Bullying - Originally Posted 05-06-10

This is one of my favorite topics to discuss. Now that I have children in school, I have had to face my own experiences in helping them with theirs. My son has been bullied. He is a big kid. I do not mean fat. He is ten-years-old, five feet tall, and strong as an ox. The good news is he has a good heart and a long fuse. He is not aggressive, not violent, and not mean. This makes him an easy target for the lesser intelligent. Unfortunately, that is seen as a weakness by some idiots he goes to school with. Once they have exhausted his patience, they will wish they had left him alone. I have been trying to teach him that even though the words hurt as well as the teasing don’t let it get to you. However, if someone touches you or hits you, they are fair game. I do not just mean one punch and let it go. I mean to make them wish they had never seen you much less messed with you. The school takes a different approach. They tell me if he does that, he will be suspended for three days. I say, “GOOD!” He and I will have the greatest three days of his life.

In the current situation, I am trying to go through the proper channels. This has gone on most of the year. I let it go until it got physical. Then, I called the school. I told them how I feel. I told them they have the opportunity to solve the problem their way. If it does not work, we will solve it mine. I am also willing to go to the school board if necessary to handle it.

Why am I this way? I have been there. I spent my seventh grade year in that situation. Thirty years ago, bullying was looked at differently than today. It was considered a rite of passage. It was something you had to go through at one time or another. It was a way for pubescent boys to let out some of their aggression. That was before Columbine. That was before cyberbullying where girls kill themselves because the parents of their classmates never grew out of it.

I went to an all boys school that year. I am not sure what made me an easy target. Maybe it was because I was small and scrawny. I could not participate in sports because of my heart. Maybe I had a smart mouth. I was very unhappy as a child and tended to take it out on the world around me. Maybe, like a pack of hungry wolves, they sensed a weakness in me that was too good to pass up. After all this time, the whys may be irrelevant.

I do know of one reason. I changed my name. When I was born, my brother was ten years old. He had a bully in school named Paul. He refused to call me Paul. So, everyone called me Keith. I did not like the name. I thought it sounded crass. I thought Paul would be more distinguished. The truth was probably I wanted to change everything about my life, but this was a good start. It could have been worse. I could have been Steadman Harold Estes, Jr. Anyway, the people that knew me as Keith did not want to change. That was fine with me. I just wanted to go by Paul from then and on. To this day, the people that knew me before 1980 call me Keith. The people who knew me after 1980 call me Paul. I am ok with that. I answer to either one. My wife had the hardest time, my family called me Keith, everyone else called me Paul. My friend, Michael, was the exception. So, that was just more fuel to the fire.

The point is, it was really bad that year. I am not going to go into names and details. There is no need to. I grew up as a pacifist. My mom taught me never to fight. So, I got my ass beat, repeatedly. She tried to complain to the school. The headmaster told her it was ok. It would “toughen me up.” Right, a skinny 100 lb. kid with a bad heart is going to toughen up by having the hell beat out of him? There was only one rule back then. As long as you did not throw the first punch, you could do whatever you want. You could inflict as much pain and/or injury as you liked as long as you did not start it. That would never fly today.

I survived and went to a new school the next year. I misinterpreted good natured teasing as bullying and beat the crap out of some kid the first week of school. They threatened to expel me on the spot. Mom talked to the administrators and they agreed to let me stay. But, that resentment, hate, and bitterness followed me for several years to come. I had a very bad reputation in school for being mean and ill tempered. I had few friends and wanted none. I am not saying all of this was due to bullying. I think the clinical depression had a hand in it as well.

Right now, I want to save my son from going through what I did. If that means he gets suspended for beating some kid’s ass, then so be it. I want him to keep his sweet nature, but I do not want him to be a door mat like I was.

I wrote a while back about forgiveness. I still mean every word I wrote back then. I have tried to come to terms with the things that happened in the past. Part of that is forgiving as well as asking for forgiveness. I cannot tell which is harder to do.