I experienced bullying as a kid but only in the clinical sense. There are episodes of sudden, vulgar invective that were aimed at me by classmates but nothing out of the ordinary.
“Go fuck yourself, Penny.”
“Eat shit and die, Penny.”
“You’re a fucking f*****, Penny.”
Technically, it was bullying but it’s really nothing that most kids don’t go through. Incidentally, “Penny” was never a nickname of mine. I can’t tell if it’s a Western New York accent thing or if it’s a bully thing to drop the T in my name but it was surprisingly consistent.
I’ve often described school as having a caste system. I wasn’t one of the Brahmins sitting at the cool table, nor was I an untouchable. I was in the middle, the merchant caste, I guess. Whatever, the metaphor has broken down. What I’m getting at is, you could always mock anyone beneath you. So, as much as I like to think I was a nice victim who got picked on, I know that I gave my fair share to people lower on the food chain than I was.
Luckily, I never got beaten up.
Ryan Slattery and I attempted a fight in sixth grade. I believe he hit me beneath my eye with the heel of his hand. Neither of us being fighters, we quickly made peace and moved on. Tim Tyre and I had a slap fight in the eighth grade behind Topps (the Rochester supermarket that is not Wegmans) next to my high school. Tim suggested it as it would leave no bruises and, in doing so, revealed himself to be a gentleman because, judging by the slaps landed, I would have been the only one bruised.
I did get whaled on a couple of times. What’s whaling? Well, I’m glad you asked. Just as verbal abuse was delivered to anyone beneath your caste, so was vigorous punching on the arm, usually repeated. Whaling.
So, I had a pretty trouble free childhood. I did, however, have what I consider to be one actual bully. His name was Mike.
He entered my school in the ninth grade and was a few lockers down from me. He was a dour kid and enjoyed whaling on me. It was never playful as it could be among friends.
Zach Nowak hit me more times than I can count but I deserved each and every one.
“Rob, call me a Polack one more time and I’m hitting you.”
“Whatever, Polack.”
[Punch]
“Ow.”
“Rob. I told you what would happen.”
Zach and I were in the same caste, so, adolescent justice was served.
I went out for wrestling for one year for about four days. There was a beast of a guy on the team named John. He was built like a wrestler and had the temperament for it. He yelled at me a few times during practice for screwing up an exercise, not being intense enough, whatever. It was intimidating and one of the many reasons I decided not to go back.
John was Mike’s older brother. In retrospect, I wonder how much that played into Mike’s desire to hit someone who was a little smaller than he was.
And I was a little smaller than Mike freshman year. Sophomore year I wasn’t and Mike left me alone.
We didn’t cross paths much more in high school. I do remember one more encounter.
I happened to be at Topps with my mom. Mike and his friend were in front of me buying cigarettes. My mom blurted out, “Those are just kids! They’re not old enough to buy cigarettes!” I kept my mouth shut and just prayed. Please, God, please let them get their cigarettes. The cashier didn’t listen, they got their Reds, and I never received a beating for it.
I never thought about Mike again until years later when I learned that he died serving our country in the Navy.
It was surreal to hear. I’d never really dealt with the passing of someone that I, frankly, thought was an asshole. Any animosity that I had for him had long since faded but animosity was the only thing I ever felt towards him.
Intellectually I felt for him and the family that he left behind. I also like to imagine that being in the Navy gave him a sense of pride and purpose. I don’t know, though.
I barely knew him.
