David was a boy that went to my elementary school. He was caring, generous, and just wanted to figure out ways to help. David, however, was not well-liked. No particular reason why, he was just a boy that was doomed to be bullied.

I can never forget the day that my third grade teacher, Mrs. Fory’s, had asked me to sit next to him for the rest of the year. Of course, as my fellow students would have been if they were chosen to do the same, I was hesitant, because although there wasn’t a true reason to dislike him, I knew everyone else did.

Right away, David began asking me for help on math questions, how to pronounce words he didn’t know correctly, and how to master writing the letter “S” in cursive. I realized that he was just like any other boy in the third grade. He too had the sparkle in his eyes whenever he had done something right. And he too had had a laugh full of so much light when something comical was spoken. I saw that he too, was human.

Everyone else in the third grade, however, was too blinded to see how normal he was. Everyone bullied him. Even when he hadn’t done anything wrong.

He was blamed for things he had never done. He struggled to explain himself to an adult that didn’t believe a single thing he was saying, because seven other students were telling the adult otherwise.

This, eventually, took a large toll on him. He was never the same after being bullied for such a long time for sometimes no reason. Did people not see he was the same as they? Did they really care so little for the well-being of someone living and breathing?

I had tried to spread the word that David was not what anyone made him out to be. My attempt to save David, however, failed. No one believed me. They all believed that I was just trying to be affable because I was always known for being friendly to all people. That in turn, continued David’s unstable break.

He began having mental breakdowns, being disrespectful towards teachers and other adult figures, and just did not know in what way to handle his difficulties.

To this day, I am conflicted with the guilt of never doing more to help the boy named David. Also to this day, he remains the same; aggressive, antisocial, and depressed.

My hope for his future, is that he will overcome his obstacles and succeed in his future. That he will be satisfied with what he has done and built, and that look back with his kids and tell them about the struggle and journey to get to where he is.

Maybe he will even mention a petite, eight-year old brown-eyed girl that he sat next to in the third grade that taught him how to write an “S” in cursive and taught him how to do long division.