I don’t bully people despite the fact that I have been bullied many times in my life. I know some people say this is a part of growing up, but I think those people are full of crap. I know what bullying did to me. There is another reason why I don’t bully. In sixth grade, I learned how it felt to be a bully, and I didn’t like it.
Of course, Walt Michaels is a Weenie, has a bully in it. His name is Chad, but he gets his comeuppance. When I bullied, I did not get my comeuppance. In fact I didn’t even get in trouble. Here’s how it happened.
There was a kid — I’m not going to give his name — who was a preacher’s son. He was annoying as heck, but he still didn’t deserve what I did to him. Everyone picked on this kid. You have seen the type of kid that just seems to attract bullies. I once heard of a chicken pecking party. Chickens spot a flaw or something in a fellow chicken and they gang up on him/her and peck it to pieces. The preacher’s kid was pecked to pieces all of the time.
One day, during recess, I pushed him down. I don’t know why I decided to join the chickens that day because I usually didn’t. However, he didn’t stay on the ground. He jumped up and took a swing at me. Now, my manhood was threatened. I knocked him down in one or two punches, and I can even remember sitting on his back while he cowered like a turtle and punching him from underneath his body. I hit him a couple more times and then got off him. He had a bloody mouth and nose.
He jumped up and screamed that he was going to tell on me and ran to the teacher. I didn’t cry, but my eyes watered from guilt. I really wasn’t even hurt. I remember a girl that I admired saying, “Why are you crying? You beat the s**t out of him.” What I felt at that moment was shame and guilt. I was also embarrassed that I could not bask in the glory of my playground victory.
When we faced the teacher, I don’t even remember what excuse I gave, but I do remember that the preacher’s kid broke down in long, racking sobs and starting screaming that everyone hated him because he was a preacher’s kid and that everybody picked on him. I felt deeply ashamed of myself. The teacher made us shake hands and apologize to each other. Those were the only consequences I received at all for my behavior. How many times have you seen a bully suffer no consequences for his behavior?
I went home and told my mom that I had gotten into a fight. I told her because somehow I believed that she, with her mother e.s.p., would somehow discover it anyway and I would be in even worse trouble for not telling her. The thing is though, when I told her, I lied. I told her that the preacher’s kid was picking on my friend. Mom said that the fight in that particular case was justifiable. This, of course, made me feel even more guilty than I did before. As far as I know, Mom believed that lie until she died. I’d forgotten I’d even lied to her until it came up in a conversation I had with the mom of the friend I supposedly took up for after my mom died.
I don’t think I ever bullied another kid. I still remember the incident, and I still remember how ugly I felt after the incident. There’s just something about those sixth grade experiences that stick with a person.This one helped to shape me in ways that I have only begun to understand.
I’m still pushing my book. There’s a link for you below.