Do you remember the first time you snapped?
The first time you were pushed too far and completely lost it?
I do.
It was in the 2nd grade. It was during recess. And the recipient of my unforgiving rage was a boy in class. Jason Clark(e?).
I remember him being a husky, borderline chubby, unkempt, stereotypical trailer home looking fellow (no prejudice here; my aunt lived in one when she was alive; he probably didn't even live in one anyway), who seemed as though he never washed his face or hands, had matted dirty blond hair, wore hideous tacky A Team t-shirts (or shirts of that nature) and was considered "not cool" by his fellow peers. He wasn't one of the school natives (as in having been there since kindergarten). I think he had moved to CT from FL.
It's amazing how much we are capable of remembering when we stop to think about things. I had no clue I knew all that.
Anyway, it was recess, and I can't even remember what it was that caused me to lose it completely. All I know was that my antagonist's bait was verbal in nature, and most likely some sort of bedeviling, and I had downright had enough. It obviously wasn't a one time incident. Whether from him or others previously as well, it had accumulated enough for me to reach the point where I couldn't take it anymore. As the saying goes, it was the straw that broke the camel's back. I needed to release.
I opened up a can of whoop-ass on that dumbass.
And man, while I tried my hardest to hurt him the best I could, he held it together pretty well. But it was a façade. He was hurting hard on the inside. He tried to fight back but I was relentless. I went for his face. I tore it as hard as I could with my fingernails. I wanted to hurt him.
I remember our teacher having a shock-like-reaction to the brief yet intense incident, just standing there out of absolute disbelief and not really knowing what to do. She was probably alarmed that the quiet and socially handicapped girl - who was routinely passive when people made fun of her or walked all over her - was actually was retaliating.
After the altercation we went back inside to class. Don't remember anything after that.
But I do remember the phonecall that came that night at home.
It was Jason's mom. She was furious. And she completely unveiled the truth behind the "tough" front Jason put on that day. She told my mom how he was emotionally scarred, terrified and crying uncontrollably "from what your daughter did to him". I'm sure there was some truth to it but I also think she overreacted and embellished a bit. She went on and on about the scratch marks he bore, which probably wasn't exaggerated.
My mom confronted me after the phone call.
Remember that feeling?
The "Oh shit - here it comes. What am I gonna say? What is she going to do to me?" feeling?
I lied.
I made up some story to make it all his fault like he deserved it. Not like any story would justify my actions, but a second-grader's reasoning isn't exactly that advanced. That's probably why I don't remember what really provoked me. I don't even remember the lie. Mom gave me the "it wasn't right" speech and I can't remember if I had to apologize on the phone or not - probably did (I'd put money on it; my mom was like that) - but don't remember much of the consequences of that day.
Memory is funny like that sometimes.
7 comments:
D*mn bullies, he got what he deserved.
Mine was in the fifth grade. A relentless bully would terrorize certain girls everyday on the playgroud, his name, Mike. (Last I heard, he was in prison.)
One day he confronted me on the play ground, calling me names and threatening to punch me. I warned him I was gonna get my crazy on. He ignored me because I was usally such a little sissy girl. I punched him as hard as I could in the throat. He bent over coughing and gagging. I guess he was having a hard time breathing...This was a little self defense move Mom taught me. The difference, Mom was very proud of me.
D*mn bullies, they eventually get what they deserve.
The difference now days though, is revenge is served with guns and black trench coats. WTF???
i remember pushing a younger boy off a big rock in the neighborhood. i felt so bad about it later on (for like years later on, really) that i always wondered how i could make it right. maybe have someone push me off a rock? anyhow the kid wasn't hurt but the weird memory hits me sometimes. and i stay far away from any really big rocks.
Mike Fischer, sixth grade.
He tormented me on the playground, probably, in hindsight, because he had a crush on me, but he was an unintelligent dork, and he was greasy. I didn't hate him; I just wanred him to leave me alone.
So, one day the dismissal bell rang, and we all lept up to line up at the door to be released by Mr. Moore, our teacher. In the leaping up process, Mike accidentally knocked my pencil out of my hand. My eyes shot daggers into his. I said, icily, "Pick. It. Up."
Mr Moore said to me, "Who do you think you are?" I picked up my own pencil, but when Mike tried to pick the lock on my bike the next day, I finally tattled on him, to a FEMALE teacher, and he got a swat from the princpal.
I remember feeling quite satisfied. He never bothered me again.
Notice it wasn't the kids dad who called your house...cuz no man would want to start a conversation with "your daughter beat up my son"
I was always taught don't start a fight and do what you can to avoid it if possible, but if someone starts a fight with you you have to defend yourself...
so basically...
leave the gun, take the cannoli!!
I’m trying to remember. I think I played the victim, now that I think back. Or I didn’t fight back, I just cried, later.
What a dork I was.
Weird though, it was in kindergarten. This kid named Steve, he had a brown crew cut and freckles, like Howdy Duty, and he made my skin crawl. His hygiene was okay, but he was just plain mean to me. We were standing at the pick up door, and I had on a home made dress grandma had made for me, a real dangerous thing for a young girl to be doing….Grandma was not the greatest seamstress….okay, her sh*t had a tendency to fall or fly apart.
My strap broke from my home made dress, exposing my right mosquito bite booby. There were a couple of other kids there too, and Steven said, “Ewwww, look I can see your booby, and your cheap old dress is broken. Ewwwww.”
I don’t remember what I did after that. I do remember my teacher coming over and standing in front of me, telling Steven, “That is enough young man.”
I remember crying on the way home. That’s all I remember. I should have ripped his buttons off his shirt. Naaaaaaaaa, I did what I did, where I was at, at that time in my journey, I suppose.
Hugs you, Lori
Ron cracks me up!
I snapped soooo many times when I was a kid. Let's count some of the ways.
1. Punched unsuspecting bully (David West) hard in the middle of the back. That was a random assault, brought about by pent up rage, and carried out spontaneously when opportunity presented itself. 6th grade.
2. Threatened to stab bully (greasy rocker dude in algebra)with my number two pencil, and executed threat by stabbing said bully in the arm with my number two pencil. 9th grade.
3. Slammed top of bully's desk shut while bully (Derrick Somebody I Hated) had his hands inside. Almost broke some fingers. That also was a random assualt. 5th grade.
You must catch your victim by surprise....oops!...er...I mean....sometimes you just have to take a stand, any way you can. :)
Don't remember any physical fights, except with Jamoker, but the one uncharacteristic meanness that has stayed with me all these years was when I told the girl I hated that her optometrist lied to her when he said her new glasses would correct her eyes. "You're always going to be cross-eyed."
She was Nelly Olsen.
So then she cried loudly, with atomic sized tears falling all over her desk, and out I went into the hall to explain during her performance why it was I would say something so cruel.
I shrugged, which got me in more trouble. Then I cried, because the injustice was just too much. Nelly always said mean things, but the ONE TIME I did it, out to the hallway I went.
At least we were both in trouble at that point.
"Girls are too competitive with one another," the teacher told my Mom.
pffft. She was just 'gotta have all the oxygen in the room' self absorbed mean.
*My grandma took me shopping after that. She never got along with Nelly's grandmother. She understood completely.
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