His name was Tony

He was my older brother. His name was Tony. From the time I started school, I had a front row seat to the abuse and torment Tony endured. This is his story…

Around the age of 2 he was diagnosed with a kidney disease that was considered rare at the time. Known treatment options were even more rare. His life was anything but normal.

Instead of being familiar with playgrounds and neighborhood kids, Tony was familiar with doctors, nurses, Riley Children’s Hospital, and the smell of a sterile environment.

One of the many treatments that had been tried included a medication that caused Tony to appear overweight and to suffer a symptom called moon-face. The same treatments caused him to appear bigger and older than fellow classmates. These symptoms would become the target of torment for years to come.

Once in school, bullies honed in on Tony, teasing and tormenting him. He was always a quiet kid – never engaged in confrontation of any kind.

In 1977 we began attending a new school. The bus was where Tony would meet the bully of all bullies. His name was Brian.

Brian would regularly get on the bus; take the seat directly behind where Tony and I would sit. And like clockwork, the abuse would start the moment he sat down. Pushing, tapping, grabbing books, breaking pencils, tearing up homework. Tony would lower his head and sit in silence until we’d arrive at school. Once there, he would be separated from his bully until the ride home.

In October, the abuse escalated to more aggressive physical assaults. On the ride home, Brian decided he’d show off his new class ring. He did so by turning it upside down and hitting Tony in the head with it.

I looked at Tony as tears filled his eyes and his head shifted to look out the window for the rest of the ride home. Once there, Tony instructed me not to say anything to our parents just before going to his room. I did as he asked and didn’t tell anyone. I’ve regretted it ever since.

Two days after that blow to the head, we woke to get ready for school. Tony was never one to complain about pain, he learned to keep it to himself or risk going back to the hospital. The morning of October 16 was different. He was in a great deal of pain. He told our mother his head hurt really bad. Mom instructed me to go on to school. I did.

Mom was about to get dressed to take Tony to the hospital. As she started up the stairs she heard Tony talking from the other room. She rounded the corner to check on him. He was kneeling in front of the sofa, looking upward, hand raised as if he were reaching. He called out, “Jesus, hold my hand” then collapsed and never regained consciousness.

Tony passed away November 5, 1977.

It was never said that a blow to the head was the cause of Tony’s cerebral hemorrhage, but for me, it very much was. Whether it was the actual blow or the stress that came with it – I’ve always held Brian responsible for the death of my brother.

What became of Brian?

Within a few years Brian died in a car accident.

What became of me?

I developed a real ZERO tolerance to bullying. I purposely introduced my kids, from a very young age, to people who looked different, who were different. I wanted my kids to see being different as being normal.

I developed a voice that would call out bad behavior. If I see someone being bullied, I usually try to find a creative way to call it out and publicly expose the bully for what they are – just plain mean!

Sharing Christmas Magic in memory of Tony:

Please take a moment and read the story about The Elf that Came to Our House. It’s a timeless family tradition that began when Tony was very little. We love to pass on the story in hopes that a little magic is born in a way that keeps Tony alive in a way he’d want to be remembered.