I tell this tale from many years after the events, but to my dying day I will remember them and what they did. I will admit that it took many years before I came to understand what they were and why I was chosen for their attentions. Even this many years from these events, I still find myself considering how they affected me at the time, suggesting that they still are affecting me even today. Today technology has given bullies even more effective tools for harassing their targets to the point that we see stories of suicide because of bullying and laws are being passed to make these forms of bullying punishable. This has encouraged me to consider my experiences and how they might help others currently suffering from the taunts of a bully. The following story recounts my memories of these early life experiences

Our story begins when I was around 10 years old, which would have made it around 1957. Yes, that was a long time ago. Grade School went from First to Sixth grade, Seventh and Eighth grade were called Junior High School with the last four years being High School. I walked the two miles to school mostly through the sub development of slab foundation block homes in Central Florida where we lived. The walk was about two and a half miles on asphalt paved roads with no sidewalks. So mostly we walked in the gutter by the side of the road.

With this much time between the event and this writing, there is much to say about my current understanding of events that I will try to hold until later. I will do my best to convey my original feeling without the addition of future knowledge.

So, I’m walking home, kicking various pebbles and other assorted detritus down the road ahead of me. I had just turned off of the main drag into the subdivision onto the second half of the walk home, and after passing maybe 3 or 4 driveways this big kid sort of appeared in my path. Before I could decide what was going on, he says rather loudly, “Just where to you think you’re going shrimp!” And before I could even start an answer he pushed me to the ground. The monologue of: “Aren’t you a real wimp!?” and “Just a little cry baby” continued non stop as he continued to push me back to the ground each time I tried to get up. Eventually I was able to roll away from him enough to get up and run home, taunted by his jeers of “That’s right coward! Run home to mommy!”

Now, while being pushed to the ground is certainly undignified it didn’t do much, if any, real physical damage. The problem I was unable to resolve about the incident was: “WHY!” I had never even met this guy before. We had never interacted, so there had never been an opportunity for me to get on his bad side. I could see no reason for his apparent hatred and derision. I was hurt and despaired of understanding my situation. Up to this point in my life fighting had not yet entered my physical vocabulary. I was not athletic, so had no concepts of center, balance, or timing that are crucial to such physical interactions. I was totally out of my element, and had no idea how to react.

I ran this gauntlet on a regular basis, for what seemed like a very long time, so probably two or three weeks. At some point my mother went to talk to his mother, and was told in no uncertain terms that I needed to learn how to fight. My mother, of course, found that totally unacceptable as a response, but could get no other suggestions.

Eventually, I figured a better path to school, and some time that summer, his family moved away. It was many years later that I figured out that I actually had nothing to do with his need to beat me up. I was just available, and small enough to be not much of a threat.

Junior High came soon after, and the times before classes started and during lunch were often punctuated by a visit from one of several bullies that roamed the school yard. In Junior High, I remember that they usually worked in pairs. One would sneak around behind you while the other one confronted you head on, with taunts about your lack of value. You would soon find yourself on the ground to the sounds of general laughter as you tumbled to the ground over the bent over accomplice set up behind you. These interactions produced the same frustrations as my earlier experiences. I didn’t know these guys, and had no idea why they were picking on me. School officials were absolutely not involved, and appeared to be completely unaware of these individuals behaviors. So in addition to the frustrations from the lack of understanding, there was the added vulnerability created by the lack of any protections begin provided by school officials. This lack of protection and feelings of vulnerability colored my entire Junior High School experience in a vague shade of gray dread.

The last bully I remember very clearly. Jeremy was in my ninth grade math class. He confronted me after a test with the threat; Meet me after school for a fight, or I tell the teacher you allowed Fred to cheat off your paper. Now, first of all, I was aware of no cheating on Fred’s part, and with any other teacher this threat would have had little power, but this teacher lived two houses down from our house and was good friends with my mother. While, in fact, this gave the threat no more power, it seemed to at that age, and I agreed to his terms.

We met just off school grounds, amidst what seemed like a crowd of spectators, so there may have been ten kids standing around us as we circled cautiously. One of the spectators got a bit more involved and tried to push me into Jeremy. I put my hands down and turned to him, telling him that either he was fighting this kid, or he was going to leave me alone so I could do it. He immediately back into the crowd and said no more.

We again began our cautious circling occasionally throwing a punch, and sometimes even connecting. I managed to get a couple good licks in a row, and he went down. He yielded at that point and the fight officially ended. We were both very much the worse for wear, with scratches and bruises and dirty clothes. He wandered off in one direction and I took the other home.

Jeremy was not in class the next day and I never saw him again. I always felt cheated, like we could have been friends instead of whatever that was that happened instead. This is probably the only fight I have ever had where I felt bad about winning the fight. I have no real idea of what Jeremy’s life was like, but I can guess that it was much tougher than my home life, and I still wish that things had worked out better.

That summer, between ninth and tenth grade, I went from five foot eleven to six foot two. I remember I had to sleep sitting up against the wall, just so the pain from the stretched muscles in my side was reduced enough to allow me to sleep.

Not unrelated is the fact that the schoolyard bullies completely disappeared. It was years later that I made the connection between the two events. These boys (I was not bullied by girls until much later in life.) were looking for a successful defeat, so they searched for the smallest, most defenseless looking kid they could find. I was a target because I was small. They were looking for a target, because, like my “friend” in elementary school, they were taught that their self worth came from being able to beat up someone … anyone. Even Jeremy worked under that premise.

You can see this same premise in action in almost any small team meeting where there is some friction between team members. The bully in the group will work hard to make someone else in on the team look bad. The techniques are not that much different from the schoolyard double team, although it often can be accomplished by one individual playing off against another. Bullies don’t seem to change their tactics with age. However, with only language as an allowed weapon, most bullies don’t have the necessary skills to prevail.

To those looking for a solution to their own difficulties with bullies, aside from “Suicide is a long term solution to a short term problem.” there is not much to say, except that you can not let them steal your self respect. Their self worth is not improved by depriving you of yours, any more than any theft improves the world or any of us in it. Certainly not the victim, and probably not the thief either. A bully is a thief, trying to steal your self respect for himself. The problem for the bullies is that they don’t really get any respect from stealing yours, so they have to keep trying. The solution is to not let them have it. You are better than they are, even if it does not look that way at the moment. Don’t let them win.

My experience with bullies has certainly left its mark. Even though I grew to better than six foot two inches (188 centimeters) tall, still, to this day, I feel like that small boy walking home from school all those many years ago.

dwarf