I yanked up as many flowers as I could in about 30 seconds.

For a couple of years I lived in Toronto, Canada. I was four when we left and this happened the day we were moving. For the two years that we lived there, the older kids next door liked to terrorize my younger brother and me. I no longer remember what they did to us, but when we reacted they would jump into the family car that was always sitting in the driveway and lock the door. Their mother never did anything about it, or even once came outside to see what was happening.

However, one thing the Mom of bullies did care about, big time, was her flower garden. It was in the front of their house, full of beautiful, healthy flowers, because she spent hours tending it.

To stay out of the way of the moving activities, my brother and I are outside, neighbor bullies are doing whatever they always did to us, our parents are busy with moving activities and no one knew/cared what was happening to us. We are on our own. We react as much as a three and four-year-old can and once again, they jump into their car and lock the door.

So four-year-old me ignores them, walks past them to the sacred, well-tended flower garden and starts yanking up beautiful, healthy flowers by the handful using both of my angry little fists. It’s amazing how many flowers can be pulled up in just a little bit of time. Then I ran home and pressed myself against the wall by the open front door because I was pretty sure I knew what was coming.

I didn’t have to wait very long. Sure enough, in the blink of an eye, the bullies’ Mom comes dashing over to our house, storms in the front door, stops for a brief moment to glare down at me with a look that could kill, stalks on into the house and confronts my parents. I don’t remember what she said, but I remember watching her gesturing wildly, back-lit by the sun streaming through the windows, while my parents just stood there, surrounded by moving boxes. Knowing my father, I am pretty sure he slid his tongue over to the side of his mouth and was biting on it to keep from laughing. I don’t remember much after that except that I didn’t get in trouble with my understanding parents.

When I think back on the incident, I find it interesting that, even as a four-year-old, I knew exactly which button to push.

And I still treasure the memory of how powerful I felt as I yanked up those flowers!