In 1969 I was 13 years old. There are only a few things that I remember about the tumultuous time. I remember the dark wind that blew through our neighborhood every time a family lost a son in Vietnam. It was during this formative time that I experienced racism and my part in it. And of course I remember the playground taunts. I was a fat kid, so the worst was “Donnie Doughnut” not sure who pinned that moniker on me but I’m glad it didn’t stick (doughnut pun intended).

Oddly enough there was another name the bullies pinned to my back. They would call me “The Donald”. With everything else that was going on in the world, that was the worst insult of all. It sticks with me.

As I sit in my office on the morning, I reflect upon a time 40 years ago when that was the worst insult I had to bare.

I know it’s not over by a long shot, but I am going to take this day as a gift. If I meet a bully on the playground today who uses that profanity, I will simply say: “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.