Jaime Guttenberg

Around the Guttenberg household, family called it the “kangaroo kick.” Fred Guttenberg calls it a “close call.”

When Jaime Guttenberg was 12, he recalls, she told him she stepped between a bully and his victim at school. Fred grew alarmed. “You’re going to get hurt,” he told her.

“She said, ‘People underestimate me because of my size,’ and I said back, ‘You think you’re tough?’ and I pushed her,” Guttenberg says. “She pushed back. So I pushed her again, and she gave me what became known around the house as the kangaroo kick. She has these strong dancer’s legs. I turned at just the right second, but ow, that could’ve been — whew. When I composed myself, I said, ‘I should be mad at you right now, but if that happens with a bully, that’s exactly what you do.’ ”

Vocal and passionate, and always a champion of children with special needs, Jaime, 14, was a firecracker on the dance floor, competing as a member of Dance Theatre’s Extreme Team in Parkland. Jaime, who began dancing at age 3, is remembered by friends and family as the sassy life of the party, a jokester, an old soul and obsessed with dogs.

Jaime volunteered for Best Buddies, a nonprofit creating friendships for people with disabilities, and the Friendship Initiative, which provides programs for special-needs individuals. As a freshman, Jaime had already figured out the rest of her life: a pediatric physical therapist at the Paley Institute — taking after her mom’s career — and married with children by age 25.

“She was the best daughter ever, the best sister and the best friend ever,” Jennifer Guttenberg told the Eagle Eye. Jaime is survived by her older brother, Jesse.

Donations may be made in Jaime’s memory to OrangeRibbonsforJaime.org (orange was her favorite color), which benefits Jacob’s Pillow, Paley Institute and the Broward County Humane Society. The nonprofit supports programs pursuing gun-safety reforms, Fred Guttenberg says.

“I’m going to continue spending the rest of my life honoring my daughter, but also showing why her life was cut short,” Guttenberg says. “I want the orange ribbon to be the symbol of the gun safety movement. It’s a way to ensure the way my daughter’s life ended will never be forgotten.”