Although the morning sun was bright, and the sky a crystal blue, T’kea could see on her son Arqui’s face that somewhere there was a cloud. Side by side as they worked, kneading the morning’s sticky cinnamon buns, T’kea hoped the magic in the bread would help her see the cloud that was darkening Arqui’s morning.
“We haven’t kneaded any wishes into our bread for a long time,” T’kea said,remembering the days when her bread was known for its magic. In those days, people from the village would bring a bowl of left-over porridge to her and, as she kneeded it into the bread, they would talk about their wishes. The bread wasn’t really magic, of course, but the talk was. When people said their hopes and dreams out loud in T’kea’s kitchen and cafe, the word would spread throughout the village and people who could help would come forward and very often they would make the wishes would come true.
“What do you wish for, my son?” she asked quietly.
Arqui punched and turned his lump of dough. “I wish people didn’t tease and bully other people,” he replied. “That’s a big wish, but not too big for our magic bread,” T’kea said with a smile. She knew Arqui didn’t believe in magic bread. Tell me more about your wish, Arqui.” “You know Zandi, the coach’s son on my three-in-a-row team?”
T’kea nodded. “I know his father, too.”
“Well, he’s been teasing me because I’m not a very good hitter-and if he doesn’t stop, I’m going to quit the team. Sometimes he even trips me to make me look clumsier and then every-body laughs.”
“So you’re not such a good hitter. Do you miss every time?” asked T’kea? “Not every time.
Sometimes I hit the ball, but mostly I miss.”
“And are the other kids really good? Do they most-ly hit the ball?”
“Some do, but not all. Some are as bad as I am, but Zandi makes them see only me! Since he’s one of the older ones and his father is the coach, the other kids follow Zandi. He’s a bully. Why do there have to be bullies?” “Hm-m-m.” answered T’kea, as Arqui buttered and sugared the dough and T’kea cut it into little square buns. She stood back to survey their work before popping the buns into the oven. “Bullies are people with problems. Unfortunately, there are always people with prob-lems and always people who will take out their problems on others, espe-cially people they see as smaller and weaker.” “So, there’s nothing to stop them?” asked Arqui. “Oh no, you can definitely stop them,” T’kea answered, “but it takes a lot of courage and it helps to have friends help you.”
“I don’t see many cus-tomers on the streets today,” she continued, “why don’t you ask a cou-ple of your friends on the team to come over this afternoon before the game and we can try some of these sticky buns.” Selling their bread was the only way T’kea made money, so it wasn’t often that she let Arqui give it away to friends. “Sure,” he said, “but do we have to talk about Zandi? What if they don’t agree with me?” “Some people are targets of bullies, like you are right now,” answered T’kea, “but everybody is affected by a bully. Often the kids who are not targets feel bad that they aren’t doing something to stop it. I think your friends might share your feelings and want to help you. “Arqui slumped down at a table and looked worried. “Mama,” he said in a small voice, “Promise me you won’t tell Coach about Zandi. Zandi will get in trouble and then he might even hit me.” “I promise, Arqui. If you promise that you’ll talk to your friends about your feelings.”
“It’s a deal,” said Arqui. It felt good to have a plan.
By the time the rolls came out of the oven, Arqui had called three friends and they were on the way to the caf& They settled into a corner table and T’kea brought the warm, steaming buns and a pitcher of fresh milk.
Arqui took a deep breath. “I wish Zandi would stop teasing me about my hitting,” he began.
One of the other boys, who was not a good hitter himself, said “Yeah, I don’t know why he picks on you. I’m not very good either. “
“He’s not even that good himself,” added another, “did you see the way he missed that easy pop-up last week?” “He just thinks he can get away with picking on you because he’s older and his father is the coach.”
“And he can,” said Arqui sadly. “I just want to quit.”
“But then you’d be giving him what he wants,” said one of the boys, “you can’t let him get away with it.”
“But what can I do?” asked Arqui. “What if we all got together the next time he teases you and tell him to stop,” one suggested, “could we do that?” And one by one the boys agreed that they would gather around Arqui the next time Zandi teased him and tell Zandi they thought he was being unfair and mean and that they wanted him to stop. It wasn’t long into the next game when Arqui struck out and Zandi muttered, “There goes the game again. What a wimp!”
As Arqui dragged himself off the field, he was suddenly surrounded by his three friends. “Arqui’s not the only one who misses, Zandi. Stop picking on him!” Arqui could hardly believe his ears. The next thing he heard was a chorus of voic-es agreeing with his friends: “Yeah, Zandi, you miss sometimes , too.” “No one’s perfect.” “He does a better job in the outfield than you do.”
Zandi grabbed his glove and ran to the outfield, leaving the scene as fast as he could.
That night, Arqui told T’kea what hap-pened and she smiled. “I guess there is magic in that bread after all,” he said. “No,” said T’kea, “there’s magic in talking and magic in friendship. The bread just brings it out."