Bully: (noun, Dutch), persecutor, oppressor, tyrant, tormentor intimidator.
Bullies have been around as long as other perennial favorites such as prostitutes or bookies — long live the bully! It is clear that these vices have been around a lot longer and become more profuse in their activity. I have heard tell that everyone in the U.S. at least one time in their lives has experienced the wrath of a bully and all his brotherly glory.
I am proud to say I have never been the server of bullying — ever! There was a single instance where I decided to “call-out” a kid whose breath I no longer had the stomach for. I took my place on the playground, pacing back and forth, punching one fist into the other palm showing I was game for the event… and just waited.
But you can argue a bully into a ham sandwich if you try hard enough, and everyone on some occasion or another has had at least a bite. The lone story of my endurance to an onslaught of bullying played out as such:
As it drew dark I became excruciatingly aware that I had neglected to actually inform my foe that his fate awaited him immediately after school and on the playground. This I had failed to do, and neither had I even dispatched a runner to deliver notification. I had been a fool and I know my career as an event planner was a breech birth. I simply was no good at multitasking. I choked my own career out with my bare hands, but vowed to keep the matter quiet unto any other than myself. Most people already knew I was a fool; no sense glutting that market.
But, skipping a few years, it was in high school where bullying finally found me sulking at my school’s front gate waiting to start my three-mile walk home — snow or no snow! I noted a kid, who noted I noted him staring at me and he moved toward me. As I passed him he suddenly lunged at me from behind and he pushed me so hard that I went airborne for several inches high and a couple of feet forward. As I got up he clocked me in the right side of the face with his right arm, a thing that activated the flight reflex of my primeval brain.
Yes, running was seen there that day at school. Not fast running, but at a constant speed and good, steady motion forward. I was into this thing totally blind and unprepared. For his part, the bully was just a cowardly bushwhacker. I ran a phony route back home in the event this coward would even dare to try to follow me.
My brother saw my smashed face and we exchanged data for a short while. We came to the conclusion that that bully was a kid from my brother’s PT class who had been stalking him for a fight. My brother, the smart ass. I told him to get with the guys ASAP and get it taken care of because I didn’t want to feel that same lingering dread that bullying presents, and worse, the debilitating lingering dread that you experience from being the subject of terrorism.
They cannot defeat us for we are united and strong
In the by and by there came an obnoxious ninny to the ballpark who, despite the collective druthers of approximately 100% of the rest of the men, women, and children there… got to running some kind of side-bar candidacy to promote his desire to other than the ‘Merican standard baseball that the rest of us had come to see.
I sat with my dad. The bully took to screaming and swearing and literally pulling kids (self-included) out of their seats in the stand to play his stupid game. His mother sat right there in the stands. As she ultimately gleaned from the glares of the other parents that she should perhaps do something she announced.
“I’m off tonight; tonight Charles is watching the kids — go see him with your complaints.”
Gosh, now that went over like the post-impact Titanic. My dad:
“Geo, when someone is bothering you like that it is ok to just punch them in the nose or mouth as hard as you can.” He winked at me, and I nodded to him. The soon-to-be- blood-filled nose and its bully came a-pullin’ my arms and screaming in my face. I relented. He took me to a spot behind the bleachers where several other cowardly desolate kids slumped over with their heads hung low as they “played” the game.
Obi-Wan Kenobi paused for a moment to grace the sudden rift in the Force and space-time Continuum. I returned and sat with my dad, sobbing. Dad put his arm around me:
“There you go, Geo… it doesn’t always work — perhaps it will the next time.” “No, dad… I, think I broke my hand!”
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA… what do you say, son… go get some ice cream?”
Continued in Part II
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