Bullies

I was inspired to write this by this Ignoble Experiment entry.

I was bullied mercilessly as a boy. When I was seven, I had to give a speech before the class. I had begun reading when I was about four, I understood metaphor, and so I used one: I said I was from the “blue planet.” For years, I was called “the Martian.” An entire gang, ring-lead by one of my neighbours, spent years looking for me, and then beating the pulp out of me when they found me. On the bus, they would take the sharp-edged rulers (in those days rulers all had a metal wedge for drawing straight lines) and whack me in the back of the head with it. My parents always told me not to dignify this with a response, but as I would sit there and not respond in any way at all, they seemed fascinated by the curiosity of a boy who could be hit with metal edged rulers, and not react at all.

Except for the saltwater I fought back into their ducts.

But if this was a test, I can't say I passed it. I was not alone. Another boy, David, took the same school bus I did. He looked like me. Same blond hair, same haircut, same lanky build. He wore glasses, I did not. But the same bullies tormented each of us. Every day they picked on him, I sat their burning in anger, just as though they were at me. I felt his suffering, because I lived it, and I felt like a stone weight dragged on my heart every time they went after him. But I was also relieved, because on his beating days, I got to ride anonymously. And I was ashamed for feeling it.

One day they goaded us into fighting one another in the schoolyard. I made myself hate David. He represented everything I did not want to be – hated, abused, tormented. And even though the aching sorrow I felt for him never once abated, he and I circled one another, fists raised. The mob of tormentors all looked on, gleefully enjoying the monstrous spectacle they'd made – nerdfight.

I don't know if I ever apologized to him. I don't remember doing it. And I wish that I could. Most of all, I hope and pray that he is well and truly past the inhumanity of our schoolmates like me now.

I am successful. I am prosperous. Physically, I stopped being small when I was sixteen or so, and I have had the satisfaction a few times of staring down at a few of my past tormentors in adult life.

But none of that matters. Because I am happy. For a time, these kids did take my dignity, and David's. But they could not prevent us from ever being happy. It is not a dark satisfaction, but rather a happy and serene satisfaction, to realize this.