I can still remember their names. Kenny, Peter, Louis, Dan and many others who weren't even considered my 'friends.' As far as bullying is concerned, very little has changed over the past 35 years when I myself was a victim of the same kind of senseless, despicable behavior. I remember very clearly, a day in seventh grade English, being picked up off my feet by two of my classmates. Through their laughs they said how funny it was going to see me fly as they carried me towards an open second floor window. Kicking my legs to no avail, I never once thought they would actually follow through with their 'joke' but it was still no comfort after I was dropped onto the floor, I quickly ran into the coat room so none of my classmates would see me crying. My humiliation, was only compounded by a caring female friend who came in to ask if I was alright. After her kind act, the best thanks I could muster through my tears was, "just leave me alone."
There were muggings by nameless, faceless creeps who traveled in packs almost on a daily basis. Their taking of our lunch money almost became a cliche. Hiding behind a giant delivery van as we'd walk towards Hackett Junior High. Three or more would jump out and the biggest of the group would step up and say, "Got a dime?" This was our cue to empty our pockets. Growing up, with all the amazing lessons I learned from my loving mother and father, what reason would they have to think that self defense would be one of the lessons they should have taught. Why would they. We were a good family in a good home, they had raised two good children.
Throughout my youth, I thought all kids were separated into two categories, the tough kids and the weaklings. I never thought to ask them what their motivations were. I just knew my role was the latter. I would head back to my good home after being spat on or thrown around by my winter jacket into a mailbox feeling ashamed, trying my best not to let anyone know how much I hurt. I was skinny, innocent, red-headed and pimply faced, an easy target mainly because I only saw kindness in people. Violence and bad behavior was beyond my understanding. Though I would never ask, "why me?" Many times, even as an adult, I've never stopped asking why?
I 'came out' to my mother recently, she, looking extremely distressed asked the question so many parents ask, "Why didn't you tell us?" My only response was that there was nothing anyone could do. Keeping some of the truth from her, in all honestly, it never would have occurred to me to share my humiliation. Somehow trying to protect her from my pain. I thought and still think, how lucky I was, no matter how bad the humiliation, I would always come home to a loving home with two loving parents. A safe haven where I would always feel protected. The next morning, I would do what I always did, get up, go to school and deal with whatever was to come.
As a sophomore in high school, My dad and I went out and bought a weight set which was assembled down my basement. As I became more involved in weight training, martial arts and boxing, I met a group of bodybuilders at the Jewish Community Center in Albany who took me under their wing and helped find my potential. In my damaged mind, I wanted to become a giant, a monster, at my towering 5' 8" tall I wanted to be an intimidating force, ready for the next bully to attack. I was never the kind of person who ever wanted to fight. I've always been much more of a pacifist using my sense of humor to get me out of situations. But, I waited with a perverted anticipation for the next bully, I was going to make him (or them) sorry for all the punishment and humiliation I was subjected to. But of course at their core, bullies are cowards and no sooner that I was able to stand up for myself, they magically stopped showing interest in picking on me.
I overcame my past and found my retribution at a cafeteria lunch table. I was a senior a Albany High School where during lunch times, arm wrestling was the social networking of its time. Classmates would line up around tables one by one and take each other on. At the time, I was bench pressing close to 300 lbs, there were only a few in a school of 3000 that could beat me. One day there was a buzz in the cafeteria, there was a new kid at the tables. I recognized him immediately, it was Kenny, one of the two classmates that had lifted me off the ground and scared me into thinking I was going out a window. I took my place in line and waited my turn. One by one, he took down his opponents, laughing smugly just the way I remembered him laughing a me. The only difference was that he had changed very little in the four years since I'd last seen him. I had put on more than 25 lbs of muscle and had been waiting for a chance at retribution for much longer. It was my turn, I stepped up, resting my elbow on the table, I looked into his eyes and first saw a wave of recognition, then contempt. He sat back in his chair a gave a huge belly laugh. "YOU, I KNOW I CAN BEAT!!" It was over very quickly. I soon as I heard "GO," his hand was slammed backwards, making a loud SMACK onto the plastic lunch table. I stared into his eyes and saw as if in a mirror, the only way I had ever known myself. I saw his insecurity, fright and humiliated. It wasn't the fear in his eyes that changed the perception I had of myself, it was a metamorphosis that I felt, I could fight back. Not literally with my fists but I would refuse to make myself a target again. I was empowered. At that moment I remembered something he said to me years ago during one of the moments of my biggest humiliation. He grabbed me by the bicep and started pulling me, this time, more out of fear than defiance, I pulled back hard and resisted, to which he said, "you'd probably be pretty strong if you weren't so afraid." I wasn't afraid anymore. It was a turning point for me. Even with that one life changing victory, bad memories still linger. I often wake up in the middle of the night or am startled while I'm awake. I still have flashbacks from my years of indignity. It's always there, deep down I know it will always be my constant silent companion which is why bullying must be stopped before it takes another life, through suicide or even a life's worth of internal torment.
I cried when I saw the face of a 15-year-old Morristown High School freshman who recently killed himself. Most likely his friends said because of a few intolerant children, bullies who tormented him only because they could. This young man had so many friends, such a good family. Why didn't he tell someone, why couldn't he just....exactly. That's just what bullies count on, shame and silence.
Perhaps this post could motivate someone to stand up for themselves, perhaps tell someone, maybe even motivate a bully to see how pointless and destructive the choices they are making. When every day seems like a never-ended cycle of abuse, it's impossible for someone who is being bullied to look ahead one week let alone thirty years. But please, please, please step into my shoes. If you had told me as a 15-year-old pimply faced, red-headed boy that 35 years from now, I'd be living the life of my dreams, traveling the world with my soul mate and loving life with beautiful friends and a great career, I would have called you crazy. Though the memories still linger, time passes, wounds heal, bullies go their way, the bullied generally go the opposite direction. My message isn't to fight back but to stand up. If every one of us all stood up for ourselves and one another and refused to accept this kind of behavior it would disappear. I'd appeal to anyone reading this, parents, teachers, administrators and most of all, children...stand up and lets stop this nonsense. A childhood is a precious gift. And no one has the right to take that gift or tarnish it because of intolerance.
