Last night, Miguel made bookmarks out of card stock. He cut and decorated them for close to two hours and, when he had finished, he gathered them up carefully and put them in his desk. This morning, the bookmarks were foremost in his mind. He sped through his morning routine, grabbed the bookmarks and headed downstairs. I started making breakfast and peeked into the dining room to see him sorting them on the table. There were three bookmarks set aside and he told me that those were the three most beautiful bookmarks that he had made and that he was going to give them to three kids in his class. I was about to compliment him on his kindness when he continued, "I'm giving them the best bookmarks because, maybe if I do, they won't bully me anymore". I took a deep breath, a breath to keep myself from crying. I wanted to wrap him in my arms and beg him not to give those kids his bookmarks. I wanted to tell him that they didn't deserve them, that they would most likely only ridicule him. But I didn't. I couldn't do that. A more measured response was needed. No one ever told me that I would suffer right along with my children as they made their way in the world. I did not know that, on many days, I would feel like I was walking through life without skin. Today was one of those days.