Medal in Hand: A Stand for Justice

After my granddaughter is bullied by her classmates, the bully's family not only refuses to apologize but behaves arrogantly as well.

Since they have connections in the city, the school doesn't dare intervene. I turn to the police, but they only urge me to let it go.

The bully's family even boasted that they have people in the court, daring me to sue them.

With every path to justice cut off, I have no choice but to take out the two Medals of Honor left behind after my son and daughter-in-law died in service, and kneel at the gates of the military compound.

Six years ago, when the general personally delivered those medals to our home, he'd said, "Your son and daughter-in-law gave their lives for the country. They are heroes, martyrs, and the pride of our nation."

But now, I want to ask him again. Why is it that when a martyr's daughter is bullied, no one protects her?

My granddaughter, Giselle Tanner, was an orphan. For that reason alone, the school bullies made her their target.

Giselle had been dragged into the school restroom and beaten for seven hours straight. Now, she was fighting for her life in the intensive care unit.

The ringleader, Tricia Fleming, chewed her gum without a care. "Go ahead, sue me. I'm not scared. I know the law. Since I'm underage, the most they'll do is me on the wrist. I'm not going to jail." She spoke with ease, her face showing not the slightest trace of regret.

Tricia's father, Harold Fleming, was just as dismissive. "Quit acting so petty. You just want more money, don't you?" he said with a sneer. "We'll pay you. But you're signing a statement saying your granddaughter's injuries came from a fall and had nothing to do with my daughter."

Then, he yanked a wad of cash from his bag and hurled it at my face. It was 100 thousand dollars in bills.

Harold laughed with contempt and added, "Your granddaughter gets a beating, and you walk away with 100 thousand dollars. There's no easier way to make money than this."

I looked at Giselle lying in the hospital bed, her body tangled in tubes. Beneath the loose gown were horrifying wounds—burns, cuts, and gashes layered one over another.

I couldn't begin to imagine the despair she had endured in those seven hours. But to the Flemings, her suffering was nothing more than a bargaining chip, and its value was measured in money.

Overcome with rage, I lunged at Harold. However, he shoved me to the floor.

My blood pressure pills tumbled from my pocket, and with them fell two gold star medals.

I crawled over to gather them, but Harold crushed them under his shoe. He looked down at me with a sneer, saying, "Old geezer, if you're not happy, then take us to court. My cousin is the presiding judge, so let's see how far you'll get."

From the side, the principal, Louis Baxter, motioned for them to leave, telling them not to provoke the victim's family further.

With that, Tricia and her father strutted away without shame.

I quickly picked up the two gold star medals—now stained with mud from where they had been trampled on.

A beat later, I looked at Giselle—still unconscious—and tears streamed down my cheeks.