I don’t usually say that I had bullies growing up. There are a few names that crop up when I think about those I did not care for or with whom I did not get along. I wouldn’t think of them as a bully but more so an adversary. Maybe looking back I just try to give myself some agency and pluck but even at my most insecure I still had a fire inside. We were equal and we were butting heads and plotting in more of a Spy Vs Spy manner than the tormentor and tormented. I didn’t see myself as being outpaced or somehow inferior to them but just irreconcilably different. All that being said, there were a few notable, notorious characters that crop up lazy river of my childhood.

Kyle is the obvious choice in my mind as his and my struggle is storied like something out of a Bond film. It began in kindergarten. He had a birthday party and I brought a really cool vinyl cling stickerbook. He opened it and immediately started planning. After a few moments, I toddled over and coyly admired it before asking if I could join. He looked at me, and announced “No! Its mine!” before picking up the book and running out of the room. So began 8 years of tumult. There were only 2 other boys besides myself in my class and Kyle was never far away and thus there was always drama. Each year there was some sort of name calling or shoving on the playground. By second grade, the principle had tired of the nonsense and sat us both down and made us write out a list of things that we did not have in common. Looking back they were probably hoping that we’d sweetly discover we were incredibly similar. They also underestimated that I was quite petty and fairly accomplished in the reading and writing department. Poor Kyle had nothing on his sheet of paper and I had already moved on to the back side with all sorts of nonsense about how his family structure was different than mine and how he loved violent movies whereas I was more than Anne of Green Gables type. Pre-pubescent P. was not one to pull punches or tone it down for the sake of cool points. The venture was totally one-sided and pointless and we never saw those sheets of paper again.

The exercise does give me pause however. One of the reasons that Kyle and I did not get along was the differences between us. I was deeply insecure and ill-prepare to process differences in lifestyle. Kyle came from a chaotic household with a father who was rarely home whereas mine was governed by a omnipresent father who controlled himself and everyone else. The disorganization in which Kyle lived his life made me uncomfortable. I was not then, nor have ever been too terribly masculine in my habits and interests. Kyle was quite different. I distinctly remember him taking a sewing needle with him to school. The boys grouped around him and he placed in on the inside of his arm and bent his elbow so the needle would pierce deeply into his flesh. Others attempted to follow suit in a supposed test of masculinity but it made no sense to me at all. I announced matter of factly that it was stupid and was pushed out, as was the usual. This was hardly a standalone experience. Kyle always seemed to be wrapped into activities that tested masculinity and I was not interested in competing, preferring to achieve academically, something he rarely attempted. There were plenty of nasty things sent from both sides as I knew my way around an insult. Upon graduating into high school, we focused our attention and efforts elsewhere, never really to speak again.

I have been on the other side however as well and indulged some darker tendencies to bully someone else. I arrived in high school ill prepared to be teased so much. I was gay like a spring parade, with my hand flourishes and voice and entering a conservative, rural school. I was a baby in the jungle when I needed to be Tarzan. The first months were difficult and changed how I interacted with others. Every comment from others was instantly scrutinized for malice and I returned ample venom whenever I felt it was best. In time, the teasing subsided and I turned my attentions on revenge. It was not an unfamiliar tendency in my youth, so much so that my mom quoted The Merchant of Venice and told young me that I always got my pound of flesh when I felt it was owed. There was one boy that I remember mocked me in an attempt to shore up his own vulnerable persona. He was awkward and not well liked though he had gone to school with most of the kids that I was just now meeting. When I felt well placed enough to feel confident, I seized the moment at a football to take as many scathing cheap shots as I could think of. I spelled out and mocked his clothing, his hair, his family. It was all out and executed in the most intentional manner in front of everyone so all could laugh turn on him. He had a female acquaintance who had behaved similarly as he. She saw what I did and approached me to attempt to reconcile, saying she was sorry. I smiled and said it was okay, but then raked her over the coals as well, leaving nothing as sacred or beyond my reach. I had my petty revenge as I became just as bad as they. I can’t say how things were for them long term. She changed schools within a month or two and the boy was continued to be the outcast he was before I arrived. He later joined the military and while it was my turn to apologize, which I did, he had no desire to reacquaint and I have felt regret about it to this day.

I do not care for direct conflict anymore. The memory of my outright cruelty still lingers, even now. There are so many moments to be a better person, but the lapses are often the ones that stick with me the most. I can’t really undo the moments from my past, but I can learn from them. I carry my mom’s words with me and I try to remind myself to not become the aggressor, regardless of how justified I feel. My experiences with Kyle remind me that I can’t let unfamiliarity and difference fuel fear. I can’t control others, but I can control my own response and rise above the petty need to lower myself.

Stepping back to look at it: Bullying and aggression feels like a cycle. If it’s ever going to stop, the cycle needs to be broken. Only then both parties can finally be free to achieve solidarity. It took me a lot of tries and one particularly dark deed, but I finally feel a bit of that freedom. Because, in the end, I decided to break the wheel.

p.

Check out JG’s Modern Marvel for the week