School Bully
The other day I posted a short piece mentioning how much I hated school when I was a kid. Even though I lived in a small town where everyone knew each other, we were still cursed with school bullies. Today I understand that the bully mentality is, in itself, a cry for help. Unfortunately when I was a kid, I was usually the one that ended up crying for help.
I remember one kid in particular, Mike, who came from a very large and significantly poor family. He was a year or so younger than I was and I had never even had a conversation with him, let alone done anything than would have caused a conflict. More than likely it was simply the fact that I wasn't a tough guy. I was extremely tall and thin, never challenging anyone, just kind of minding my own business, doing my own thing. For whatever reason, Mike had a hankering to kick my butt...and to do it in front of people.
During the school year he would push me in the hallway whenever possible or make snide remarks and little threats if the chance presented itself. One Halloween night he, his older brother and several other guys were walking down the street across from one of my friend's house. A couple of my friends and I were standing in the yard when they happened by. Mike saw this as his opportunity to strut his stuff. His brother Bill, who was about five years older, stood there and proudly watched as Mike came across spouting off at the mouth doing his dead level best to get a fight going. You would think that someone that much older would have been the voice of reason. I had taken so much crap from this guy that I figured he was going to fight me sooner or later and I knew I wasn't going to run. I decided to just stand my ground. After about two or three minutes of verbal abuse, he went on his way, promising bodily harm at a later date.
I'm not going to tell you that we became good friends or anything like that, because we didn't. As a matter I never had as much as a conversation with him. But a couple of years later an interesting opportunity presented itself and, had I been a vindictive person, I could have paid him back for all the abuse he had bestowed unto me.
One day I went home from school for lunch. We had 45 minutes for lunch and living about 5 minutes from school made going home no big deal. When I was leaving the house after lunch I stopped in the driveway waiting on traffic to clear before pulling out into the highway. Imagine my surprise when the passenger door of my car opened and the town drunk plopped down in the front seat, mumbling something about wanting a ride home. The town drunk, by the way, happened to be Mike's father. It was 12:30 p.m. and he was already drunk out of his gourd. Now, I could have taken him to the Police department. I could have taken him 20 miles down a country road and dumped him out. And if I was a really major asshole I could have taken him to school with me...but I didn't. I gave him a ride home, where, never utterring a word of thanks, he got out of the car and stumbled toward the house. I backed out of their drive, went on to school and never mentioned it. Empathy can be such a burden.
I remember one kid in particular, Mike, who came from a very large and significantly poor family. He was a year or so younger than I was and I had never even had a conversation with him, let alone done anything than would have caused a conflict. More than likely it was simply the fact that I wasn't a tough guy. I was extremely tall and thin, never challenging anyone, just kind of minding my own business, doing my own thing. For whatever reason, Mike had a hankering to kick my butt...and to do it in front of people.
During the school year he would push me in the hallway whenever possible or make snide remarks and little threats if the chance presented itself. One Halloween night he, his older brother and several other guys were walking down the street across from one of my friend's house. A couple of my friends and I were standing in the yard when they happened by. Mike saw this as his opportunity to strut his stuff. His brother Bill, who was about five years older, stood there and proudly watched as Mike came across spouting off at the mouth doing his dead level best to get a fight going. You would think that someone that much older would have been the voice of reason. I had taken so much crap from this guy that I figured he was going to fight me sooner or later and I knew I wasn't going to run. I decided to just stand my ground. After about two or three minutes of verbal abuse, he went on his way, promising bodily harm at a later date.
I'm not going to tell you that we became good friends or anything like that, because we didn't. As a matter I never had as much as a conversation with him. But a couple of years later an interesting opportunity presented itself and, had I been a vindictive person, I could have paid him back for all the abuse he had bestowed unto me.
One day I went home from school for lunch. We had 45 minutes for lunch and living about 5 minutes from school made going home no big deal. When I was leaving the house after lunch I stopped in the driveway waiting on traffic to clear before pulling out into the highway. Imagine my surprise when the passenger door of my car opened and the town drunk plopped down in the front seat, mumbling something about wanting a ride home. The town drunk, by the way, happened to be Mike's father. It was 12:30 p.m. and he was already drunk out of his gourd. Now, I could have taken him to the Police department. I could have taken him 20 miles down a country road and dumped him out. And if I was a really major asshole I could have taken him to school with me...but I didn't. I gave him a ride home, where, never utterring a word of thanks, he got out of the car and stumbled toward the house. I backed out of their drive, went on to school and never mentioned it. Empathy can be such a burden.
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