After Bullies Kept Destroying Their Snowman, Two Sisters Come Up with the Best Revenge
When their beloved snowman came under attack, they taught him to fight back.
One winter Sunday, my little sister, Colleen, and I built the greatest snowman ever. A heavy snowstorm had just ended, so the white stuff rolled beautifully into a bottom, torso and head. For personality, we gave him a traditional carrot nose, jaunty hat, cozy scarf and some too-scratchy-for-us-to-wear mittens on the end of his stick arms. He was a magnificent masterpiece.
The next morning, looking outside, we smiled adoringly at him over our cornflakes. We even high-fived him as we passed on our way to school. A lot of kids went past our house, so he was the hot topic in the halls of Southridge Elementary that morning. As we removed our boots, my sister and I generously shared our professional snowman-building tips and techniques.
The day dragged on until finally we could struggle into our winter wear and head home. But as our yard came into sight, we saw something wasn’t right. The snowman was gone! Carnage was strewn across the yard. A broken stick here, a wadded mitten there, telltale chunks of snow everywhere. Worst of all, his once-proud carrot nose lay limp and half-eaten.
What had happened? We knew only thing: Our snowman would rise again. And so we rebuilt him.
The next day we came home to find another demise and more debris on the front lawn. For the rest of week, the destruction was repeated daily. Each afternoon we’d return to find him crushed, and then we would build him up again.
By Saturday morning, we had formulated a plan.
Mom supplied a really big bucket, no questions asked. We filled it with water and left it outside. The next morning, it was frozen solid. We packed snow all around the ice block for the base. Then we rolled and stacked the torso and head before adding the snowman’s accessories. The trap set, sisters and snowman celebrated with another round of mittened high-fives.
Monday morning, we dawdled over breakfast, savoring our cereal. Peeking out the window, our faces hidden, we soon saw what we were waiting for.
A trio of fifth-grade bullies sauntered up to our snowman and sneered. Taking their places on either side, they pulled back their legs to deliver mighty kicks.
But when their feet connected with the immovable ice block, sneers turned to surprise, then pain, and then tears.
We came close to feeling sorry for them, but they were too comical as they hopped away holding their damaged feet. We started laughing and couldn’t stop. Could it be that the snowman who’d sent them packing was laughing too?
And that was the end of our problems with snow bullies.
Story by Robin Sizemore, Highland, Indiana