I was recently reading an article in USA Today about bullying and it's affects on the grown up victims. My first thought was that it was a bunch of whiners who never moved on. I'm not sure where I stand in the bully scale but I imagine it was somewhere in the middle. I wasn't a target of a coordinated campaign like some kids I knew. When I was picked on I had some misplaced sense of bravery and would either smart off or stand up to the bully. I only suffered physical attacks two or maybe three times. I'm sure my experiences weren't much different than 90% of America (or maybe just my generation). I got to thinking of the article though and noticed that most of the victims were girls. I started thinking of Samantha Kershaw. Samantha was probably the most ostracized girl in the history of Martinsville West Middle School. Her biggest offense was that she was homely. I don’t recall ever picking on her myself but I do remember any contact with her was social suicide. If you think of this stuff long enough it can really get you down. I know it’s all part of growing up but it’s still a pretty fucked up part of growing up.
The few bullying events that occurred in my life were relatively tame. How hard can a fourth grader hit really? And as a kid you’re still pretty rubbery. I got picked on during a game of kick ball at recess in the first grade. I don’t really remember the event but what happened after word. Back in class I put my head on the desk and started crying. Yeah, I know, right. Big pussy. My teacher, instead of doing something about the bullying, gave me some advice that actually stuck. She told me not to let him see that he got to me. The “he” in question was Tommy Wheeler. The biggest kid in class and not really the classic bully I guess. He did like to start fights. When I was a kid we tended to rotate through the roster. Tommy and I could be friends one day and enemies the next. For the most part I liked him and that was true of most of the kids from my elementary school.
When we moved to Lyndhurst, Ohio my tormentor was a little douche bag named Happy Hughes. He was a grade behind me but was the boss of the school. He worked his way through the school, picking one new kid every couple of weeks to terrorize. I got lucky; he picked on me in the winter months. I remember it like it was yesterday, I had a huge jacket on, he had two toadies pin me to the wall and he commenced to wailing on my stomach. Of course I felt nothing physically; I had three freaking layers of clothes on. They flung me to the ground and Happy climbed on top of me. Looking back on it now it was almost homoerotic and I don’t wonder if he was dealing with some issues. Wish I’d been smart enough to figure that out then, I could have used it. A teacher broke us up and scolded us to stop. To this day I remember being incredulous to the fact that I was included in the rebuke like I had somehow been a willing participant. My response to Happy was to make fun of him as loud and as often (which with a name like Happy wasn’t too difficult) as I could and to make sure I picked on his toadies whenever I saw them alone. I’m not sure what kept me from another ass beating. It sounds like I was well adjusted to the situation, but at the time I was mortified and lost a lot of sleep over it.
I guess like everyone I’ve had my share of shameful behavior too. I remember some odd brief week long period where I would let some kids egg me on into picking a fight with some kid named Billy every morning in the classroom. I’m not sure how it happened but I know I would start it and there was name calling and shoving but nothing too bad. I guess it gave me a feeling of power to find out that there was actually someone more timid then me. Fortunately Billy and I, like Tommy and I, made up and became friends again.
I like to think that with a rare lapse in judgment I’ve always been a good guy. When I was in Kindergarten an older boy thanked me for being nice to his sister. She was a quiet, pudgy little girl who didn’t seem to get picked on a lot but didn’t have many friends either. I always talked to her and I guess it made a difference. Her brother thanking me made a difference to me too. It stuck with me all these years.
It’s a shame that as adults some people had such terrible memories of bullying they can’t get over it. I wonder if Samantha Kershaw ever got over it? I certainly hope so. While I acknowledge that bullying is a part of growing up, nothing makes me angrier faster than a bully.
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