Posts Tagged “school”

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Everyone knows that the scariest thing for kids when growing up is not monsters or ghosts. It’s not parents or teachers. It’s those elementary school bullies. Every school has them, and every class has them. But without a doubt, the most fearsome species of the playground bully was the 6th grader (or maybe the 5th grader depending on what grade your elementary school went up to). The 6th grade bully had worked his way up the ranks and now was king of the school, at least for one year. This is the story of the time I was confronted by a 6th grade bully…and lived to tell about it.

I was walking home one cool autumn day when I turned onto a long narrow street not far from where I lived. I had once seen some tough looking kids bullying some little kids on this street a while back and was always afraid that I would meet up with them again. And sure enough, this day I would. I was almost near the end of this long street when 3 big kids turned the corner. Just by looking at them you could tell they were 6th graders, you could just see it in their eyes. 2 of the kids were about equal in size, I didn’t get their name. But the 3rd kid, the leader of the pack, was huge. He stood at least 5 feet tall and probably weighed 135 pounds. His name was Matt. I call him Fat Matt in my head. He wasn’t all that fat, he was built more like a football lineman.

I knew I was in trouble. I started to cross to the other side of the street. But they quickly intercepted my path.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Matt demanded.

“Home” I stammered.

“I don’t think so,” said Matt.

Then it happened. Matt’s sidekicks each grabbed one of my arms and held them out to the side. “Uh oh” I thought. This was the ultimate bully pummeling position. Matt started the crack his knuckles with an evil smirk on his face.

And then something came over me. I wasn’t going to let this happen. Adrenaline surged through my veins and I felt very strong all of a sudden. With my new found strength and courage I thrust my arms out, grabbing both of Matt’s sidekicks by the neck. I swung both of them in towards me, clashing their skulls against each other. They fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Matt’s look of astonishment on his face was quickly replaced by a look of pain as I shattered his nose with my fist.

“You…you broke my nose!” Matt screamed. “I’m going to tell!”

“Not today” I thought as I kicked him in the junk. Fat Matt slammed to the ground and lay beside his 2 friends. I stood for a few seconds over them, admiring my work. And then I ran as fast as I could. I ran all the way home. When I got home I was so excited. I called my friends and went over to their house.

Incredibly enough, once I had finished the story my friends weren’t all that happy for me.

“You’re proud of the fact that you beat up three 6th graders?” my friend John asked.

“Of course” I responded.

“But you’re 29 years old.” he said.

They just didn’t get it. Yes this happened just 2 weeks ago. But much like slaying an evil dragon, taking down a 6th grade bully is an incredible accomplishment no matter what your age is. Fuck you Fat Matt. I hope your balls hurt for weeks.

Tags: 6th Grader, Autumn Day, bullies, Crack, Doubt, Football Lineman, Ghosts, Knuckles, Leader Of The Pack, Little Kids, Monsters, Parents, Playground Bully, Pummeling, school, School Bullies, short stories, Smirk, Veins, Walking Home, Woody

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Christopher was a native of West Virginia and moved to our town midway through 5th grade. Instantly he was hated and despised amongst the students. He was rude, very muscular, and appeared to use skin care products which I thought was odd for a young boy. He would push kids in line, talk back to teachers yet he would score high marks on tests, and beat us all in races during recess. He even managed in getting Nicole Drape to be his girlfriend. Not that Nicole was a trophy girl to us kids back then but Christopher’s remarkable ability to adapt in this new pond was remarkable. I think what made us all hate him the most was the fact he was a bully but he was also successful in sports, math and with the girls.

One day during third period I had science class with Mr. Lomas. I am not sure what day of the week, what time of the year or what exactly we were studying but I remember clearly having that class with Christopher. Mr. Lomas was a large man about 6’5 and I would estimate around 300 pounds. He reminded me a lot of Fred Flintstone, his hair and his facial features were almost identical to the cartoon. Yet, His personality was far from similar but if I were to keep comparisons within the town of Bedrock, Mr. Lomas would be more of a Barney Rubble. I sat first row second seat back where as the notorious Christopher Wansley preferred not sitting in a desk but in a chair he would rock back and forth on two legs in the back of class. Days and moments prior to the class, hall room exchanges between Christopher Wansely and me had been heating up. He on whatever maniacal whim he was acting on chose me as this week’s target. The names called ranged from the traditional stupid and dickhead to more creative types where Christopher would combine two or three traditional put downs into one-super word and create some type of hybrid insult such as dickass or stupid-fuck-assface. These names enraged me, and brought me to the edge of tears each day. I was sick of the way he had been treating me, I was angered by the fact my peers would find great humor in his knowledge of the English language. I needed to strike back quickly. Liberation via retribution, and at 3rd period science class is where I exacted my revenge.

Other than hitting Craig Lutz in the face purposely with a street hockey stick, calling Kerri Coleman a bitch because she would complain about homework all the time, and throwing a cheeseburger across the lunchroom I was generally a good kid. Talkative but not a troublemaker, opinionated but I knew my limits with my peers and teachers. I never sought out revenge. I was always taught to not stoop to the bullies level. But this time was different. For the entire period I planned and plotted the perfect comeback to spray at Christopher Wansley. I thought of just straight punching him in the gut, but I knew his sheer animal force would overpower me. Surrounded by the girls of the class I had but one perfect offense, attack his masculinity. Going over and over my plan of attack in my head I plotted with succinct detail my every word. I waited like a patient cobra for him to open his mouth to me, and then and only then would I attack with unabashed fury. Now, at this point I don’t recall what really took place. I knew a quick and general insult was spewed from Christopher’s mouth and I reacted instantly, not even knowing if the words were directed at me. My timing had been thrown yet I found myself standing on both feet finger extended addressing Christopher in the corner of the room. Intuition took over and disconnected words came flowing from out of my mouth. In a loud cracking emotional pitch I screamed with watery eyes at Christopher the following sentiments:”Unlike you Christopher Wansely, my lover is a man!” The class sat quiet, and I instantly realized that I had not insulted his manhood. In a strange world of immature views towards masculinity I had not only misfired on my enemy but had also in the same broad stroke emasculated myself in the process. After standing in silence for about 15 seconds my knees collapsed and I sat defeated, head down on my desk.

Tags: bullies, school

As many of you know, I live in West Virginia, in a very tiny (unincorporated) town of less than 200 people. A couple of years ago someone in this town was murdered. It wasn’t just any someone, it was a girl who I knew, and went to school with.

She was a year or two behind me at school, but I knew her. She lived not too far away from me, and her best friend was the younger sister of a kid I knew quite well. I had to walk to catch the school bus and so did she. I remember seeing her quite a lot, and even talking to her occasionally.

After she died, the news was full of stories that growing up she was a good middle class girl that got into some really bad drugs that messed her up, but that wasn’t my recollection. Even at the age of 13/14 she hung around with the “bad boys” and was known to sleep around. She always hung out with the wrong people and was smoking cigarette’s and weed at a young age, and drinking at a young age with certain pricks from my class who used to hang around with younger girls because no one else would be impressed by the fact they had the ability to score some weed. I remember at 15 beating up the “leader” of the group she hung around with because he hocked a loogey on a plastic ruler and then flicked it onto my shirt in class. Apparently he did it because he thought my reaction would be “funny”. Guess I showed him.

In no sense was I friends with her, and I can’t really say I ever had a genuine conversation with her. She was a few years younger than me, and hung out with different people. I don’t know what I feel, if I feel anything, about her death. Of course, I wish things hadn’t worked out like they did. I wish she hadn’t been killed, but only in the general sense I would feel the same about anyone in that situation or anyone who had such a bad end. From what I read in the papers she was in and out of work, drifted into some hard drug abuse, and ended up working as a prostitute, more or less. It’s just so hard to connect the image I have of her from school, walking past my driveway, past my house on her way to school – to a corpse dumped in the woods by some monster.

Obviously she made mistakes in her life, and chose to go down the wrong path. There were so many other lives ahead of her, so many other paths she could have went down. I don’t know whether to think that she was just a random victim of a terrible force, or if destruction was more fixed in the path she took. You could blame life, her parents, the world, drugs, and the sick bastard that killed her, or, (D) all of the above. I’ve known people who have died because of drugs. I’ve known people who died because they were sick from cancer. I’ve had several family members that have died, and I had a friend who died from a four-wheeler wreck when he was riding with another kid who was messed up on E and booze, but sometimes I just can’t get my head around the girl who was murdered.

By no means is this grief (this did happen some years ago.) She was someone I could barely remember and who I hadn’t seen or thought of for 10 years. But what strikes me is that the nature of the crime is so awful, and so foul. Her killer seemed to be nothing more than a pompous ass during his trial. How can such bad things be reconciled to a man like that?

I guess this is one of the disadvantages of living in such a small town. I know everyone that lived around me while I was growing up, and I remember them to this day. It’s always a shock when something like this happens here. Thankfully, they are few and far between.

Tags: death, friends, school, town