There really isn’t much to say about number 11, it’s pretty self explanatory so I’ll move on to number 12.
This is another story I told some time ago but it bears retelling, anyone that missed it first time round may find it amusing and a very good example of what happens when you push someone too hard.
On my very first day at Grammar School I was teased about two things, my bright ginger hair and my surname. I was struck by the banality of supposedly intelligent children seizing on these details as an excuse for teasing.
Within a couple of weeks, after the other boys had a chance to see how physically weak I was, teasing graduated to full scale bullying. My decision to learn the violin simply added fuel to the flames, I was now regarded as a sissy.
The fact that I didn’t have a father also added the term ‘bastard’ to the repertoire of insults and pointing out that my Mum had been married when I was born made no difference whatsoever.
It didn’t cross my mind to report any of this at school, I had no reason to believe that I’d get a sympathetic hearing, so I complained about it at home.
I was shocked and disappointed when Mum, supported by the man who would become my Stepfather, told me that I was a big boy now and had to learn to stand up for myself.
One morning break I was standing alone as usual quietly thinking my own thoughts when a tirade of insulting names began to come in my direction from one of the chief bullies.
Remembering Mum’s words I decided that the time had come for me to ‘stand up for myself’ and without stopping to think I ran the few yards to where my antagonist was standing and launched myself at him in a flying leap.
Even under 4 stone of furious redhead has a certain mass and as luck would have it I knocked him straight into a chain link fence. Everything clicked together in my mind and I hooked my little fingers into the fence while pushing my thumbs onto his windpipe.
I can honestly say that nothing I’ve experienced in my whole life has been as sweet as the look of sheer terror on that boy’s face as realisation dawned that I fully intended to kill him.
I vaguely registered that there was a lot of shouting going on and that hands were trying to drag me off but nothing was diverting me from my chosen task. I didn’t even flinch when he managed to get a knee into my groin.
Someone punched me in the side of the head, sending my glasses flying and breaking my concentration sufficiently to loosen my grip. Then I found myself lying in the mud getting a severe kicking.
Once everyone was satisfied that I was properly quelled the kicking stopped and the bullies went off, taking their rather subdued friend with them. A couple of boys who were almost friends helped me to stand up.
They pretty well dragged me into the changing room and made me look at myself in the mirror, it wasn’t a pretty sight; I already had a black eye and a fat lip as well as some other cuts and bruises.
The breast pocket of my blazer had been almost completely ripped off, my trousers were torn and covered with mud and my glasses had been smashed.
I had to make it through the rest of the day with no glasses so I couldn’t see the blackboard at all and I refused refused point blank to clean myself up which earned me a note from my Form Master to be delivered to Mum. I was told that I was lucky not to be sent to the Headmaster.
I wasn’t at all surprised to get a vicious thrashing when I got home. Less than half a term into my new school and a very expensive uniform had been ruined. To add to the thrashing my various injuries had to be thoroughly disinfected which hurt like the devil, TCP really stings on open cuts.
My attempt to justify the situation by explaining that I’d just been standing up for myself cut no ice at all, apparently I was supposed to negotiate my way out of these situations and not use violence.
Unfortunately it seemed that I was the only boy in my year that was expected to live by that rule.
Love
Funny how only the usually quiet ones who one day decide to stand up for themselves get punished for starting a row, and not hte bullies. Why is that?
Love
L.
I think it’s because the quiet ones are usually the most intelligent and aren’t expected to ‘lower’ themselves to such things as fighting.
Bullies seem to have a well developed sense of self protection and are very good at keeping off the radar.
That was certainly the lesson that Mum wanted me to learn, clever boys don’t need to fight.
Love
Malcolm