More than a brisk walk

Today, my son and I took another trip to the Rec Center for a two-mile walk.  Since I have been home with him the past few weeks, we have tried to make this a habit as part of our daily regimen while we continue to experiment with the right medication. 
He seemed rather tired today but gave no indications as to why, and our walk was as successful as always.  It's interesting how you can become so comfortable with something that eventually you require absolutely no conversation within the course of its existence.  Although, it isn't really that Josh and I don't communicate; in fact, I would risk to say that he and I probably communicate better than most parents and teens, but only because the past two years have left us with no other choice. 
Anyway, as we left the facility, two teen boys passed us on their way in.  Immediately, I could sense my son's apprehension and the tensing of his neck.  I recognized the kid, but because I teach only a fraction of the kids who attend our school, names and identities tend to escape me.  He passed with his friend, and about two steps later my son said, "I can't stand that kid."  I asked right away who the kid was, and my son reminded me.  Oh yes, another one of those a-holes that managed to make my son's life less-than enjoyable.  Without giving names, I will say that this is one of many students we've had in the past who use their parents' standing in the schools as an excuse to be a jerk. 
As another day passes in our struggles to find whatever relief might be possible for Josh, we have yet crossed another small but important bridge in his identification with the world.  It is unfortunate that kids who have been picked on, belittled, and bullied have to continue on in their lives with the constant possibility that they will have to come face to face with their assailants.  Not only that, but the bully himself will continue to maintain the air of confidence while the victim continues to cower within himself and, nine times out of ten, will never experience the opposite effect.  Every time this happens, my breaks all over again and I have to fight off the ugly thoughts that come to mind.  I may be a teacher and a genuinely good person, but those who harm my son will forever carry with them - known or not - the wrath of a mama bear.
As we got into the car and began to exit the parking lot, my son and I did our best to laugh a little, but I knew that the surface of an old scar had again been disturbed and that it will take a while for him to recover.  Most people don't know this about bullying.  You see, most instances don't result in the happy ending you see on television.  Ultimately, the "it will get better" speech carries absolutely no truth for many victims.  In fact, most of these kids will go on to be victimized in other ways for the rest of their lives - by spouses, "friends", bosses and co-workers, even by their own children or other family members.  It is just the way it is, and it is more painful than anyone can imagine unless you've been there. 
As I suspected, my son has spent most of the afternoon in a somewhat somber mood and complained of a headache.  He is treated by a medication 3 times a day for migraines, and today was just a gentle reminder for me that these were the first warning signs so many years ago.  I can only hope that he manages to sleep through the night and will wake up hopeful again.  If not, we will take a short, brisk walk backward for a couple days until the pain has subsided, the scar has returned to a dull imperfection, and he is able to step up to another day at the Rec.  For me, the night will probably be a restless one, but I will continue to hold on to the hope that has gotten us this far.