« riddle | Main | positive thinking: the anti-peeve »

August 12, 2004

bully for me

I sat on the ground and contemplated my dilemma. I could taste the dust in my mouth. My eyes were burning and watering. I looking up at my oppressor, the aptly named Brian Stinger, who had just decked me for the 19th time in as many minutes. At that moment I hated him as much as I had ever hated anyone in my 10 year old life.

Brian wasn't evil incarnate. I'd stayed overnight at his house a time or two, and had found, to my surprise, that he could be downright friendly. He seemed, on those occasions, to take me under his wing; he taught me the skills of his trade, such as throwing rocks at chickens, and skulking through the woods without detection. He even confided to me that he sometimes rolled up grass and smoked it out behind the barn. But back in the school yard, all former deals were off.

I decided to make a run for the enormous tractor tire laying on its side in the playground. I stood up and made ready to sprint. Wham! Down again. I sat dazed for a moment, processing the dust all over again, leaning on one hand, as I rested on one hip. I winced up at Brian, but couldn't see his expression. His head was backlit by the sun, the motes of dust crowning outward like the mane of a dark windago.

I was no saint, far from it. I remember Jasper Cross. In those days I had banded myself together with two other fellows of like mind, Chris and Aaron. We were thick as thieves, contriving silent signals to each other across the classroom, and persecuting all carriers of cooties. We would chase down the girls on the playground, wrap on their heads with our knuckles and shout, "nobody home!"

I don't know how the fight with Jasper Cross got started. In fact, we had no idea it was actually a fight. We thought it was play. Jasper was an immense sophomore with cat-like reflexes. We of the Triple Trouble Gang encountered him that day on the field of a battle royale already in progress. Half a dozen younger and smaller boys were repeatedly hurling themselves upon him, and he flung them off deftly, like a dark-skinned god of war. We were instantly infected by the mobthink, and joined the fray. I didn't feel anger or fear. Quite the opposite; it was a thrill to be bested by such a man.

But somehow the tale of that war didn't go down well in the history books, and we were summoned shortly after the glorious battle to the office of the school's superintendent. On the way to our doom, we Troublers quickly divided the impending tasks. "You do the walking," I pointed at Aaron, "You do the knocking," I said looking at Chris, "And I'll do the talking."

"I want to do the knocking," said Aaron. Chris thought everyone should talk for himself. We entered the office with the question unsettled.

I remember the superintendent solicited our separate versions, and that he listened carefully to each of the boys in the room. I don't remember what I said, but I remember trying to tell it truthfully, throwing our fate upon the mercy of the court. We didn't get the paddle that day.

Getting decked repeatedly didn't hurt much. And a boy should not mind getting his clothes saturated with dust. Mostly I was annoyed at the waste of time. My entire recess was slipping away, and I had people to see and things to do. Brian seemed to delight in my mounting frustration. I had tried just sitting in the dirt and waiting him out. He obligingly parked himself several feet away, and waited just as patiently, tearing after me the instant I stood.

Some how at this moment I arrived at a decision that many boys in countless school yards have had to make. It was time for this to stop. I looked at Brian again, this time to size him up, to check his posture, and his level of attention. And then I paused on the precipice of indecision.

I don't know what finally triggered my next move. Although my mind would later proudly own the action, it was, in truth, my body which made the final decision. Suddenly I was on my feet. Brian grinned again with expectation and started moving toward me. But his head began to turn to the side and a slight grimace of surprise crossed his face as I moved directly toward him. We closed the gap instantly, and I put my hands on his chest and shoved as hard as I could. Brian was brought up short, and stood still, slightly off balance for an instant. I immediately pressed my advantage, stepping in quickly, hooking my right leg behind his left, and shoving him again with all my strength.

He went down hard; I watched the familiar cloud of dust from a different perspective this time, and felt a flash of delight. I felt a strange kinship with this bully; I could see why he would enjoy this. But I did not dare linger and gloat. I had my freedom to secure, so I turned and rushed to the jungle gym, to join my unhelpful friends.

At the close of our recess I shuffled amid the throng of my jocund peers, jostling back into the school building. Inside the door the principal was waiting. She locked eyes with me, and then made a beeline for my ear, grasping it, nearly pulling it out of my head, it seemed. "Don't you ever let me catch you picking on another student!" she hissed fiercely. "Or we will have some real trouble."

And then she left me, disgraced, wounded and unheard. I remember the unfairness burned more than my ear. I confess I pitied myself at that moment. But the seeds of two important lessons had germinated.

First, a man must do what a man must do. I'm sorry, Mrs. Blue, that you didn't get to hear my story that day. My soul has no more worth than Brian Stingers', and he would also have benefited from your kindly attention that day. But I cannot regret setting him roughly down. It had to be done.

The second lesson is this: sometimes a right decision bears its own consequences. When you become a man, you accept it as the cost of doing business; don't waste time with self pity. Do the right thing, and accept your due with pride.

I'm not sorry I fought Jasper Cross either. It remains one of my gladdest memories. I just wish I'd told Jasper what I thought of him.

Posted by joel at August 12, 2004 03:32 AM

Trackback Pings

TrackBack URL for this entry:
http://www.chezjoel.com/cgi-bin/mt/mt-tb.cgi/40

Comments

Posted by: honest + popular at August 12, 2004 02:11 PM

Posted by: dabuheebly at August 18, 2004 01:15 PM

Posted by: Joel at August 18, 2004 01:23 PM

Posted by: honest + popular at August 19, 2004 11:27 AM

Posted by: honest + popular at August 19, 2004 11:28 AM

Posted by: Joel at August 20, 2004 11:06 AM

Posted by: Daryk Jozef Havlicek at August 23, 2004 05:36 PM

Post a comment