I am a farm boy, raised on a dairy farm, went to country school for the first 6 grades. Country school was small, 5 to 6 kids in each class, 12 grades in each school, all taught by one teacher. This system worked because we were neighbors and friends. We worked and played together. We always had a teacher that taught us kindness and teamwork. When you became a Junior or Senior you became qualified to be the teacher's helper in executing the lesson plans. This was a highly prized position that everyone wanted.
Every so often, we would have a fight either in the classroom, or in the school yard. The older boys, with great consistency, would break up the fight. It was well known that the older boys did not fight, as they had too many critical life issues facing them, leaving them no time to mess around fighting. It did not hurt that the teacher was on a first name basis with each set of parents either.
You can only imagine the terror in our hearts when we heard that for 7th grade we would be going to “city school.” While we did not know much about city school, one thing was clear, we were losing what we knew, and this was extremely uncomfortable.
When the big day came to hop onto the school bus, my mother was busy getting us the best clothes she could afford. Mind you we were farm kids and quite poor, although we, as children, were oblivious to the meaning of poor. With our lunch boxes in hand, the school bus delivered us to “city school.”
As we exited the bus, it was scary and scintillating all at the same time. Kids were everywhere. Screaming, playing, running, aw man there were 100 times the kids here vs country school. I remember distinctly thinking to myself, I do not know anyone,, until my friend and frequent mentor Dave found me. He was a freshman in high school, having moved from country school two years earlier. He greeted me with his familiar saying, “Hey little man, what are ya doin?” He was my savior, helping me find my classroom. My first day was a blinding whirr of activities, ending successfully.
The second day arrived with great anticipation, after all the first day was fun, just imagine how much fun the second day would be! That was until I walked into my classroom. Within 2 minutes I was laying on the floor! One of the “city kids” decided that I was a stinking farm kid and was perfect to pick on and harass. He had come up to me, put me in a headlock, flipping me over his back, a wrestling move, where I landed on the floor with a thud. It seemed that most everyone thought it was funny, or at the least I thought everyone was laughing at me.
He did this every day for the first week. At home, I started to hide from my parents, as I knew they wanted to know how was school. Finally on Saturday Dad cornered me, asking me how was school going. I instantly broke down in tears, telling him everything that happened to me. My dad, if you have read my book about him, did not raise his voice, did not get dramatic, he simply said, you know you must solve this yourself. Then he told me a bit of a story that frankly took me years to really understand.
He said, “Son, I never want to hear that you have started a fight in school or anywhere else, but if you get in a fight, I never want to hear that you lost.”
Now I am a farm kid! Even at age 13, I was a strapping kid that could toss 50-pound hay bales around. So, what was I afraid of? I simply did what every kid that is picked on does. I retreated within myself, not feeling confident of anything, let alone my skills to fight off a bully. What I did not know, or realize at the time, was that I was not the only kid being picked on by this bully, and that if I stood up to him, they just might come to my defense.
When the next week rolled around, the bully and I had words in the middle of the classroom. I said to him, and I remember the words clearly, “This shit is going to stop, and if you don’t stop, one of us is going to get the shit kicked of us, and it ain’t gonna be me.” He came towards me and that is when I clocked him right on the side of the head, knocking him to the floor. I remember the gasps, along with kids saying, “He deserved that!”
That day, the bullying of me by the class bully stopped, and in fact, he stopped being a bully. Whenever I walked up to him, he would make a public proclamation that he was sorry for what he had done.
Now. Let me ask you: has anyone else had this situation?
I would never advocate fighting as an answer to anything. Fighting is an angry reaction to something. Even after all these years my dad’s words still ring in my ears. My dad wanted me to think about my situation and not react, but solve it. I needed to think through things like the following: Was this guy bigger than me? Was he stronger than me? What was the environment surrounding me when this bulling always happened? Why didn’t someone help me? Where are the teachers or older kids that always stopped this at my country school? What actions were needed to get this kid to stop bullying everybody? This was to become my first public problem-solving activity and I did not even know it.
What I do not understand is why WE, as kids or adults, put up with the bullying that goes on at every level of society. In this case, why did the teachers put up with this kid? When I ask that, I do not care who they are or how much power they might have. Too often, who they are or how much power they may have, seems to be part of the equation.
If we are ever to grow as human beings, we need to learn how to effectively stand up and say, “NO, dammit, stop that behavior!” I know it is hard to stand up to bullies, whether it is happening to you or to other people. When people stand up to bullying, the results are overwhelmingly powerful.
Come along on a journey with me, to learn more about bullying and how to stop it.
Stay tuned for the second edition of bullying!