The Bully - Part Two

When I was in middle school, I was a fantastic dork.

Round, gold-rimmed glasses that were too big for my face and pig-tails, that were the real cherry atop the disastrous sundae of puberty. 

I had a fantastic set of friends, no doubt about it, but they could not do much to save me from being the butt of many jokes.

Literally.

I’d spend majority of the class getting glue-sticks, empty bottles, erasers and crushed up paper balls thrown at the back of my head, while I sat there, not really sure what I was supposed to do about it.

The really cliché message of ‘Tell your teacher’ that everyone loves to dish out, didn’t do much. The teacher scolded them, and walked off to her next class, leaving me to face the next wave of projectile objects.

 The ‘Tell your parents’ part… what kid at that age, would want their parents to come to school and make a fuss over bullies? 

Because, in the end, the news would spread like wildfire, and I would end up being ‘that kid who got bullied’ for the rest of my dismal school life.

So, I took it… and eventually, I got some of my own back, when I finally lost my cool.

One of my bullies came up to me and taunted me,

And he lowered his face close, pointing at his jaw mockingly.

So, I did it.

In my defence, he was asking for it. Also, it pays to be nice to your teachers, because that could have gotten me into real trouble, had any of them believed what he’d said.

So, I got away scot-free, and he got away with a painful jaw.

This wave of bullying eventually ended, but only because three new, much more formidable bullies stepped into their territory.

 

Let’s call them A1, A2, and A3.

A1 was the ‘leader’ of the pack, and the one who started it all. I can’t recall how or when it began, but I know that the three of them, for some unfathomable reason, decided that I would be their target for the school year.

 

Karma probably had something to do with it, thanks to my elementary school experiences.

Anyway, I would get my desk shoved, my notes stolen and put on top of the teacher’s cupboard, which I couldn’t reach thanks to me being vertically challenged.

A1 did most of the bullying, while A2 helped out occasionally. A3 was the Vincent Crabbe of the trio, and a bit dim and slow, so he mostly just laughed and stood to a side.

 

I’d already experienced my share of bullying by then, so I wasn’t too horribly affected by it anymore, other than feeling slightly annoyed. 

In a way, being bullied prior to this made me way more ballsy, and this time around, I was actually able to face my foes and… well, glare at them. Angrily.

It all turned around somehow, though, in a strange way. I don’t know how teenage boys think, and I don’t think I ever will, but they are like a faulty tube-light. Are you on or are you off?

However, I like to imagine that I scared them. 

Which, looking at me, is totally not the case.

A1 stole my notebook and my calculator once again, casually popping them on top of the teacher’s cupboard. He’d done it one too many times, and managed to summon an angry red monster inside of me, that made me stand up, slam my hands down on his table and shout;

After A1 stared at me, looking surprised, I realised what I’d done and shrank back into a mouse, trying to reach my book and calculator.

It was after that, that things began to change.

A1 took my eraser and put it on top of the teacher’s cupboard. I stared at him and asked him to give it back.

He told me to get it myself.
I told him to ‘Give it back, please.’ (See? I’m polite.) 

A2 then stood up, went over to the cupboard, took down my eraser, placed it in my palm, and went back to his desk without a word.

 
Needless to say, I was shocked.
I didn’t think they’d actually listen.

Following that, my bullying life slowly shriveled up and disappeared. 

During PE classes, we would play basketball and A2 would actually put me on his team. Not that I was bad at basketball, but I was pretty short, and he was a bully.
But I didn’t question it.

Because school-life was getting better and free of drama.

So, all in all, it ended well. 

Neither A1, A2 or A3 ever bullied me again, and they left my class the next year. The boys who used to bully me before, became friends with me. In fact, one of them became my best friend in high school. Funny, right?

I didn’t see A1 or A3 after that, but I did see A2 at my high school graduation ceremony. As I was leaving the hall, I saw him walking past. Surprisingly enough, he recognised me, despite me dropping the round glasses and pigtails (THANK GOD), and he held out his hand for a high-five.

And, on the way out of my high school graduation, I high-fived one of my middle school bullies.

I still regret being the bully in elementary school.
But I don’t regret being bullied.

It’s allowed me to sympathise with others who are lonely, or suffering- and for me, it ended well and on good terms, so I was lucky, I guess.

Really lucky.