That day, my 10-year-old grandson, Danny, came home from school almost in tears. I tried for a long time to get him to tell me what was wrong and why he was so sad, but he didn’t want to talk about it.

Eventually, he finally told me that on his way home (our house is less than a quarter mile from the school), some boys started picking on him and bullying him. They pushed him around, called him names, and even threw his backpack into a muddy puddle.

I was beyond furious and decided to teach them a lesson in a very tricky way.

Within 20 minutes, I arrived at the park where Danny said the boys usually hung out. I had a plan, but it required a bit of acting. As I approached the boys, who were still loitering around, I pretended to be a feeble old woman with a cane.

“Excuse me, young men,” I said in a shaky voice. “Could you please help me? I’m looking for my grandson’s backpack. He lost it on his way home from school, and he’s very upset.”

The boys exchanged looks and started to snicker. “Why should we help you, old lady?” one of them said, smirking.

I took a deep breath and let out a sigh. “Well, I suppose I could offer a reward,” I said, fumbling in my purse and pulling out a crisp fifty-dollar bill. “It’s very important to my grandson, and this money is very important to me. But I’m willing to give it to you if you help me.”

Their eyes lit up at the sight of the money. “Alright, we’ll help you,” the leader of the group said, a greedy glint in his eye.

They started to look around half-heartedly, but I had a different plan. I knew from Danny’s description which boy was the ringleader, and I kept my eyes on him.

As soon as he bent down to pick up a random backpack someone had left behind, I straightened up, dropping the act entirely. “Boys,” I said in a firm, strong voice, “it’s time for a lesson.”

They looked up, confused. In one swift motion, I grabbed the ringleader by the ear and twisted it just enough to get his attention. “You think it’s funny to pick on someone smaller than you?” I demanded.

“Ow! Let go of me, lady!” he yelped.

“Not until you understand something very important,” I said, my voice cold as ice. “You mess with my grandson, you mess with me. Do you understand?”

The other boys looked horrified, not knowing what to do. “We’re sorry,” one of them muttered, looking down at his shoes.

“You will be,” I said. “Because now, I’m going to tell your parents exactly what you’ve been up to.”

The ringleader’s eyes widened. “No, please don’t! We’ll stop, I promise!”

“I don’t think promises from bullies mean much,” I said. “But maybe a little visit from the police will help you keep your word.”

Their faces went pale at the mention of the police. “No, no, please! We’ll never do it again!”

I let go of the boy’s ear and watched as he and his friends scrambled to pick up the scattered belongings and run off. “You better not,” I called after them. “And if I hear even a whisper that you’ve bullied anyone else, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

I returned home to find Danny still upset, but his eyes widened when he saw the look on my face. “Grandma, what did you do?”

I smiled gently and patted his head. “I just had a little chat with those boys. They won’t be bothering you anymore.”

“But what if they do?” he asked, worry still lingering in his voice.

“Then they’ll have to deal with me again,” I said firmly. “And trust me, Danny, nobody wants that.”

From that day on, the bullies kept their distance from my grandson. They learned an unforgettable lesson, and Danny walked home from school with his head held high, knowing that his grandma always had his back.