Four Bullies (Part 4)

I’ll be honest...I wasn’t totally satisfied with the conclusion of this series. The whole thing just really ended too neatly – the meat head jock befriends the pasty, pimpled nerd, brought together through the magic of theater. It’s too much of a cliché – hell, I’m pretty sure that’s the plot of the new hit television show Glee.

But it’s not real life...I mean, it is, of course, but it wraps things up too neatly. And I realize that I was forgetting one of the biggest bastards that I came across...

Bully #5 struck when I was in the second grade – I’d forgotten about him mainly because, well, I was not the target of his abuse. James was. James McKee.

We were all in a 1st / 2nd grad split class, where the smartest kids from the 1st grade class were placed with the smartest kids from the 2nd grade...at least, that’s how I think it worked. Maybe it was just random. Who knows? Point is, James was one of the "exceptional" first graders...and I was exceptionally second-grade-ish.

Now, James was a really nice kid. A smart kid. Terribly ordinary-looking, really, if a little bit pale (he looked kind of like a cross between Jim Jay Bullock and John Michael Higgins).

James’ only real problem is that he was a bit weird. Okay, he was a lot weird...in one of those “Really Outspoken Nerd” kind of ways. He was also a bit of a crybaby, and easily victimized. Something about this combination drove Bully #5 crazy, and he loved laying into James. Externalizing pent up aggression? Problems at home? Fell in with the wrong crowd? Just a dick? Either way, he tormented James throughout the year, with no real inciting cause that I could decipher.

For instance, after recess, we’d all line up in front of the door until the teacher opened the class to let us in (so she could finish drinking, probably). For no good reason, Bully #5 would kick James in the leg...just to hear him cry out in pain. When the teacher wasn’t paying attention he’d pelt James with balled up pieces of paper, chunks of eraser, broken pencil lead. He was relentless, and merciless.

At one point James and the bully were placed next to each other in class, and that little asshole slowly and methodically inched his desk away from James...just a little bit at a time...until there was a good foot of separation between their two desks. It was the only time he got in trouble, but I’m pretty sure it was just a verbal reprimand.

Because, unfortunately, the teacher was not experienced enough to handle this issue. In fact, she may have inflamed it, unintentionally. One day during class she sent James down to the principal’s office with a note that just said, “Please keep James in the office for a while.” After James left, she talked to the class about how we needed to treat James a little nicer. Of course, it had the opposite effect... only serving to further alienate him from the general population.

The torment continued throughout the school year. James became a social pariah, and the next year he did not return to Arrowhead Elementary School. I’m assuming he was home schooled, or shuttled to another school in the district, or moved away, or something. Either way, I didn’t see him again until high school.

I was now in the 11th grade, and James was in the 10th...and we had an acting class together. By that time I’d been through my own round of bullying, while James had grown into a super-pleasant, nice, funny, soft-spoken young man...who looked even more like a "J. Bullock / Michael Higgins Love Child." James was a Star Trek fanatic (he made an exceptionally accurate Starfleet uniform, and wore it to school on Halloween). He was the kind of kid who’d wear a nice suit to school one day...not to stand out or be different, but just because he felt like wearing a suit.

So we were talking one day, and I said to him, “Hey, James. Listen, I’m really sorry that I was such an asshole to you in the second grade."

Because, see, I was Bully #5. In fact, I'm pretty sure I more of a dick to James than the potent cocktail of Tyson, Jeremy, Ronnie, and Marshall combined. And I'm supposed to be the good guy. Right...?

So after I mumbled out my apology, James paused thoughtfully and shrugged. “I don’t really remember that. I thought we got along really well back then.”

Unexpected. It made me want to kick him again, that pleasant bastard. Not sure what happened to him after I graduated (we weren’t that close), but I’m sure he’s making hundreds of thousands of dollars working with computers...or some-such. Because that's what nerds do when they grow up.

Why did I pick on James? I wish I knew. I know I can be terribly cruel sometimes...I try to avoid it, but I've got too much pissed off German blood running through my veins, or something. Of course, I’d always considered myself a defender of the downtrodden; a guy who skirted the line between “popular” and “nerd.” But, in the 2nd grade, there’s no doubt I was just “popular.” I was a cool kid...and it was at the apex of my popularity that I decided to victimize a nice (albeit strange), defenseless kid. And it wasn't like it was a group of us, or anything. There was no conspiracy to tease James -- I acted mostly alone, for purely dickish reasons. Wish I hadn't. Hope I never do again.

So in conclusion (because how else are you supposed to know that this is the concluding paragraph) what have we all learned? Not a damn thing, except for that, maybe, I’m just a big ol’ raging hypocrite...to write a blog series, leaving out the biggest, meanest, assholiest bully of the bunch. Until now, at least. Well, that’s life, right? Sorry, I hate ending on some kind of hacky, semi-poignant idiom...so instead I leave you with a random verb, followed by a seldom-used punctuation mark: bask`

Four Bullies (Part 3)

Time to bring it home...because I'm sure there are literally thousands out there waiting, with bated breath, for the conclusion of this three-part series.

Well, here it is. Going out with a bang.

Tyson.

I actually always liked the name Tyson. For some reason I thought it would be funny to name my kid "Tyson." Get it? Son of Ty? I thought it was brilliant, and I still do, dammit.

So there were two Tyson's at my high school. One of them was a great athlete who would eventually get drafted by the Pittsburgh Pirates (though he never made it to the majors). I played football with him starting with two-hand touch in elementary school, and going on through the 9th grade. He was the starting quarterback at our high school, and generally an all-around nice guy.

The other Tyson was a douche. I have very few people that I feel this way about, but he was definitely one of them. It's quite possible that I'm not being fair to Tyson. I don't know. I'll let you decide, by way of a very, very skewed re-telling of my time around him.

I can't remember with certainty my first run-in with Tyson. But, from the get-go, I could tell we were never going to be "buddies." Tyson was the prototypical jock. He was the "alpha-male" type. The cocky football-playing meat-headed bullying punk. He was like that blond kid in Napoleon Dynamite:



Apparently the actor who played "Don" was an Air-Force reservist. Tyson was not.

Good lord, he even looked like that kid. Anyhow, Tyson was a popular kid that (from what I can recall) was barely tolerated by the other popular kids at the school. But somehow, through sheer force of meat-headry and arrogance, he was accepted as one of them.

Anyway, the first run-in that I actually do remember was 8th grade gym class, in Junior High. We already covered that I had a hell of a time in the 8th grade, for whatever reason (if I had to pick a low point in my life, that was it). Now, Tyson was not actually in my gym class; he was in another class sharing the gym during that period. So I didn't have to spend a trimester being pestered by him -- just a couple of days.

Because the two gym classes linked for a "basketball tournament." Now, if you'll remember from Part 1 of this series, I suck hard at basketball. The tournament format was "2 on 2", and the hell if I can remember the poor sucker I was paired with. But in the first round we faced off against Tyson and...some other jock-y dude.

Right off the bat things went bad. Tyson's team started with possession of the ball, and for some weird reason, instead of jumping right in and starting the game, he passed me the ball. I thought to myself, "What the hell? Why's he giving me the ball? Is this one of those 'I'll give you the first punch' kind of moments?" So, taking the bait, I turned around to take a shot.

Which made Tyson laugh his high-pitched laugh (you know, the one all bullies have?). He proceeded to (condescendingly) tell me that he was "checking" the ball. This is, apparently, something you do when you are playing a half-court basketball game. The team with possession passes the ball to a defending team member...who then passes the ball back to the team with possession. This is done instead of the in-bounds pass.


Here's an example...about 30 seconds in...

Well, I'm sure you're not surprised to hear that we got annihilated, with Tyson mocking me all the way. But, it wasn't so bad -- I didn't have to deal with the guy every day (as I say, he was in a different class), so aside from some minor embarrassment, I was able to ignore the taunts.

Football was a different story. In the 7th and 8th grade I played Pop Warner Football, and my position was "offensive line." At that age the o-line is where they put the fat kids, and the kids who were terrible athletes. I must have given off the "egghead" vibe pretty early, because that's where they stuck me too.

But the difference was, I was a damn fine offensive lineman. I was quick off of the line, and I made good blocks. I played the interior line (guard) position, and I was rarely ever beat by a defensive lineman. I learned the technique fairly well, but I just had a series of terrible coaches. They were more interested in telling the kids to go out and "bust heads" than in actually teaching the mechanics of the game. I didn't know the difference between a 4-3 and a 3-4 defense! Can you believe that? Stay with me, Erika...this will be over soon...

So, consequently, the athletic rejects on the o-line would launch off the line and bust the heads of the defensive linemen...while the linebackers would just wait until the running back hit the hole, then make the tackle. No one ever told us to block the linebackers. No one ever really told us anything, other than to go out there and hit someone. Stupid.

I've digressed. Basically, it goes like this: I was a good, smart, technical player who never got a chance to show off his ability...because my coaches were awful. Having endured that for two long years, I decided in the 9th grade to go out for the actual Jr. High Football team (no more Pop Warner for me).

I remember the "tryouts." I was put with the second-team squad, while all of the returning 9th graders (the ones who played on the 8th grade school team while I was playing Pop Warner) were on the first-team squad. The coaches put us through a couple of drills, and taught us a couple of plays. Then they had us run those plays over and over. I decided that, even though I was a little under-sized, I'd go out for offensive line again

So as we were running plays, I'd fire off with every snap. They'd tell us to reset, and I'd be the first guy back on the line, and the first guy to shoot off the line when a new play started. Unlike the Pop Warner retards, my Jr. High coaches very good, insightful, smart guys. They called out one of the guys on the first team (poor kid named Jaurdey) and told me to take his place. I did, and I never went back. I was on the varsity squad all through the 9th grade season.

And how it worked was, even though there were about 50 kids on the squad, only 12 kids played on varsity (they'd play "both ways;" on offense and defense). I was one of those 12, and for my defensive position I chose "linebacker," because I wanted to be the guy who the stupid, fat offensive linemen would forget to block.

Problem. Tyson (remember him?) was also on varsity. Tyson was also a linebacker. Tyson was the only guy on that squad who thought I didn't belong. So Tyson tried like hell to make my life miserable

Luckily for me, Tyson wasn't as good as he thought he was...and I was better than he thought I was. So, instead of being able to knock me down "where I belonged," he had to resort to more...well...stupid means.

For example, he'd be the first one to point out any mistakes I'd make. This was not easy for him, though, since (as I mentioned) he wasn't a very smart player. So any time he'd try to do this, more often than not he'd be wrong. But...he kept trying. He'd cackle his little bully cackle and call me out, only to be met by the indifference of his teammates and coaches. However, in his mind I still did not belong...so he kept at it.

Before each game, each position coach would run little "drills" on the sidelines to keep their players fresh. The linebackers had a drill where one person would get a football, and the other person would run at them (from an angle) and make the initial hit of a tackle (without following through to actually tackle the other person). It was all about "wrapping" the ball carrier up...but since we were going to be playing a game, we weren't supposed to actually tackle the other guy, because it could injure them. And really, we needed to save ourselves for the game.

But guess what. I was designated as a "ball carrier" at a certain point, and Tyson was the "tackler." I ran. He chased me down and full-on tackled me. Not hard, mind you, because (as I mentioned) he wasn't great at football. But it was totally unnecessary. Our position coach told him "just wrap up, Tyson". And Tyson made a non-committal noise and took his turn as a ball carrier.

We cycled through again, and once again, lined up against Tyson, I was full-on tackled. The coach asked Tyson why he was tackling, and Tyson told him he was "just getting pumped for the game." But I'd seen Tyson run this drill before, and I was the only one he considered tackle-worthy. Obviously, to me, he was just being a prick.

So, as much as I could that year, I avoided Tyson. He was the inside linebacker, and I was the outside-linebacker -- so it was hard to do. But, since we were teammates, there wasn't a lot of opportunity for him to pester me. And I think he pretty much gave up anyway, because...as I say...I turned out to be a better athlete than he thought I'd be.

I made it through football with Tyson. He never really laid in to me, but he burned an awful lot of calories trying to tear me down. And for whatever reason, he seemed to enjoy picking on me. It's not like I ever did anything to make him mad, other than to "exist" in his realm of influence, hence...he was the most prototypical bully I was to come up against in school.

This made my heart sink when I took an "Acting / Improv" class in the 10th grade, and saw Tyson walk into class on the first day. Acting was something I'd always loved, and Improv is something that completely depends on a level of comfort with your fellow actors. I couldn't avoid associating with him now...he'd be there every day. Just waiting for the chance to embarrass me.

It came immediately. First day. We were "introducing" ourselves to the class. Each member of the class was to go up front and say a little bit about themselves, then the class was to ask them questions. Like an interview, except with your classmates running the show.

I got up. I happened to be wearing a simple navy blue t-shirt that said "GEORGE FOX COLLEGE" in big bold letters. So, I introduced myself. And got to the question and answer phrase. Tyson's hand shot up.

"So...have you been to George Fox College?"

"Oh." I looked at my shirt. "I've never been. My sister goes to school there. She got me this shirt."

"So...do you like George Fox College?"

I get it. He's making fun of my shirt. "Sure. It's okay, I guess."

"Do you want to go to George Fox College?"

"I don't know."

Mercifully, someone else jumped in with a question, and we moved on. I actually kind of felt embarrassed for him at the time. He did one of those stupid "snicker and look around the room" moves, but no one reacted to him. He was the sole "popular" kid in the room. There was no one to back up his mockery. He was in my world now.

So I took a few more questions and we moved on. Over the next couple of days we did some simple improv games -- freeze tag, what are you doing?, story story die...all the stuff you learn in amateur improv classes. I was one of the better actors in the class, and I noticed that Tyson pretty much laid off me. I'd have scenes with him, and it was as if we were any other improv scene partners. It was pretty remarkable. He'd laugh at my jokes, and vice versa.

After about a week of this, we did this exercise where we were supposed to blindfold one person, and have another person lead them all over the school. Each member of the class was given a partner. Naturally, I was paired with Tyson. He was blindfolded first.

I led him around, joked around with him a little bit, and he joked back. It was bizarre. This kid that I'd lived in fear of for about three years was laughing and joking around with me. After about 10 minutes of this, we switched up, and it was my turn to take the blindfold.

Alarm klaxons fired off in my head. This was the douchebag who thought it'd be funny to tackle me before a football game. The kid who hectored me relentlessly during a game of pickup basketball. The kid who made fun of my shirt in front of the entire class. Now he was going to be leading me around the school, blindfolded?

But my compliant personality took over, and off we went. There were a lot of kids around, because the first lunch period (of three) was being taken. Some of those kids were my friends, and they started messing with me. One of them grabbed at me (with Tyson laughing the whole time). I reached out to push him, and accidentally punched 6'7 center of our female basketball team in the boob.

I only found this out afterwards, because I was blindfolded. Also, after I punched her blindly, she shoved me hard into a wall...and I took my blind fold off to see who I'd hit. Tyson laughed the entire time...this time out of amusement, not derision. It was pretty funny -- getting my blind-folded ass kicked by a girl, who was 7 inches taller than me, and outweighed me by a good fifty pounds.

Of course, the trimester eventually came to an end, and we each retreated to our separate cliques. Tyson and I didn't become any closer friends, because he was still an asshole...he just wasn't an asshole to me any more. This was the first of many times where I found that, if I just found something I was passionate about and did that thing, I'd somehow get respect from people.

But after the 10th grade, I never had a problem with bullies. I still traveled in the same social circles -- I enjoyed the company of "nerds," but really found more of a home with the "smart-asses." I was comfortable around the popular kids, but I never really hung out with any of them (not that I ever really tried, or wanted to, though).

And I just started doing the things I really liked doing. I stopped playing football after the 9th grade season (the highschool coach tried to recruit me...but I wanted to play in the Marching Band far more than I wanted to be around meat-heads like Tyson). I got into drama. I was a good drummer, and an even better actor, and I think that kids that age can still appreciate talent...even if they desperately want to find something to ridicule. I know that it worked for Tyson -- if he'd have never seen me in my natural habitat, he probably still would have tried to bully me throughout my high school years. But we all grows up.









For me, that was a big part of it. Find something you like, and something you're good at, and just do that thing...and people will respect you for it. Even jag-offs like Tyson.

Four Bullies (Part 2)

Marshall.

I was a pretty cool kid in the 5th grade. I had a bunch of friends in my class, I played on a couple of different sports teams, I went skiing every weekend in the winter, and (to top it all) I was elected ASB Class President -- a term to be served in the 6th grade. I was, for all intents and purposes, a confident (cocky, almost) popular kid. But things started to go wrong that summer...

I found out in August that I was going to be placed in Mr. Schoenfelder's 6th grade class...which was a major bummer. Hans Schoenfelder was a hulking German man in his early-60s (at that time), who had a reputation for being "old school" in his teaching methods. He had a strict code of discipline, and anyone defying him would feel his wrath (not physically, of course, because only Nuns are legally allowed to abuse school children). He had a medicine ball, and any time someone was talking out of turn, or generally screwing around, he'd send them on a "lap" around the school yard, carrying the medicine ball. He'd often send the entire class out for a lap, if they were going too rowdy. He'd put students in a push-up position and keep them there for fifteen minutes. He was laser-quick with detention, trips to the principal's office, and the revocation of the "privilege" of recess.

And since he had a corporal reputation, his class was the destination for a good number of the school misfits, in addition to the regular students (like myself) who happened to fill out the roster.

Marshall was one of those misfits.

Now, Marshall was about as close to the stereotypical "school bully" as I ever came across. He was a total coward who was the pack leader of a crew of ne'er-do-wells. He actually looked and acted a bit like Scott Farkus, minus all of the physical violence. This is because no one really got "beat up" at our school. I'm assuming it happens, of course, but maybe Arrowhead Elementary was just too milquetoast and suburban for anything that exciting. Or maybe it was the whole "threat of expulsion." Don't know. Either way, bullies did not fight...they teased.

And Marshall was a champion teaser. I had the good fortune to sit next to Marshall for a good portion of the year (Mr. Shoenfelder did not make many seating changes), and I was mocked on a daily basis. Marshall was unrelentingly sarcastic and hurtful, and I had nowhere to run -- I had to spend six hours a day next to this kid who seemed to be just praying that I'd say or do something stupid so he could make fun of it.

I tried to keep up and give as good as I got, but I was wholly unprepared for someone to burn so many calories just trying to make me feel awful about myself. I still have my D.A.R.E. handbook (the least-successful & most expensive drug education program out there). One of the exercises that we had to do was pass the booklet around and each kid was supposed to write two compliments.

So I passed mine around for the first round of compliments, and when it came back (desks were arranged in little islands of 5 desks each, Marshall sat across from me) that little sweetheart had written: "You can barely tell your face is covered in pimples from far away."

Of course, like an idiot, I'd actually given him a compliment, but the books were passed around again, and I laid into him about his freckles (I don't know if he was self-conscious about those, but I doubt it...it was just the only thing I could think of), and he hit me with another snide comment about how I dressed, or something. I don't really remember.

But that was just one example of, probably, hundreds. Like the time he threw a hand-full of pebbles in my face during a game of kickball (his only real act of violence...but they were small pebbles that were more intended to irritate than damage)...or the time he wrote insults on my desk in pen.

Basically, my day in the sun (the 5th grade) was over. Eventually I got away from Marshall, and he gave up his quest to ruin me, but the damage had been done. My confidence was shredded by the time I got out of Mr. Shoenfelder's class. My best friend had found new, cooler friends to hang out with, and Marshall had persistently shattered any self-confidence I had built up in the early grades of elementary school.

I don't know what happened to Marshall -- I think he was at my Junior High School...but we didn't have any classes together, and I lost track of him. He may very well have dropped out (I'm pretty sure he had a lot of chaos at home...and a brother who was a drug dealer), or moved away. But he never bothered me again...not because I fought back, but because we didn't see each other again.

But when I found myself suddenly in Junior High School, surrounded by equally terrified and overwhelmed kids, with no close friends to speak of, and a poor grasp of just how mean kids could be to each other, I was in for some trouble. 7th and 8th grade (8th especially) were some bad times for me, with all of those "man-to-boy" changes heaped on top of my social difficulties.

It all came to a head with bully #3 (a minor bully...not really worth his own blog entry) whose name was Jeremy. Jeremy wasn't a traditional bully -- hell, I'm actually hard-pressed to call him a bully at all. But he did perpetrate an act that I considered to be fairly ruinous on my self esteem, and I thought I should mention it.

Yearbooks were a new thing for me, and the stress of getting them filled out was almost not worth the effort. It was a measure of one's popularity, and getting those "hot girl" or "cool guy" signatures was definitely braggable...especially if there was a phone number attached, or the message was long.

But I wasn't gunning for the "hot girls." I wasn't even really gunning for girls at all (I had, maybe, three female signatures in that 7th grade year book). I did have some people that I was friendly with, and it was normally no problem for anyone to sign a book with something along the lines of "Have a great summer." I signed the books of people I didn't really like that much, and vice versa. It was just what you do.

Jeremy and I sat next to each other in 4th period math class, and we were friendly (he was a smart guy, I was smart, and we got along, from what I recall). So, even though we weren't super-close, I thought he might want to sign my year book.

But there was a problem. When the time came for me to ask, he was talking to someone else. So, I figured, when he was done talking, he could sign...so I put it on his desk.

Jeremy, in a super-douche-bag move, noticed me putting the book on his desk, and responded by sliding it off of his desk onto the floor. He then resumed his conversation as if I didn't exist.

Hoping no one was watching (and sure that no one was...because no one ever really is watching), I quickly scooped up my yearbook, and pretended to read it as my face flushed with embarrassment. That was the end of my 7th grade year, and it cleared the way for a pretty terrible 8th grade that included, among other things, the last and most powerful bully I was to face down, and a story that still makes me proud to this day.

Four Bullies (Part 1)

I have a problem.

Wait, let me back up a second.

I have an "issue." My issue is this: I really don't like with how most writers treat the issue of "bullying." It's a super-popular topic that you will see in any show or movie set in a school of some kind, but it's very rarely done well, in my opinion.

Now, I was not picked on excessively in school -- I can remember four bullies that I had to deal with at some point in my school career (I eventually became friendly with three of the four -- the fourth one either dropped out or moved away or died...). But I think I learned a thing or two about bullying in that time, and now, when I watch movies or TV shows that handle the topic of the "school bully" or "picking on the nerds" I get annoyed -- it's never quite right. Freaks and Geeks did a pretty good job, but there was still too much of that corny "name-calling," "book-slapping," and "locker-door-slamming" bullcrap that really doesn't happen in real life (from what I've observed).

A little background before I dive in. I did not run with the "popular" crowd in high school. I didn't run with the "nerd" crowd either. If I had to describe my high school clique, it would something along the lines of "the smart-asses." My best friends in high school were intelligent guys who really just enjoyed making fun of everything -- kind of hard to classify, really. I was friendly with all kinds, but the ones I would actually hang with were, for the most part, nihilistic jokers.

Now, personally I had all the makings of a nerd. I got good grades. I was heavily involved in band and theater. I played D&D (secretly) every weekend. I tucked my shirts into my jeans, and parted my hair to the side. I drove a moped to school. And (generally) I had more friends that were "nerds" than "jocks." Finally, (with one notable exception) I did not play team sports.

But I managed to avoid antagonism, for the most part. I never had to worry about getting beaten up, or teased, or any of the crap that I know some other kids went through. I managed to get through pretty cleanly...except for these four different bullies.

First up was Ronnie (name changed because at least one person reading this will know who I'm talking about). Now, Ronnie was my best friend Eric's neighbor, and we used to regularly play basketball in his back yard (because his house featured a basketball court). Ronnie was a year older than me, and about a foot shorter (he was Filipino)...but, while he was friendly with Eric, he never really warmed up to me. I think he may have sensed that I was not "cool," and, consequently, needed to be taught a lesson as to my proper social position. So Ronnie went out of his way to embarrass me at every opportunity -- especially when I'd play basketball (because I was terrible). He'd also make fun of me when I'd talk, never really directly insulting me, but more mocking the tone of my voice, or repeating a stutter, or little things like that. But his barbs were mainly just words -- sarcastic taunts and insults -- with one notable exception.

Things with Ronnie went bad during one of our regular games of basketball. I was in the fifth grade (I think), which would have made Ronnie a sixth grader. Now, my typical tactic in basketball was to hang out near the rim and try to block incoming shots, or rebound misses (because I was tall). As I recall there were probably something like six of us playing that day. Now, because I was terrible at basketball, and because Ronnie was so short (but very good at basketball), at one point during the game he drove the lane and I accidentally fouled him. For some reason this foul made Ronnie go ballistic, and he started screaming at me as I walked to the other end of the court. When I turned around he had taken some kind of "karate" stance and was bounding toward me menacingly.

I didn't quite know what to do -- I wasn't sure if he was just trying to scare me -- so I started backpedaling away. But as Ronnie closed the distance he jumped up and kicked me hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I doubled over in pain and wheezed for a minute in the middle of the basketball court. Once I caught my breath, I staggered out of his yard to the sidewalk.

Now this still kinda' bugs me to this day. What I should have done was one of two things -- either said "fuck this" and walked home with my dignity, or gone back in and got myself into a proper fist-fight. But, instead, I think I stood outside of his back-yard fence for a bit and cried. And after a couple minutes of that I went back to the basketball court and finished the game...as if the jump-kick had never taken place.

This bit of violence put an uneasy end to whatever relationship I had with Ronnie...and probably did a good bit of damage to my friendship with Eric (which eventually dissolved completely by the 7th grade). But I never really got harassed by Ronnie after he kicked me that day. Maybe he felt bad about it. Maybe he'd just made his point. Either way, he pretty much left me alone for the rest of the school year.

Now our school bus stop was in front of Ronnie's house, and I used to wait on the sidewalk every day (while Eric, Ronnie, and some other "cool" neighborhood kids waited in his warm house until the bus showed up). One day, for whatever reason, I was invited inside...and for the next two years, before the bus came, I'd sit and chat with the other guys inside until it was time to board. It wasn't much, but it was a friendly gesture from a guy who, I thought, didn't like me at all.

I kinda' lost track of Ronnie after that, as I made different friends and moved on in my life. I'm not sure if he stayed a little pissed-off kid, or if he settled down and found another direction in life. But I think his particular brand of bullying arose from the fact that he recognized I was trying to hang out with the cool kids, and I didn't belong. He made it his mission in life to teach me a social life lesson...which...by the time I reached Junior High...I had learned pretty well. Hell, the only reason I was trying to be "cool" in the first place was so I could hang out with Eric -- I wasn't really interested in any of the perks of "popularity." I just wanted to keep my friend.

But it was not to be. As Eric got cooler and cooler, I became less and less popular, and we lost touch in Junior High. So it goes...

Now, I just realized that this blog is going to run a bit long...so I'll cap this off here for now. I'm sure people are like "Ooh! Tyler posted a new blog entry!" Then when they see how long it is they're like, "Hmm...I don't have time to read all of this crap." And they'll close the window and move on. So...to avoid this, I'll cover bullies 2, 3, and 4 in my next three blog entries.