Family nicknames that are given to you are usually because you did something to earn that name. Most are lucky to get cute names like Jojo, Jelly, Bubba, or just an initial like B or JJ. Others are not so lucky. You get stuck with a name that you hate, especially when your entire family knows exactly who that name is referring to. For me, it was “Bully on the Block”. Now it may not sound too bad, but trust me, it was bad and I’ll tell you why!

Story #1: Grandpa’s House

Once upon a time….I’m totally kidding, but that is pretty accurate. When I was younger, my Grandpa was my best friend. You couldn’t talk bad about my Grandpa without hearing from me. I was his Bully on the Block. Literally, he is the one that gave me that name. This story is where my name originated from. I used to go to my Grandpas house when I was younger. We would just hang out for the day. I remember watching Disney movies, singing The Judds to him (especially, Grandpa (Tell Me ‘Bout the Good Old Days), and dancing with my feet on his feet. The one memory that my entire family knows is this one. I was at my Grandpas house with my brand new pair of skates. I’m talking about the original red, yellow, and blue skates that you wore over your shoes. You know, the plastic adjustable ones. Well, I was super excited to be using my new skates, so naturally, I wanted them all to myself. The little boy that lived down the street came over and asked if he could use my skates. I said “No” but not in a nice voice, in a “No, you better not” tone of voice. My Grandpa heard me tell him “No” and wanted me to be nice and share, so he let the little boy have a turn using my skates. I was so mad! My Grandpa went back into the house and as soon as he turned the corner, I got up off of the curb, walked up to the boy, and…..BOOM! I pushed him down to the ground, took my skates off of his feet, and said “Don’t ever use my skates again!” I thought I was in the clear, but little did I know that my Grandpa saw the entire thing. Not only did I get in trouble because I pushed him down, but I also got in trouble because he scraped his knees on the ground. I got grounded! Back then, getting grounded is no where near what it is now! It was basically prison (Not really, but that’s what it felt like).

*Disclaimer:

The little boy was fine, just a Band-Aid.

Story #2: The Bubbles

You would think that one story is bad enough, but trust me, it gets worse. When I was about five or six years old, I was the type of child to get what I wanted, when I wanted it, even if it belonged to my siblings. I was the baby of the family, so my parents let me get away with EVERYTHING! I remember wanting to play with my older sister, Angelica’s, bubbles. She had been playing with them, and when I asked to play with them, she said “No” and then put them away. I didn’t like that she told me “No” and especially did not like that she put them away just because I wanted to use them. As soon as she walked off, I took her bubbles and started to play with them anyways. I was able to play with them for probably two minutes before she came back and unleashed the wrath of Satan! She was so mad that I was playing with her bubbles, but you know little ol’ me. I couldn’t just let her yell at me, so I ran like Tom Hanks in “Forest Gump”. She tried to chase me around the house and could not catch me, but she sure was getting close. Now, five year olds are very smart in getting away with stuff, so before she could catch me, I had one big thought in my head. “If I can’t play with your bubbles, neither can you!” I ran out of the sliding glass door, as fast as I could. Before she could catch me, I poured out her bubbles onto the floor. Little did I know that liquids, concrete, and running don’t mix very well. As soon as she ran out of the sliding door, she slipped on the bubbles, fell back, and busted her head on the track of the door. She screamed and my mom came running. Naturally you would think that I got my butt whooped, but I didn’t, I just got yelled at.

*Disclaimer: My sister turned out fine. No hospital visit for her. Yes, I feel extremely bad knowing that I did that to her, even though I couldn’t understand the severity of what I did at that time. And yes, she forgave me, I think!

Story #3: The Infamous High Heel

After telling you about the bubble incident, I probably should stop writing and go hide in the closet. This is the last story I swear, and I swear I got better after this! My siblings and I haven’t always had the closest relationship, but me and my mom, we are best friends. My brother Jojo (Jose), was laying on the ground and playing the Sega Genesis. I’m talking about the original game console for those that have no clue what it is. How’s this to remind you? SEGAAAAAAAAAAAA! Anyways, he was playing and my mom kept calling him from the other room. I don’t know if he was too into his game to notice that he was being called, or just straight up ignoring her. Of course, I took it as he just wasn’t listening. I wanted to help him notice that my mom was calling him, so I took measures into my own little hands. My mom had these candy apple red high heels that I used to put on, just to check the mail. (That’s a whole other story). Anyways, I have no idea why I decided that this was the route to go, but I ran and got one of my moms red high heels. I ran back and my brother was still too preoccupied playing the Sega that he didn’t notice that I was now kneeling over his head. I waited for a few seconds and then…..WACK! I hit him right in his forehead with the heel of the high heel, and yelled “Mom’s calling you!” He screamed and once again, my mom came running. I ran so fast so that I wouldn’t get in trouble. I hid inside of a sock filled pillow case; you can imagine how small I really was. My brothers head was bleeding, but still, I did not get in trouble. Or maybe I did, but of course I don’t remember that part.

*Disclaimer:

Even though I made him bleed, he did not need any stitches. He does have a small scar, but we now laugh at the story.

Reflection:

I like to believe that I lived up to that name. I am not that bad little bully of a girl anymore, but I still am known in my family as that. My Grandpa is no longer with us, but his memory lives on by this name. Being an adult, I can look back and reflect on how bad I really was. I do feel bad for being so mean, but at that same time, I am proud that I at least gave my Grandpa those memories of me before he passed on. I was his little “Bully on the Block” and I thank him for never getting mad at me. See you in Heaven Grandpa!

If you have any Badass stories that you want to share, leave a comment down below! I would love to hear them!

 

 

 

 

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