BULLY

Something I`m not proud of.

Bully

I remember a hot dusty afternoon a few years ago when the air could choke your lungs with the clouding smoke from the wildfires not too far away. I remember being with my scout patrol of eight or nine boys on a hike in the dry foothills. I remember a feeling of pride with my new tennis shoes that were now browned with dry dirt and my new pocketknife my dad had given me with a blade that glinted in the sun like a mirror. Most of the boys in that patrol I considered friends.They were big, athletic, popular, so to speak, and were from well to do families. I don’t remember much from that hike besides being rowdy and unapologetic with my friends. Not long after that hike did my mother come into my room with dried tears on her face. She told me she had received a phone call from one boys mother in my troop who had asked her if I was one of the boys involved in bullying her younger, smaller son in my troop. I denied her claims but the guilt of the truth I knew was spilling out from darting eyes to from the hot sweat from the top of my brow. I remember picking up the dry crumbling dirt clod in my hand visibly deciding whether i would hurl it at the smaller boy in my troop. Brian didn’t have a new shiny pocketknife or new tennis shoes, he wore hand-me-down cloths from his four older brothers, he didn’t know what socks with no holes felt like. He did know however how to out run any track star and and could smart any one of us. I remember knowing the pain I would cause him if i threw the rock filled dirt ball, the tender purple bruises that I would create on his fragile body the hot tears that would stream down his face only causing more ridicule. I remember talking with this young man yesterday in one of our five classes together. Once I could get past that he was only bullied because he didn’t like the same things my friends and I were into, didn`t wear the same clothes and didn’t talk about girls the way we did. I found out that we had much in common and with time we would become best of friends. I needed to mature to his level before this friendship could occur. Why do we bully? Why was I one that so easily succumbed to the peer pressure to make someone else feel less to make myself feel that I was more. What does our own self-esteem have to do with bullying? I believe it has everything to do with why adults, teenagers and children belittle others. My parents have never been ones to belittle me or abuse me in any way. Why then, was it me who got caught in the selfish act of bullying. Why do we bully? Why did I bully?

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