Bully Wooly

Over the past few months, I’ve heard a lot of anti bully talk and slogans.  I don’t like bullies any more than the next person, but if it were not for the bullies in my past, I wouldn’t be the person I am today.  I might be timider or a total jerk.  Only God knows what I would have become if I hadn’t of stood up for myself in high school after years of torment.

Everyone thinks that because I went to private school, I had it made and didn’t have to contend with such things as bullies, drugs, and threats.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  When I finished high school, I was five feet tall.  I was a small lad that weighed a total of 100 lbs. soaking wet.  At my school, we had around 30 kids in each grade.  It was a small school that I loved. However, when I was a sophomore, the principal started letting kids that had been kicked out of public school, attend our school.  So, all the ingrates whose families could afford private school, came to our school.  That’s when things started to change.

We had this one tall heavy set fella at our school that took joy out of picking little shites like me up and throwing us across a room.  He also enjoyed stuffing us into lockers and pulling our boxers up to our heads.  One day after lunch, I caught him strangling a friend for money.  I yelled for him to stop.  A few seconds later, a teacher came around the corner and he stopped.  He pointed at me, and said, “I’m going to get you, Davis, after school”.

Frankly, I was terrified.  I managed to skip by him, when my ride pulled up.  What he said nagged at me all weekend.  I was boxing with my father that Sunday and almost knocked him off of a three story deck.  I was so nervous Monday morning that I begged my mother to let me stay home.  I ended up going to school that morning, regardless of the consequences. 

Somehow, I managed to sneak by him all day.  The clan of nerds that I was the leader of brought lunch to my hideout in the janitors closet.  The rest of the day dragged on.  One teacher asked me what was wrong, because I was shaking so bad that she could barely read my writing.  I wanted to tell her, but I didn’t.

After the final bell rang, I decided to take the back exit that no one ever used to access the area where parents picked up their kids.  As I furiously ran around the corner towards the exit, a foot tripped me, and I went sliding into the lockers.  Before I could turn around, big boy and his cronies were picking me up like a feather.  I yelled for help, but to no avail.  My eyes darted back and forth searching for anyone to help, but only the girlfriends were there to watch me get beat senseless. 

He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and started picking me up.  It wasn’t that I was necessarily scared of him, it had more to do with the threat and the time that had passed thinking about it.  As he lifted me off the ground, I grew a spine and kicked his knee in as hard as I could.  I had legs of steel back then and still do.  We both fell to the frigid January ground and he started screaming.  The next thing I knew a minute had passed and I was still beating him senseless.  The principle came and after a time of pacing back and forth in the principles office, I explained what happened.   With a tearful, girly, cry, he said that he was just going to scare me. 

We became somewhat friends.  The last thing I heard about him was that he was in jail for attempted theft of an ATM.  I saw him about five years ago.  He was still going on about me busting his kneecap.  That may have been the first time I had to stand up for myself outside of the home, but definitely not the last.  Every time a new student would enter our school with an attitude, they’d test the dominate little shite, me.  But, thanks to big boy, they’d be fully warned ahead of time. 

Ever since I got into that fight in 2007, I’ve not had to be in another.  I don’t like to fight.  I’ll do just about anything to avoid it, but sometimes it is a necessity.  I realise that school is a lot different these days, but the basic rules still apply.  Take down the biggest one and the rest will flee.  Mind you, I’m not encouraging physical altercations, but you’ve got to stand up for yourself and others at some point.

P.S.:  I’ll be back Christmas Day with an inspirational post, I hope.

bricked path

dropletsred gamp

Perfect

Earlier this evening, I was in the garage working on my Beetle.  I was fixing the 45 year-old stereo mono system.  There was an icy beer to my right, good tunes on the shop radio to my left, and a project at hand.  “Life is grand”, I cogitated, as I turned up the beer bottle.

The radio went silent for a moment and the song, Perfect, by Pink, started reverberating around the concrete block walls of the garage.  I continued testing voltage on some of the ageing wires, but about halfway through the song, I was hit with a realization and a wave of emotions. 

I have accomplished almost everything I’ve ever set out to do.  Not to sound vain, but I’m a brilliant photographer, a poet, a writer, an extreme Linux geek, a painter, a sketcher, an all around artist of sorts with very eclectic taste.  My father, who has never been one to give out praise, has always said I can accomplish anything.  I’ve surpassed any expectation ever set by doctors or family.  Yet, there is one Very important thing that I have totally fucked up.

I’m probably the worst brother on the planet Earth.  I have five sisters.  They only have one big brother.  I wish there were two of us, so one could be a total screw up and the other be perfect.  I do my best to set a good example for them, but I rarely see any of them.  I only see Sister1 once every two weeks.  She’s such a beautiful and talented woman, but like so many women today, she got mixed up with the wrong man and wrong crowd.  She is doing her best to mend wounds and make any wrongs, right.  I can’t help but think that if I’d been a better brother then she wouldn’t be in the situation she’s in now.

Sister2 is yet another beautiful and smart young woman in her teenage years – the most important time in our lives, when we choose to do be good or bad.  I can only hope that I can be a better brother to her than I have in the past.  It is the job of the oldest and brother to steer the young one’s in the right direction.  I have not been doing my job and should probably be fired. 

Sisters 3,4, and 5 range in ages from 15 to 5.  I rarely see them at all, which is sad for the lot of us.  They are all brilliant and talented as well.  I only see them at Christmas or the occasional stop, when I’m at my fathers shop.  They go to the most prestigious private school in the area, so I, at least, know that they are being taught by some of the best teachers around. 

I’m proud of all of them and am honoured to be their big brother.   I can only hope to be more involved in their lives and help guide them down the right path.  A big brother should be a beacon atop a watchtower, always willing to give advice and shelter.  It is imperative that I, and all big brothers, think before we say and do things in front of our siblings.  Odds are very favourable that if you act like a complete arse, your sister will marry a man that acts the same way.  :)

An Oedipus Fuss

I had to go shoe shopping today.  I hate shopping for shoes!  It’s a royal pain because I have one foot longer than the other.  So, I have to buy shoes that are snug for one foot and tight on the other.  It all works out in the end. 

After scribing a few pieces of corner moulding this morning, I headed down to the local shoe shop.  I was looking for hiking boots.  It took me a while to find some that I was happy with.  So, a man in his mid twenties came over and asked if he could be of any help.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“No, thank you.”

“You’ve been back here for a while, so I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t need any help”, he said whilst sorting the inventory of shoe boxes.

“Ah well, you can just call me Oedipus”, I laughingly announced.

“Edipuss?”

“Oedipus, the king.  A play written by Sophocles.  Anyway, Oedipus means swollen foot.”

“Huh?”

“I have one foot bigger than they other”, I muttered, as the young  man looked even more perplexed.

“Oh…….Cool!”

Anyhow, I talked to him about college.  He said that he’d think about going back to school.  I told him that with education comes freedom to go where one wishes to go and accomplish what one wants to accomplish. 

I had to read Oedipus the King in 8th grade, I believe.  At college, I did an in-depth paper on Oedipus.  I don’t understand why any kid over the age of 10 doesn’t know about Sophocles

Now, I’m trampling around in a steel toed size 10(EU44) boot!  Don’t mess with Davis.  ;)