His name was David Davies and he lived in the house behind ours. He was at least 2 years older than me and I was his scapegoat. Out of all the kids in the neighborhood, he picked me. I think my mom battled him more than I did, to be fair, but he made sure that I would be left out if he was calling the shots. I don't recall any physical abuse, but he was a mean boy.
Then there was the "dress UP" days of elementary school...when boys would lift your skirt up to show the world your underpants when you leaned over to use the bubbler (water fountain to those of you living outside of Wisconsin). Because "boys will be boys," all girls had to wear shorts beneath their skirts.
Later on there was a mean boy named Paul who called me "zit woman." And there were mean boys who snapped bra straps and made rude comments. There was a boy who kicked my books (stacked beside my locker on the floor) across the high school hallway. The senior who pinched my butt when I was a freshman. (I did ream him out--in a pent up tantrum of epic proportions. He never ever touched me again.) The girl who spread nasty rumors about me and called me names in the hallway.
I worked with bullies. I waited on bullies. I dealt with mean girls as a middle school kid and I dealt with mean men as a bartender. Thankfully, I've managed to repress most of the ugly memories and they don't haunt me for life. But if you were to ask me to name any bully from my childhood, I'd tell you it was David Davies.
Spill it, reader. Did you have a bully? Or are you like me, and mainly recall general mean behavior?