Overcoming Bullying: A Personal Journey of Strength and Advocacy.

Discover how standing up to a bully in sixth grade taught me invaluable lessons about courage and speaking out.

Hey, y’all. In support of anti-bullying efforts, I want to share a personal story with you. When I was in the sixth grade, a kid in the lunch line bullied me. Every day, he would stand behind me and push me relentlessly. So, I went home and asked my parents, “How can I deal with this bully?” My dad suggested, “Just push him back,” whereas my mom cautioned, “Don’t listen to him; you’ll end up in trouble.” Fast forward to another day in the lunch line. Did I push him back? Yes, I summoned the strength, feeling empowered like Naruto, and pushed him. He fell to the ground, and I was astounded by my own strength. Panicked, I ran to the bathroom—the girls’ bathroom—and hid there for the entire lunch period: five minutes, then ten, then twenty. Eventually, the assistant principal called out, “Are you in there?”

I was then taken to Missus Schott’s office. Why she was named “Missus Schott” intrigued us all, as rumors suggested she kept a shotgun in her office. She asked why I was hiding in the girls’ bathroom. I explained how the boy who had been bullying me all year provoked me to push him. I apologized profusely. She reassured me, “It’s okay. We’ve been aware of his behavior. I’m glad you brought this to our attention. You’re okay.” That boy was disciplined for his actions.

But the story doesn’t end there. Upon returning to my sixth-grade class, guess what happened? He was suspended—not me. When I entered the classroom, to my surprise, my classmates applauded. It dawned on me that I wasn’t the only one suffering from his bullying.

Ever since that incident, the boy never bothered me again. I can barely remember what he looked like. So, what’s the moral of my story? I don’t advocate for physical retaliation, but it’s crucial to stand up for yourself. Bullies operate on a simple principle: as long as they believe they can evade consequences, they will persist. Perhaps the best approach is to speak up and make it clear that their behavior is unacceptable.

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On the Pleasure of Silence: Remarks from a Modern Human (and Apologies to Alluding to Chevy Chase in Christmas Vacation)

In this post, I reflect on the importance of silence and reading in forming ideas. Reading allows for a more immersive and contemplative experience, as opposed to passively consuming external stimuli like TikTok or television. I also speak about the value of storytelling and being called a poet by a child named Evan. I conclude by recounting a story about finding and decorating a Christmas tree in the forest.

On a quiet night in early winter, even in New York, there is an inspiration to read, and think, and look out my window.

No Books at the Dinner Table

The one freedom left to me is silence. In silence, there is the freedom to read, to think. Reading is a form of silence. A silence filled with words. In reading, I choose words like a savory meal; the brain queues words into the mind in waking life, but in reading life, I can choose carefully. Reading a book is sweet indeed. On a train, at the dinner table. Prone on my back. Against a tree. As a kid, I could not read at the dinner table. ”Bad manners,” my father would tell me. ”Put the book down, Greig. It's dinner. Get your head out of that book." Zero in on me looking forlorn. And include a wide shot of how awkward the family dinner became.

I don't fault my father. He was not a reader. But he enjoyed good conversation and didn't like being alone — even at the dinner table. As an adult, I have not turned into my father. But not because I am a reader and he is not — but I let children read whenever they want. Children should never be allowed NOT to read.

The Freedom of Reading
But back to my thesis. The freedom to form ideas is buttressed by silence. Is this the contemplative life? Silence is active in a book full of ideas. The ideas in a book are like taking one bite out of a delicious meal and savoring each morsel. Ideas pumped into the brain from external sources like TikTok, YouTube, random channel surfing on the television — do not have the freedom of “one bite at a time.” It's passive consumption. However, podcasts and audiobooks — I don't argue these are as passive because I find audio more immersive than visual. Don't get me wrong, though. I love the visual. And I love TikTok. I am more or less arguing for reading (and not suggesting one throw the baby out with the bathwater). 

Why read? I read for epiphanies. Not for epiphanies I have had but for epiphanies, I have not had.

I am silent, so I can learn of an epiphany in a poem.

When I Read a Good Story
When a story is told, your eyes grow bigger, and you rest awhile, knowing something good is about to come, and you know the pleasant color of a story put together as I go along is sufficient.

I am a storyteller. I tell stories. And I was confirmed in that role today. He called me a poet. His name was Evan — about nine or so. He called me a poet. I pay attention when kids say something important. Which is most of the time.

I told a story about finding a Christmas tree in the forest. We cut it down, a nice one — it was a sufficient size — and we drug it back home to decorate it. Sort of like that scene in Christmas Vacation — the one with Chevy Chase as the avuncular but hapless father -- where he takes his family into the woods to cut down the tree. Something like that. Now that's family.

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Thinking About the Roman God Janus On New Year’s Eve

The Roman god Janus as depicted on an ancient coin.

New and old faces to anticipate the new year.

     The Romans had a god named Janus. He had two faces - one looking backward into the past and the other looking forward into the future. For me, the New Year represents this paradoxical view - looking forward and 👀 looking back.

To be Janus-faced is to face this contradiction.

     And this time of year it’s customary to reflect on a year gone by and to make resolve for the upcoming annual. Now whether you assert that the 2010s are for sure done with or not (yes, there is a controversy about this) - I feel like a new decade has begun (and I’m anticipating a ton of jokes about 20/20 vision and Barbara Walters).

Faces - familiar and novel - to ring in a new year.

Stray Comments On New Year’s Resolutions for 2020

• I want to walk more. That means 10,000 steps a day.
• Read more books this year.
• Write every day.
• To remember my resolutions throughout the year (but wait - I don’t recall last year’s resolutions!)

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Icarus Falls to his Death; a Cautionary Tale from Greek Mythology

"Icarus" by Henri Matisse

How many stories exist about a father who loses his son? How many tales recount a son who falls away from his father? Throughout literature, how often do we encounter the theme of a flawed father whose ambition causes him to lose sight of what’s closest to him—or a son whose first taste of freedom is so great, he cannot contain it?

Visualizing the Story of Icarus in Art

Image source: Icarus (from the Four Disgracers) by Hendrick Goltzius, 1588.

The myth of Daedalus and Icarus is one such story—a cautionary tale originating from Crete in the Eastern Mediterranean. Thanks to writers like Ovid and Apollodorus, this myth has survived for millennia. In both versions, the essential plot remains: Icarus, the son, is ultimately undone by his own ambition. His tragic fall has been memorialized in art and literature ever since.

At the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, you can view Hendrick Goltzius’s engraving of Icarus from his series, “The Four Disgracers.” Here, Icarus is depicted plummeting, his body monstrous and his expression a blend of rage and regret. His father, Daedalus, is distant in the composition—still flying while Icarus is banished by the sun’s blazing glory. Goltzius captures the tragic moment, forever suspending Icarus between hope and doom.

In Célestin Nanteuil’s depiction, Icarus appears as a fallen angel—wings broken, body delicate, lying lifeless on the rocks beside the sea. Here, the tragedy is more peaceful, yet no less poignant.

Kid Icarus from Nintendo

Before I learned about Greek myth, my brothers and I played Kid Icarus on Nintendo. In the game, a boy-angel named Pit struggles to fly, searching for agency and purpose. The game bears little resemblance to the original myth—except for the wings. Unlike Pit, Icarus of myth is trapped by the limits set by his father, and the story becomes a meditation on family, agency, and the hazards of reckless freedom.

The Origin Story of Daedalus Foreshadows the Fate of Icarus

Film still from Jim Henson's "Storyteller" version of the Icarus myth

According to some sources, Daedalus, Icarus’s father, fled Athens for Crete after causing his nephew’s death. In the Storyteller adaptation by Jim Henson Studios, this moment of envy and loss haunts Daedalus, foreshadowing Icarus’s fate. In Crete, Daedalus builds the Labyrinth for King Minos and is eventually imprisoned with his son. Their dramatic escape—on wings fashioned from wax and feathers—becomes the heart of the myth. Daedalus warns Icarus: fly too low and the sea’s spray will weigh you down; fly too high and the sun will melt your wings. Of course, like most teenagers, Icarus cannot resist. The taste of freedom is too sweet.

What is the Moral of this Greek Myth?
Traditionally, the myth of Icarus is a warning: ignoring wise advice leads to disaster. But as storytellers like Henson suggest, the tragedy is also inherited—Daedalus’s own failings shape Icarus’s fate. It recalls the story of Abraham and Isaac, and the universal question: must the son pay for the sins of the father? This timeless myth invites us to imagine a different ending—one of redemption, not just ruin.

The Story of Icarus Resonates With Me Personally
The struggle for agency—breaking away from the nest—is a universal experience. From the Christian parable of the Prodigal Son to the modern classroom, we are all seeking both freedom and belonging. As a teacher, I’ve returned to this myth many times. My students always ask, “Why didn’t Icarus just use better glue?” A fair question!

Teaching the Myth of Icarus and Daedalus in Middle and High School
The myth of Icarus and Daedalus remains powerful for students today. I’ve created a classroom-ready 3-day lesson plan that you can use with any text version of the story, guiding students through close reading, visual analysis, and creative writing. Artistic retellings—from Goltzius to Nintendo—invite deep discussion and critical thinking.

Classroom Resource: Daedalus & the Labyrinth

Dive deeper into the myth with this interactive, standards-aligned resource!
Perfect for ELA and Humanities teachers, this lesson features readings, visual organizers, critical thinking questions, and creative writing prompts—all inspired by Daedalus and his legendary maze.

Explore more resources for teaching mythology and literature at Stones of Erasmus on TpT!

"Rats!" by Robert Browning (excerpted from the Pied Piper of Hamelin, 1842)

Do you love rats? Read a delightfully bombastic excerpt from Robert Browning's 1842 poem "The Pied Piper of Hamelin".

Frontispiece, The Pied Piper of Hamelin, Chicago, McNally, 1910

Rats!
They fought the dogs and killed the cats,
And bit the babies in the cradles,
And ate the cheeses out of the vats,
And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles,
Split open the kegs of salted sprats,
Made nests inside men's Sunday hats
And even spoiled the women's chats
By drowning their speaking
With shrieking and squeaking
In fifty different sharps and flats . . .

Robert Browning, excerpted from The Pied Piper of Hamelin, 1842

Works Cited

Browning, Robert. Pied Piper of Hamelin: A Child's Story. Chicago, McNally, 1910. Print.                                                                                                                                                                    PDF Copy for Printing

Subway Diary: That Time I was Struck by a Man on the F Train

Riding the F*#) train one morning . . .

So, I was just sitting next to a mother and her son on a chock-full F train this morning. The mom and son were talking about the "fake poetry" posters that have been splayed about subway cars as of late - a marketing ploy by the Internet start-up PolicyGenius (they compare life insurance policies - *boring*). Noticing the rapport between the two of them, I laughed and acknowledged that I also found the ads a bit twee and said, "I know how you feel. Fake poetry. It hurts my heart." The kid wanted to get out of his seat and explore the other posters, but the mom pulled him back.

Suddenly, Out of Nowhere
At that moment, a man appeared in front of me, a white, middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair, a bit harried, and in sweats, said to me, "I have something for you. It's your turn next." And he struck me in the face. Unprovoked. I did not know the man nor did I expressly notice him in the car until that moment. The woman and the child immediately got up and huddled in the corner and, I said, "That man just hit me." The train pulled into the 63rd street station and, I got off - and so did the woman and the child - I heard someone say they were calling the police. We three went up to the upper level to escape. The woman asked if I was OK and I told her I was an English teacher on my way to work - and that I was worried I'd be late. I then texted Ms. S and wrote, "A man just hit me on the train unprovoked." After a few beats, the nice woman who had become my reluctant protector told me she was an English teacher, too. I started to cry. I think she was worried about her son about to witness a grown man have a nervous breakdown so, she gingerly asked, "Do you want a moment alone?" I said "Yes," and the woman smiled at me warmly. I felt comforted. As I watched her go, I wondered if she would look me up later and we would figure out why this random act of violence occurred.

Getting the Heck Out of Dodge
I figured it was safe so I went back down to the lower level and, the same F train was still lingering in the station. The conductor, the guy who sits in the middle car and announces the train stops, noticed me and said, "They apprehended that guy who hit you and, the police are looking for you." I did not want to deal with the fallout - and I was also relieved that the police had caught the guy, so I just got on the train. And I went to work. I felt shook all day - like a mild shock had invaded my system. Mr. V made tea. Doc consoled me and, Ms. S hung out with my first-period class. Mr. H told me his own story of subway assault and Mr. G. said I should try to get the violent men thrown behind bars. I am just relieved that the man did not have a knife or a sharp object. So. What's the moral of the story: stay alert but don't let one man's crazy act of violence ruin your life.

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Family Photograph: "Mamaw"

There's a photo in my mother's album of my paternal Grandmother, Veronica Greig sipping a cup of coffee.

In 1992, my family moved to a new house in Mandeville, Louisiana.

Mamaw and Pawaw came to visit us very soon after we moved. Mom made sure the house was spotless. My brothers and I were more or less happy because we liked our new neighborhood. And we had a new dog - Maggie.

I must have been in the Sixth or Seventh grade.

Veronica Greig Roselli is my paternal grandmother - from whence I get my name, "Greig"!

There's a photo I found in mom's album. I like how Mamaw is holding her cup of coffee gingerly. I love her glasses. She used to get dressed up on Sunday to go play BINGO. She'd put powder on her face, and it would smudge her glasses but she wouldn't notice.

Mamaw was very sweet. Pawpaw wasn't so nice. He was gruff and vindictive. I'm not sure why - probably a fight between my father and Papaw - but I don't think my grandparents ever visited us again in our house on Live Oak after the day this picture was taken.

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