Thomas' mommy was always waiting at the door for him when he got home from school. The big bus would drop him off at the end of their long driveway and he would skip all the way up it until he reached her and give her a big hug. He loved to see his mommy after school and tell her all about his day. He'd only been in school for a week and a half, but he loved it very much, especially all the books they had that he could read.

But today, Thomas wasn't skipping, he was running, and the usual smile on his face was replaced with tears. He was glad his mommy was standing there waiting for him, and he bounded up the steps and hurled himself into her arms.

"Thomas?" his mommy asked, concerned at his demeanour. She pulled him back from her enough to look into his face, shocked at the tears and the misery she saw there. Quickly wiping the tears away, she asked, "What is it, Thomas? What happened?"

Thomas looked up at his mommy, all of his sadness pouring out of him. "Am I a bad boy, mommy?"

Mary Collins was stunned by her son's question. Bad was the last word she would ever use to describe her son. He was the most caring, empathetic child she had ever known, almost too empathetic, often internalizing someone else's pain and becoming so distraught as to make himself sick. He would help anyone and everyone, regardless of whether he was asked, and was always respectful. No, Thomas Collins was not a bad boy.

"Of course not, Thomas," she assured him, as she continued to wipe the tears off his round cheeks, "Why would you think something like that?"

"Miss Jacobs said I'm a bad boy," he sobbed, burying his face into his mommy's dress.

For a long moment, Mary didn't know how to respond, and simply stroked Thomas' hair, hugging him tight. After a moment, she regained herself and asked, "Why would she say that, Thomas?"

Still pressing his face into her dress, Thomas began to tell his mommy what had happened, through his tears and choked sobs.

"There's a new boy in my class," he began, sniffling, "An' he talks funny. The other kids were makin' fun of him. They called him a re-… a re-… a re-"

Thomas's breath hitched around the word and he couldn't get it out. Mary simply nodded, saying, "I know, Thomas," stroking his back and urging him to continue.

"They were bein' mean to him, mommy," he cried, "An' I tol' 'em to stop, but they wouldn't. They kept doin' it more. An' then… an' then James pushed him down an' they were laughin' at him. He was tryin' to get up an' James was gonna push him again. I didn't wan' him to so I pushed him away. An' James ran an' tol' Miss Jacobs and she made me stand in the corner 'cause I'm a bad boy." Thomas' sobs were reduced to pathetic sniffles as he finished his story, and he looked up at his mommy expectantly. "I was just tryin' to help him mommy. Does that make me a bad boy?"

Mary's heart broke for her son, knowing that if the teacher had only known the truth, Thomas would never have ended up in that situation. She imagined him there, standing in the corner with his back to his classmates, trying to understand what he had done wrong, and it made her stomach twist.

"Oh Thomas," she said softly, pulling him away from her once more to kiss his cheek, "You're not a bad boy, my love. Miss Jacobs didn't know what happened. Did you try to tell her?"

"Uh huh," he replied, miserably, "An' she said boys like me don' tell the truth. What's that mean mommy? What kinda boy am I?"

Mary knew full well what Thomas' teacher had meant, but she was not about to explain that to her five year old son. First thing tomorrow, however, she would march down to that school and-

"Mary! What's going on out there?"

Mary's thoughts were interrupted by the harsh voice of her husband, coming from just inside the door. She cringed, wondering how long he had been watching. Mary loved her husband dearly, but he was a hard disciplinarian, and she knew he wouldn't want to see his son crying, even though he was only five.

"Nothing, Matt," she said softly, holding Thomas close so his father wouldn't see the evidence of his tears, "Thomas had a rough day today, he was just telling me about it." She hoped this would satisfy him and he would just let it be, but she should have known that wasn't the case.

"Come here, Thomas," Matthias commanded, towering over his son as Thomas tried to quell the shaking in his tiny body. He looked up at his father with wide eyes, doing the best he could to keep anymore tears from falling. He knew daddy didn't like that.

"What have I told you, Thomas?" his daddy asked him.

"But daddy," Thomas protested, "The boys were-"

"I don't care what happened!" his daddy snapped, causing Thomas to flinch. "Boys don't cry, Thomas. It doesn't matter what anyone does to you. And you!" he exclaimed, rounding on Thomas' mommy, "Why must you keep coddling him like this? Don't you realize…"

But Thomas didn't hear the rest of what his daddy said to his mommy, for he had already fled to his room. He sat on his bed, chest heaving as he tried to keep from crying.

"Boys don't cry, Thomas," he told the empty room, "Don't be a bad boy. Boys don't cry…"