By Jim Hagarty
2006
Where, oh where, were all the anti-bullying programs back when I really could have used them?
Blessed (or cursed), I confess, with a mouth that often engaged itself before my brain kicked in, much like a stick-shift car that gets away from its driver, too much of my youth was spent deflecting the attentions of guys who were intent on making some of my time on earth as miserable as possible. They often succeeded.
I went to a one-room schoolhouse for my entire elementary school education and, in fact, had the same teacher from grades one to eight. I liked her a lot and unfortunately for me, she liked me too. While this might seem, on the surface, to give a student an advantage (and it often does), it can also prove to be a handicap on the schoolyard where an entirely different society than the classroom exists and where the social order often gets worked out.
Most humiliating were those times when the public health nurse would show up to administer needles and the whole school would watch attentively while I got mine, knowing I would faint dead away every time. Being carried outside like a sack of potatoes in your teacher’s arms to be revived by fresh air did nothing to cement a boy’s reputation for bravery, though it did have the effect of providing all my fellow students with a bit of cheap excitement.
For some reason, the sight of my beautiful mug had the effect of upsetting one young classmate in particular and for several years (in my memory, at least) I served as his own personal punching bag – and free lunch provider. It wasn’t as though I didn’t fight back but he was built like a mini bulldozer and I like a skinny racing bike with thin tires and the resulting collisions weren’t pretty.
This had the effect of sending me home many days in a mess of anger and tears. My father would respond with, first, an order to quit crying (which, I see now, was somehow connected to the abuse I was enduring at school) and then the advice that if I could somehow learn to ignore the taunts and teasing of other kids, whether at school or at ball games, etc., my tormentors would soon lose interest in me and leave me alone. Unfortunately, I never got to test this theory, though I’m sure it was a good one, because l could never ignore anything.
The other trigger that never failed to prompt attacks, I know now, was the fear that so obviously permeated my being when I was in the presence of anyone stockier, tougher and meaner. Human nature and maybe just nature being what it is, some people will always see fear as an invitation to impose a bit of cruelty. But what could possibly equip a naturally nervous kid with the skills to either not be afraid of bullies or to hide it well when in their presence?
My father’s advice was sound. When things got a bit boring, my classmates could always count on a bit of excitement by saying a few nasty words to me and watching me launch like a rocket off a pad. If I could have somehow walked away – even laughed along with them – I’m pretty sure they would have moved onto another show.
Fortunately, as I grew up, the tormenting subsided. If I’m not mistaken, my biggest enemy at the one-room school and I existed in peace the last couple of years there.
But there was another boy in our village who was maybe even worse than my schoolyard torturer. And I had to walk by him to get to the ball diamond to see my older brother’s ball games. It was mostly verbal abuse he threw my way, but I was petrified each time I walked by.
Now this probably won’t win me any friends among the anti-bullying gurus of today, but here’s how that ended up. One night, my tormentor picked the wrong circumstances under which to yell and scream at me. Parked near the entrance to the ball diamond, he let loose with his usual string of invective, but did it within earshot of several of my older cousins, who all came over to see what was happening. I could be humiliated in front of classmates, it seemed, but not in front of cousins.
I jumped on him and flailed away till his crying made me stop. He never bothered me again.
An observation few will want to hear: Bullies don’t exist in a vacuum. Sometimes we have a hand in creating them ourselves by our own fears that are too close to the surface. Maybe a bit of attention should be paid to helping kids overcome those fears, to believe in their innate worth regardless of the assessment of others and how to show others that shoving them around cannot be done without consequences.
I wish I could say that glorious night at the ball diamond was the end of it. But it wasn’t. High school called and the bullies were bigger and tougher. Raised in the country, I had no way to know that the town kids that attended my high school took being mean to whole new levels.
But the biggest bullies I ever met were still to come. The ones dressed in suits and ties and who were co-workers, managers and company presidents, sometimes wielded power I hadn’t yet imagined could exist. When your livelihood, paycheque and career reputation were on the line, having a schoolyard bully steal your lunch every day soon looked like child’s play, which, I guess, it was.
I hope I am not betraying traces of self-pity. I don’t mean to. But by way of clarification, I have a brother who takes no crap from anyone. And perhaps for that reason, in his life, he has been dealt very little crap. His life has not been easy, but fear hasn’t played much of a part of his days.
When he was in his final year of high school, having been a basketball hero, someone stole his valued team jacket. A few years later, he was at a party in university and he met a guy who was wearing his jacket. He went up to the stranger and told him he wanted it back. The thief (or someone who got the jacket from the thief) smiled and said, “Well, I guess you’ll just have to take it back, then, won’t you.”
“Suit yourself,” said my brother.
After a struggle, my brother left the party wearing his long-lost jacket.
Bully for him!
