantly, protecting his narrow minded simp of a mother.


"Just trying to get all the facts. No problem whatsoever. I will see you in the parking lot in 45 minutes."


"Cool," he said.


"Oh, and Joe, there's just one more thing," I said, "I need you to bring your mom to the parking lot with you, OK?" 


"What? Why?"  he asked.


"Because I'm not angry with you Joe. You see, you are a just an innocent product of your environment. You have been raised by a woman who has taught you to hate and bully boys that seem weaker and different than you. She is raising an animal, not a compassionate human being ~ and for that, Joe....I'm going to beat the ever living snot out of your mom. I'm going to punch her in her stupid face so hard that she is going to wish she had never met your father and created such a low-life bully of a son. Oh, then I'm going to pee into her eye sockets," I just had to add it for shock value. "So, 45 minutes you say?" 


Silence.

I gave it a few moments to sink in. Then I said, "Joe? See you at Target?"

"Dude," he said, his cocky attitude seemingly missing, "I don't want you to beat my mom up or pee on her eyes!"


"Yeah?" I asked, "Do you think I wanted you to beat my son up or throw towels at his head or call him a dirty homo?? No. I didn't, Joe. But you did it anyway and you learned that behavior from someplace, I'm guessing from our conversation that you learned it from your mom....now I, like you, have to teach that silly, weak bitch a lesson."


"But..." he was shaken to the core, I could feel it.


"But what, Joe??? The golden rule is to treat people the way you want to be treated. You have thrown down the gauntlet. You obviously want a fight, I'm offering you that fight but I am also going to teach your mother  the same lesson you tried to teach my boy. Or..." I paused for effect.


"Or what?" he asked hopefully.


"Or you can apologize to my son for bullying him, to me for disrespecting my family and to your mom for nearly causing her to spit out her teeth after I take out my anger on her. Then you can make a promise to me that not only will you never lay a hand on my son again, but that you will protect him from anyone else who is stupid enough to bully him. Do we have a deal, Joe?"


Pause.


"Yes. I'm sorry, ma'am. I understand what you're saying and I am sorry I disrespected your family. Thank you for not beatin' my mom up. I promise no one will ever mess with your son again."


I accepted his apology and called my boy to tell him that Joe was just a misguided young man who recognized the error of his ways and that I didn't expect any more trouble from him. I felt his relief through the telephone wires. He exhaled loudly and thanked me profusely. 


The next day after school, my son called me to tell me that Joe had apologized and even went as far as to shake his hand and tell him that if anyone ever bothered him again, he would take care of it. 


"I don't know what you did mom..." said my little man, "but it worked!"

What I had done? I flipped the script. I bullied a bully. Two wrongs don't make a right! I had sunk to an all time low... and I had zero regrets.

What I did was protect my child in the best way I could think of in the moment. Was it right? Was it wrong? I don't believe in right or wrong. I believe there are choices we make and choices we don't make and that those choices come with consequences. I believe it is my duty to teach my children to love and be loved. I believe who they choose is entirely up to them. I believe our children are products of the environment that they are raised in. I believe that if you raise your child to hate and bully others, that you are the hater and the bully....and you'd better believe this: Hell hath no fury like that of the mother of a bullied child.