A skull-cracking scream broke me from my reverie and my jaw reflexively opened as I staggered backwards. Within seconds, I found myself trapped in a prison of multi-colored legs, my ears filled with a cacophony of moans, "tsk-tsks" and angry reprimands. Confused, I looked left and right for a viable escape route. Finding none, I fell to the ground in defeat. Shifting into survival mode, I passively focused on the red-tipped finger wiggling inches from my nose. To me, Sarah was exotic. With a solitary dimple hovering near the left corner of her mouth, the softest brown hair as springy as a slinky, and chocolate-colored eyes to match, she looked like a beautifully drawn children's book character magically brought to life. Of French and Turkish origin, Sarah was indeed exotic, by the white bread standards of my southern hometown. To Sarah, I was a pest. When younger, prone to "disruptive" mischief and still struggling to climb the left slope of some developmental bell curves, I had nothing to offer a girl as elegant and perfect as Sarah. Kenny, though. Handsome, precocious and possessing great self-confidence, Kenny was a force. How I wanted, in my simple two-year-old way, to be as strong, as cool and as funny as Kenny. Unfortunately, this was not the case. My pathetic destiny was to serve as Kenny's favorite prop to prove his courage to Sarah. Sweet, gentle Maeve was the fourth leg of our figurative table. A white, bespectacled blonde with pigeon toes, seemingly muscleless legs, and a round belly, Maeve was kind to everyone and friends to none, which, even then, I perceived as a more unfortunate fate than my own. In the daycare hierarchy, Maeve and I were the serfs. We were the servants, the f......middle of paper......the only weapon I had at my disposal: my teeth. The warm, slightly sweet flesh was incredibly soft and I was transfixed. Without the speed of my victim's heartbreaking protests, I now fear I might have drawn blood, without really realizing the depth to which my incisors were diving. Noise. Tears. Red nails. Mom has legs everywhere. The immediate consequences of my crime are a blur of rapid impressions. But I remember with crystal clarity what happened the next day and those that followed. This bite earned me the respect of my friends at daycare. Do I regret biting Sarah? Being a relatively civilized and conscientious person, hurting others is not a means of retaliation that I generally resort to today. Yes, I am and I was sorry. But the aftermath of the incident has provided me with a simple philosophy to follow in situations where I feel diminished or unfairly accused: Be Fierce..