One Punch of Courage: Breaking the Grip of Fear in a School Bathroom

From the memoir Built by Fire by David Burnell

There are moments in life when the world feels too big, too cruel, and far too quiet in the face of injustice. I was just a boy—small for my age, quiet, and carrying more fear than confidence—when I found myself trapped in a cycle of torment by a schoolyard bully. He wasn’t just a taker of lunch money. He took my peace, my pride, and for a time, my sense of power.

Each day, I braced for the inevitable: the shove near the bike rack, the punch in the hallway, the cruel laughter when I hit the ground. His reign was methodical, predictable. He found me every time. And every time, I surrendered—terrified, ashamed, and shrinking smaller by the day.

One afternoon, empty-handed once again and too weary to hide my pain, I opened up to my father. He didn’t offer false comfort or call the school. Instead, he offered something more permanent—an invitation to courage.

“Next time he comes for you,” my father said gently, “ball your fist and hit him square in the nose as hard as you can.”

His words rolled around in my young mind like marbles in a tin can. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t stop wondering: Could I really do it? What if I made it worse? What if I failed?

And then the moment came.

I was standing at the urinal in the school bathroom when the door creaked open. I knew that sound. I felt it in my bones. I turned slowly—and there he was. The bully. His face twisted with that same snake-like grin I had come to dread.

But this time, something shifted. My fear was still there, but so was something else—resolve. I remembered my father’s words. I zipped up my pants, turned to face him, and without warning, I balled my fist and struck him in the nose with everything I had.

The crack of contact echoed through my body like thunder. He staggered. His nose gushed blood. And then, to my shock, he began to cry.

It wasn’t rage or revenge I felt in that moment. It was revelation. I had pierced the illusion of power. The tormentor wasn’t a monster. He was just a boy—hurt, surprised, and suddenly exposed. I ran out of that bathroom, yelling for the world to hear:

“THE BULLY IS A BABY! THE BULLY IS CRYING!”

That moment didn’t earn me a trophy or a parade. But it changed everything. He never touched me again. And I never forgot the lesson burned into my heart that day:

Standing up for yourself does not mean you are fearless. It means you act in spite of fear.

Sometimes, all it takes to shatter the chains of fear is one brave act. A decision. A punch. A step into the light when every instinct tells you to shrink into the shadows. I wasn’t built for violence—but I was built to rise.

This wasn’t just a childhood memory. It was the forging of something I would carry through rescue missions, war zones, and moments when life demanded I stand my ground—not just for myself, but for others.

So if you’re standing at the edge of fear today, hear this: You are not powerless. Courage doesn’t wait for the fear to leave. It walks straight through it.

You were not built to hide. You were built by fire.

– David Burnell, from “Built by Fire”