So, Tyler, How'd You Get Into Acting? (Part 2: The Later Years)

Where did I leave off?

Ah. Okay.

Megan Hunt, and Village Theatre. That whole thing. Okay. Let me go back a year or two, then I'll pick it up where I left off.

So, my mother, God bless her, has always been my biggest fan. I know that's a cliche, and I know everyone loves their mother, and blah blah blah. But my mom is the only person who's seen every stinking acting job I've ever done, from the lowliest student-written one-act when I was in colelge, to the fanciest professional theater gigs.

Honestly, I would never have actually pursued my dreams of "acting professionally" if it hadn't been for the selfless commitment from my mother. Now, she didn't "push me into it," and she was never behaved like those irritating "stage moms" that I got to know and love in my adult life. But at the same time, whenever my motivation flagged (which happens far too often for me), she'd sign me up for classes or auditions, and drive me all over the east end of Lake Washington to make sure I was able to keep doing what I loved. All the while she was working two (sometimes three or four) jobs as a single mother of four. I know, I know, it's a cliche...and I'm sorry for the excessive "mother love" in this opener...but it needs to be said. This whole "acting thing" that I love to do was made possible because of her.

And that brings me to my connection with Village Theatre. My mother concluded that, since I was showing a lot of interest in "the acting," I should take some "acting classes." Another contributing factor was that I, very briefly, had a "talent agent" in the 5th Grade. This agency, "Kid Stars," was located at a big office in downtown Bellevue. The office had lots of glass, shiny desks, big bulletin boards, and professional-looking headshots plastered all over the walls. After reading a monologue for one of the agents, they decided to sign me onto their roster. Over the course of the next year they booked me on a grand total of two auditions -- a "cattle call" for a Sears commercial, and an "Unsolved Mysteries" audition. I absolutely bombed both of those...especially the second one, which involved a lot of awkward laughter, confusion, and flop sweat (I was asked to "improv" a scene, and since I'd never "improv'd" before, I made a complete and utter ass of myself). Anyhow, after these two fails, it was apparent to everyone involved that, in spite of my storied "community theater" career...I was not quite ready to take the "next step."

So, to remedy my severe "lack of training," my mother decided to enroll me in some acting classes. I never asked her to enroll me....and I may have even openly resisted it...but I'm glad as hell that she made me go (it was one of those great "ignoring your kids" moments that parents ought to do more often). One of the first classes that I attended was taught by a woman named Megan Hunt, who was teaching a class offered through Village Theatre's "KidStage" program.

The class itself wasn't all that memorable, honestly. We'd read scenes. We'd do improv games. And, for our "parent showcase," we'd rehearse a few sketches from the movie Free To Be...You & Me. I enjoyed the class, and I thought I was doing pretty well in it.


This is one of the sketches we performed; I played a tiger.

I guess I was doing well, because after the showcase was concluded, Megan approached me and asked me if I'd like to audition for the upcoming Village Theatre production of "Narnia." This would be a far cry from the community theater productions I'd done up to that point, and, were I to get cast in the show, I'd be working at a bona fide professional theater. Megan was, incidentally, the daughter of the executive producer (and founder) of the theater, Robb Hunt, so I had a pretty good "in."

So I auditioned...and holding with tradition, I absolutely blew it. I was awful. I sang "A Whole New World" from Aladdin, but forgot the words about halfway through. That, and my knees were trembling horribly throughout the audition...and I'm fairly certain that my voice cracked (which is a safe bet for any 12 year old boy).

Needless to say, I was not cast. Or called back. Or probably even "thought about" by the casting people once I'd walked out of the room.

Luckily for me, I got a second chance to redeem myself with Village Theatre. Seems that Megan was slated to direct "Bye Bye Birdie" the following summer, for the KidStage summer show. Apparently, the KidStage program also sponsored a separate, full-length show...which was produced, designed, and performed by "kids" aged 4-20. All done under the watchful eyes of Village Theatre.

Well, I don't remember anything about my Bye Bye Birdie audition (honestly...I can't remember a dang thing...and I really tried), but it must have gone well, because I was cast as "Charles F. Maude, the Bartender," among other smaller roles.

I had a blast that summer, and I was hooked. I went back to do the KidStage show in Issaquah every summer for the next five years. There, I met some truly talented and dedicated people, who inspired me, and stoked my love for acting. I still keep in touch with many of them, who (like myself) have gone on to work professionally in the business.

However, there were two definitive moments that convinced me (beyond a shadow of a doubt) that "acting" would always be in my future.

he first happened during the school year, months before I was cast in Bye Bye Birdie. When I was in the 7th grade, I found out that there was a "play" being produced by the choir director (a former beauty queen). This was great news for me, because Kenmore Jr. High did not have theater classes of any kind...so it was a chance for me to be around some like-minded individuals, and show off my fancy acting talents.

The turn-out for the audition was huge...with over 100 people auditioning. I was one of those hopefuls, and I managed to get cast in one of the lead roles -- a jester who opened the show with a monologue (that I still remember to this day, for some reason), and conducted the show-within-a-show. It was called "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let Down Your Heir," and was intended to be performed as dinner theater.

I'll never forget, though...that first rehearsal. I was a painfully awkward, greasy, acne-scarred, badly-dressed stick of a puberty-riddled 13-year-old. The script called for the Jester character (me) to be "flirted with" by a random female character. The actress slated to do the flirting was named Heidi Schiller...and she was, to me, maybe the prettiest girl at Kenmore Jr. High. And she was supposed to flirt. With me. Whoa.

So we were blocking the scene, and I was fully prepared for (nay, completely expecting) her to either half-ass it, or outright ignore the blocking notes. But no, she jumped right in, and started rubbing up against me, and running her hands all over me. It was, in a word: "totally freaking amazing."

Funny, because four years later, Heidi died in a car crash driving home from a high school football game. I never really got to thank her for giving me some confidence when I really needed it. Too bad.

Okay, sorry, I'm kidding. She's still alive, and we actually became fairly good friends after we ended up going to the same college. But man, the car crash thing would make a much better story, wouldn't it?

I digress.

Anyhow, rehearsals were going great, but unfortunately, the show never ended up happening. One Friday, about two weeks into the rehearsal process, the beauty-queen-turned-choir-director called the cast (of about 70) into a meeting in the choir room. There, in a super-classy move, she blamed the students for not being dedicated enough, and canceled the performances (when, in fact, she'd really just got in over her head with a project that she had been half-assing the entire time).

So, no more flirting with Heidi for me. In fact, for the rest of my junior high career, my extra-curricular activities where limited to sports (and I really hated the jocks at our school), and band (where I liked the people, didn't earn any "popularity points"). The lack of school-run theater pretty much ruined my chances at social interaction from grades 7-9...but that's another story for another blog.

Anyhow, that set me down the path to a career in acting. Moment #2 sealed my fate. This moment occured during the run of "Bye Bye Birdie." At a certain point during the show, I was supposed to cross backstage after one of the musical numbers (let's just say "Ed Sullivan" for the sake of picking a number from the show). It was a pretty small space, so you learned pretty fast how to walk about quickly and safely from point A to point B.

Now, when we finally started performances, I received one of the greatest surprises I'd ever had, up to that point in my life. As I was crossing behind the stage, I walked by a "quick-change" station, where some of the older girls were changing for the next scene. And I got to witness something that would change my life forever. Wonder of wonders...I saw a group of women dressed only in their undergarments, changing for the next scene.

It was...simply put...a revelation. I was hooked.

Because, sure, I love the art. I love the rush of adrenaline. I love creating something I can be proud of. And I love performing.

But most of all, I love the ladies. That's why I do what I do.

Okay, that's not true.

Well, it's partly true.

Fine, it's mostly true. I got into acting to meet women. Happy? It's the same thing that motivated Picasso, Van Gogh, Shakespeare, Carrot Top, Mozart, and countless other womanizing (but talented) freaks before me. And shoot, it worked, didn't it? I married way, way, WAAAY above my station in life...and that was only possible because I met the lady doing a show. In fact, I met all three of my serious girlfriends doing theater. Not too shabby...

So, in my fantasy future, when I'm asked, "How'd you get into acting?" I'll say: "Well, I saw a chick in her bra backstage during a show one time, and I decided that I'd like to see that more often." Might not have the poetry of a more artistically-based response...but at least it'd be honest.

So, Tyler, How'd You Get Into Acting? (Part 1: The Early Years)

At least, that's what I imagine it'd sound like next time I get booked on a talk show. After a couple of ice-breaker questions, some laughs, some platitudes, maybe a funny sketch or two, the host will lean in inquisitively and...inquire, "So Tyler, how'd did you get into acting?"

And because that'll probably never happen, I've decided to answer that fantasy question on my fantasy blog, and give the answer out to my incredibly limited readership. Enjoy, you lovely bastards.

Well, fantasy interviewer, that's a great question! Honestly, I'd tongue-kiss you if I could, but you're not real. Used to be I'd tell people, "My mom got me into acting when I was 9." And that's mostly true, because if she hadn't dragged me to a community theater audition of "The Music Man," I probably would have spent my high school years as just another faceless "band geek," as opposed to blurry-faced "band and drama geek."

But truth be told, Music Man wasn't the absolute start for me. See, I'd been interested in acting as far back as preschool. My very first "performance" was when I was cast as a leapfrog in my preschool Christmas Program, along with my best friend Eric. I was pretty stoked to be working with some very talented people, on a project that I really believed in. Also, I was glad that I'd stopped peeing my pants two years earlier, making the whole endeavor possible...

But unfortunately I never got to perform as the leapfrog. During one of the rehearsals, I "leaped" a little too enthusiastically and severely strained a ligament in my neck. I had to miss the Program, and I was couch-ridden for a week. That was the first and last time I ever suffered a serious "actor-related injury" (no small feat, since I've seen broken bones, torn ligaments, a seizure, concussions, and countless cuts and bruises since that time).

But everyone does those goofy Christmas Pageant shows...it's not like I had a choice in the matter. I didn't have any dark, sticky artistic blood pulsing through my veins...it was just the regular, boring red kind. Heck, I was far more interested in sports than any of that "creative" junk.

My first brush with actual, honest-to-God "acting" was complements of Mrs. Trull (yes...she was mean, and yes, we did call her Mrs. Troll, and yes, she's probably dead now) who was my 1st grade Music Teacher. The school was doing a production of "Hansel and Gretel" at an assembly, and two kids from each class were picked to portray the titular roles (hee hee). The rest of the class performed "dances" during the scene changes. It was some pretty heady, artistic stuff. I was cast as one of the Hansels, along with 11 other dudes from the other classes. I don't remember the audition, but it probably involved "reading the script." Obviously, I nailed it.

Anyway, since the roles were duodecuple-cast (yes, it's a word), each Hansel and Gretel was given a short scene to memorize and perform. During the actual performance, when the current H&G finished their scene, a new "Hansel and Gretel" would walk on stage, tap the current iterations of themselves on the shoulder, then take their place on stage. I have video of this. I could tell, even back then, that it was pretty hokey. "Why not come up with a reason for each actor to walk off stage?" I asked myself silently. No one heard my protests...because I didn't vocalize them. But I do remember having a problem with the direction of the piece, which I consider awfully advanced for my undersized 7 year old brain.

Hansel and Gretel also involved my first on-stage romantic interest: Elizabeth Chittick. I didn't like her, but I think she liked me (ah...the story of my life). She was notable for living up the street from me, owning a Teddy Ruxpin doll, and for the one time I kicked her fingers through a chain-link fence...which got me sent to the Principal's office. I tell you...I'm good with the ladies. Always have been, always will be.


Elizabeth and I...can't you just taste the chemistry?

But I think my most important "pre-Music Man" introduction to acting was thanks to one Sue Jackson, 2nd grade teacher. Sue Jackson was a recent divorcee, in her early 40s, with two grown children. She was a first-year teacher at the school, and I remember that we did not get along very well at first...mostly because I was a bit of an impudent know-it-all (some things never change).

Ms. Jackson was the first teacher I had who focused heavily on "the arts." We'd write stories in her class. We'd put on plays (that we performed for the 3rd graders in the next room over). We'd paint. We'd write poetry. All of that ninny froo-froo stuff that, for some reason, I was actually pretty good at.

It was in this class that I found my love for acting and writing. Funny...but sometimes you get a teacher early-on that sparks an interest in something you do for the rest of your life...and Sue Jackson really got me interested in acting. But sometimes you get a teacher who tries to enlist your services as a hit man. Or tries to sleep with you. Luck of the draw, I guess.

But Ms. Jackson put us in charge of rehearsing and producing the shows (with props, costumes, sets, etc.). We did several productions, including a short play about The Easter Bunny (I portrayed the Easter Bunny)...and another play about a family at Christmas (I played "Grandpa"). And a play about a princess who was upset about a broken heart (the twist at the end: the "broken heart" was actually a heart-shaped cake that had broken in two...not a metaphorical "broken heart". Who writes this stuff!!!!???!?!?).

It was in that last show that I had my first brush with acting like a "super-diva." I had three roles in the show: The Duke, The Messenger, and The Cook. The first two were fairly big parts, but the last one was a walk-on at the very end, with no lines (where the cook silently brings the "broken" cake out for the big punchline).

A week before we were going to perform the show, Ms. Jackson informed me that she wanted one of the other students (Erin, a shy girl that I had a major crush on) to play the cook. And I....was....devastated. Furious. I cried like an 8 year old. I threw a fit. It was unfair. How DARE she give my role away! Gaaaah!!! (once again, affirming my status as "God's gift to the ladies")

But I got over it, after Ms. Jackson and my mom talked some sense into me. So I gave up the role, and felt some well-deserved diva-shame.

Apparently Ms. Jackson still teaches at Arrowhead. Huh. Guess I didn't scare her away after all...

After my time in Ms. Jackson's class was finished, my lovely mother started me on the "community theater" circuit. In the 3rd grade I was cast as Winthrop Paroo in The Music Man at Shoreline Community Theatre. In the 4th grade I was cast as Tiny Tim in A Christmas Carol at The Driftwood Players. In the 5th grade I was cast as The Page in Amahl and the Night Visitors at King'sPlayers Theater. And in the 6th grade I didn't do any acting...because I was "artistically exhausted." That, and I wanted more time to play video games, because I'd just got a Nintendo...and playing it was a fairly high priority at the time.


My heart-felt rendition of "Wells Fargo Wagon," years before
they invented the bank.

But in the summer between 6th and 7th grade my mother signed me up for a class run by a theatre in Issaquah called "Village Theatre." The class was taught by a woman named Megan Hunt, who was the daughter of the executive producer of the theater, Robb Hunt. It was that class that transformed my love of acting from something of an "idle curiosity to pass the time" to a "possible future career." And I'll tell you all about it...in my next blog post. Consider yourself "teased."

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 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.