TIFU by keeping a grudge for 26 years over the Onion Lad

All names have been censored to preserve their privacy.

For context, I freaked out at a high school reunion, confronting my old bully who had called me an Onion Lad. For whatever reason, my mother would always pack an onion in my lunchbox. I never had the curiosity to ask her why, but I always assumed it was some sort of ethnic reason or whatever I never picked up since I was born in the US. This quickly grabbed the attention of my classmates at lunch, who saw me as an outcast for eating raw onions for lunch. It wasn't like I had any choice, but the worst of them all was Bartholomew Tornstew. One day in 9th grade, I was eating the onion like always, when Barthy suddenly slapped the onion out of my hand, and he called out to the whole cafeteria: "Look, it's the Onion Lad!"

Immediately, everyone broke out into laughter, further ostracizing me from my peers. Thankfully, the nickname never stuck, but the memory was burned into my mind, and it mocked me every time I peeled another layer off of an onion. The pungent smell of the onion always burned my eyes and nostrils, further reminding me of the betrayal I felt when Bart called me out for something I could not control and ruined my life.

Now I have a wife and three kids. I feel like I shouldn't remember this and still feel the same rage as I did back then, but every time I pack my children's lunch boxes with an onion, it still reminds me of it. Yesterday, my youngest son came home, reeking of that same terrible onion smell. My mind brought me back to that day in the cafeteria and I felt immediate rage. I demanded my son to tell me what had left him marked in this noxious scent, and he told me that a classmate of his had grabbed his onion and rubbed the skin over his face. Without hesitation, I threw myself out of my chair and stormed to the school. I demanded to see the principal, barely containing my seething rage at the thought of my son being subject to the same terror I was forced to experience twenty six years ago. After a heated discussion with the principal, I sought the child who pursued an opportunity to ruin my child's life.

Today, I was told through a phone call this morning that the child who had done it was one by the name of Paulie Tornstew. Hearing that wretched last name drew bile from the back of my throat, and I clutched my armrest tightly, trembling in anger. Barth had not only ruined my life, but he carried the quest onto his children as well? Using the town records, I found Tornstew's address. I went to my fridge, grabbing a handful of onions before setting out in my car, unable to think straight anymore. I reached the front door, scoffing at his luxurious house, his success being a bitter reminder that those who do wrong in life still succeed. I hit the front door several times full force with my enclosed fist. As soon as Bart answered, I lost any semblance of control.

Whipping my arm, I threw a buckshot blast of onions at his face. They bounced harmlessly off of him, but nonetheless it startled him heavily. Before he could answer, I shouted in his face: "LOOK WHO'S THE ONION LAD NOW, BARTHOLOMEW!" With his confused expression, the fog in my mind suddenly cleared, and the reality of what I had done and sought for all this time finally came to me. I just stood there, the remaining onions falling from my palms and clattering to the pavement, long forgotten. I mumbled an apology and trudged back to my car before coming home.

I really feel like an idiot. I held this grudge for twenty six years and only now realized just how stupid and immature it was to think that Bartholomew had deserved even a fraction of what I felt. I carried on the cycle of trauma my mother began with the packing of onions. What have I done?

TL;DR: In 9th grade, I got called an Onion Lad as an insult. My son received a similar bullying treatment from the son of my old bully. I confronted him and realized my mistake for holding this grudge for so long.