Trawling for Trolls

A story for children ages 8-12 about bullies and confidence

Shorty. Crip. Gimpy.

Tyler’s heart pounded as he sat up in bed and shoved the covers back. Why are those stinky words in my mind? Why did I have to dream about school? It’s the first day of vacation! But the bad dream just wouldn’t leave his mind. He could still hear his classmates calling him names.

Then, remembering something he had learned in the hospital, he took a deep breath, then a second. I won’t think about school or the other kids for two whole months, he decided

He ran his hand down the ugly scars on his leg, remembering his six operations. At last he could walk, but not straight and not fast. And even with his cane, he got tired very easily. His twin brothers had protected him from mean kids until last year, when they started middle school. But during the past year, when he no longer needed a wheelchair or noisy metal braces, a couple of the boys in school had started tripping him up. Always when the teacher wasn’t looking.

I need a protector, he thought as he pulled on his t-shirt and jeans. What in old stories they called a champion.

Trip-trap, trip-trap, trip-trap. He tipped his head, listening as his brothers ran across the wooden bridge to the road. They must be waiting for the camp bus, he thought. They sound like the Three Billy Goats Gruff who fooled the troll.

Photo by Miriana Dorobanțu on Unsplash

He straightened, eyes wide. Trolls! They were mean. They were hungry. They lived under wooden bridges. Dad had told him all about the trolls that lived under their bridge. The creek that flowed between the house and the road was full of rocks, and the trolls lived in the bridge’s shadow among the rocks.  

His eyes narrowed. I’d like to be a troll and chew up the bullies. He smirked at the idea. Then his stomach rumbled. Maybe trolls are mean because they are hungry, or only have worms or crawly things to eat, he thought. Maybe if I feed one, I could make friends with it. Then it could be my champion! He picked up his cane and limped into the kitchen.

Like always, Mom had already gone to work. He poured milk into the bowl of cereal she had left for him and ate. Then he pulled the step-stool over and climbed until he could kneel on the counter. He reached behind the coffee to where his mother hid the granola bars. Tucking two into his pockets, he got down and pushed the stool back against the wall. Even if Mom missed the bars, she would never believe he could reach them. With that thought, he grabbed two slices of baloney for the trolls. They’d appreciate real food.

On the back porch he looked at the fishing rods. One hand held the cane, the other the food. Two hands, three things. He put the cane down and grabbed a fishing rod.

He lurched down the wheelchair ramp into the yard. Then, very slowly and with several stops to rest, he limped onto the bridge. Then he sat down, dangling his legs over the edge. He put a strip of baloney on the fishhook and dropped the line into the water.

He frowned as he thought about trolls and unicorns and fairies. He’d read stories about trolls himself, and his dad had said one lived under their bridge. But now Tyler noticed how the lawn slanted down toward the water. He chewed his lip. If he hadn’t been afraid of trolls, he might have gone near the creek, and his wheelchair could have rolled right into it. He swallowed. Had his family told him there were trolls to keep him safe? He shook the thought out of his mind and put another bit of baloney on his hook. He hoped not. He needed a champion to protect him from the bullies.

He bobbed the line. He waved the rod left, then right, making the hook dance in the water. The baloney seemed to dance right off the hook, so he put strip after strip until the first slice was gone. Nothing bit, not even a minnow. Certainly no trolls!

When his stomach rumbled, he ate the other piece of baloney. Then he ate one of the granola bars. I’ll go home and have lunch, he decided, then come back tomorrow.

The next day he tried standing up and leaning on the railing. He wanted to cast his line away from the bridge. Maybe the trolls went down the river during the day. But his hooks kept landing right by the bridge. He sat down and ate the baloney, then watched the sunlight dance across the flowing water.

That night at dinner he glanced around the table, then cleared his throat. “Dad, would you teach me to cast a fishing line?”

“Don’t be silly, Tyler,” said his father as his brothers snorted. “Your leg will never be strong enough for you to fish. You’re a big help to us, taking the fish off the hooks. That will have to be enough.”

Tyler looked around the table. His mother was staring down at her plate, cutting her meatloaf into tiny pieces. None of the others would meet his eyes either. He slumped his shoulders and pushed his plate away.

The next day he tried casting the line upstream, into the middle of the creek. All he got was a tangled mess of fishing line. Pursing his lips, he slowly and patiently untangled it.

Just as he finished, the mailman drove up and stopped to put a circular in the mailbox. “Having trouble?” he called.

Tyler looked up. “I don’t know how to cast, and my dad won’t teach me. I have a weak leg.”

The mailman looked at his watch. “I’m due for a break,” he said, turning off the engine and setting the timer on his watch. “I’ll show you. You need strong arms, not strong legs.”

Tyler flexed. His legs were weak, but his arms were strong from propelling his wheelchair.

By the time the mailman’s bell went off, Tyler had learned the basics. “Practice,” said the mailman as he got back into his truck. “You’ve got the moves. You’ll improve.”

Tyler sat down. His legs ached too much for him to walk back to the house, but he still had a granola bar and some baloney. He laughed, called the food his picnic, and gobbled it down. After he rested some more, he stood up again and practiced.

That night, in a new library book, he read about trawling. Trawling was pronounced almost like trolling. It meant moving the bait slowly in one direction, as though it were a fish swimming down the river.  You could walk up the riverbank with your line in the water. Then you could turn around and walk back.

Walking is not my best thing, Tyler thought, but if it helps me catch the troll it’s worth trying. He let some fishing line down into the water and started across the bridge. By the time he got halfway he had to lean against the rail, panting. When his legs stopped throbbing, he continued to the end. Exhausted, he plopped down and closed his eyes. He went over every step in casting, practicing in his mind. When he was rested, he walked slowly halfway back, rested, then finished the walk. He even caught a fish, but not a troll. He took it off the hook and threw it back.

Catching that fish was the most exciting thing that had happened in ages. Trawling worked for fish. He hoped it would work for trolls, too.

By the end of the next week he could walk to the end of the bridge without stopping. By the end of the month he could walk to the end, turn around, and walk back without stopping. Now he packed lunch every day: two peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches, a granola bar, and six pieces of baloney. He used some of the baloney to catch fish, but ate most of it. He still hadn’t caught a troll.

Finally, the week before vacation ended, he stood at the end of the bridge with his lunch and his pole. His shoulders drooped and his mouth trembled. I know that there are no trolls, he admitted to himself. Not under this bridge and not under the Three Billy Goats Gruffs’ bridge. Trolls, like unicorns and ogres and fairies, do not exist. I wasted my summer with stupid wishful thinking.

He spent the rest of vacation in his room with the door closed, just lying on his bed.

The first day of school, Tyler sighed heavily as he pulled on his new school clothes. He didn’t have a champion, and he could not stand the thought of being bullied for another year. But what could he do? His heart felt like a rock in his chest.

When the bell rang, the principal said each class should line up in size order, as always. Tyler went to the front, but as kids measured themselves against him, he kept getting pushed farther back in line. For the first time he wasn’t the shortest. Three boys and lots of girls were shorter than he was.

Later that morning, the principal brought a new girl into his class. Tyler leaned forward. He’d seen a couple of skinny kids with almost no hair, just like her, in the hospital children’s ward. He chewed his lip. Would the kids pick on her?

Sure enough, at recess, a group a girls circled her. Tyler heard “skinny” and “baldy.” His nostrils flared and he began breathing hard. He ran toward them, shouting, “Stop that! It’s mean!” The other girls stared at him, then backed away.

Eyes wide, the new girl put her hand over her heart. “You’re my champion!”

Tyler’s mouth flew open.

He thought about his summer, about casting the fishing line over and over and over. About walking back and forth, back and forth across the bridge. About how hungry the exercise had made him.

He straightened up, threw back his shoulders, and said “Hi, I’m Tyler. Welcome to our school.”

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For parents, teachers, and others

Having a disabled child often breaks a family apart. In Tyler’s family, the parents lived together, but neither was able to maintain a healthy relationship with the child that had taken so much of their time, emotion, and money.

To those of you who think this is unrealistic, think again. Immature parents often blame their children for their own shortcomings, or for things that are no one’s fault. Those children are emotionally neglected, but the neglect is often invisible to others. The child’s problems are attributed to the disability or to the child’s own nature.

Other immature parents may label a child as disabled or take the child from doctor to doctor until the child feels so wrong and bad that the parents’ desire becomes a reality. As one such mother told me, “It’s good to have a child with a disability because then no one can accuse you of being a bad parent. Whatever is wrong is because of the disability.”

Questions for discussion with a child

1. Why doesn’t Tyler like school?

   1. Kids bully him because he can’t walk right.

2. Have you seen this happen to anyone in your school? Have you ever teased or said nasty things to someone who is different?

   1. What did you do?

   2. Why?

   3. How did you feel later?

3. Would you do the same thing now? Why or why not?

4. Do you think Tyler really believed in trolls? Why or why not?

5. His family told him they were there. Was that a good thing? Why or why not?

6. By the end of the story he admitted there were no such imaginary things. Why?

7. Did Tyler realize he was getting stronger? Why do you say that?

8. What did Tyler learn by the end of the story?