In grade school, I dreaded the first day of school. Not because of the new teacher. Not because of the new subjects. I dreaded the first day of school because of a classmate who made my school life less than perfect.
He was my school bully. There I was, a tiny grade schooler with skinny arms and legs --- scared but trying hard to put on a brave front. But unlike the bullies of movie stuff, my School Bully did not grab my packed lunch. Nor did he beat me up to the pulp. His bullying was more of the verbal kind. He threatened to give me a beating. He said he would wait for me at the school gate and knock me out cold.
The threats got worse every year. But because he never lifted a finger, they felt empty and, well, less threatening. But in our sophomore year, I finally fought back. Call it teen testosterone but one fine school day, after he kicked my knapsack, I kicked him on his shin, when our teacher was not looking. He freaked out and wanted to end my life then. Fists did not fly but his expletives were a-plenty. He dropped his old “I will be waiting for you at the school gate” line. But I was unfazed. “Square tayo,” he challenged. “We can’t do squares. There are just the two of us. Squares have four sides and four corners,” I smarted. He threw me back a quizzical look. He simply did not understand my retort in straight English. “Let’s just get it on. One-on-one.”
Back then, I realized the best way to win a fight is to speak in straight English.
There was no buzz in school about the challenge. Come off time, I marched fearlessly to the school gate. Of course, my loyal friends were there as my cordon sanitaire. But School Bully was nowhere to be found.
He was absent the next day. When he showed up, he looked sullen and defeated. I saw him crying that afternoon. No matter how I hated him, I still asked “What was wrong?” He said sheepishly that our school adviser told him that he would repeat the year if he did not put his act together for the last grading period. He did not want to be a repeater. His mother after all was a teacher in our school and it would be a big shame if he failed a level.
I could not remember vividly what happened next but I knew after that short chat he stopped bullying me. He passed the sophomore year and we were classmates again in our junior year. In third year, he called me the “Boss” and obeyed me when as class president I would assign simple tasks to him like cleaning up the board or throwing out the garbage. I also started helping him out with his assignments.
But one time, our Social Studies teacher left the class a seatwork. We were supposed to read a chapter from our book and answer two questions. I did mine quickly and School Bully-turned-Obedient Classmate asked for help. I asked him to try answering the questions on his own first and I would edit his work later. No expletives this time. No life-threatening remarks. School Bully answered the questions and I edited his work.
But when we had the same class the next day, our teacher called School Bully’s attention and asked him if he was the one who answered the seatwork questions. He said yes but our teacher did not believe him. She said that there was only one student who could answer in straight English and that student was me. I raised my hand and reasoned out that I edited School Bully’s work but the substance was all his. But School Bully’s notoriety preceded him and Social Studies teacher judged him based on this.
School Bully was humiliated. I thought he would go back to his old ways and threaten me once again. But he just clammed up and became disengaged as the months progressed. He had no close friends and he started being absent more frequently. He dropped out completely and had to repeat our Junior Year. When I finished high school, School Bully was left struggling to complete his third year. I just learnt later that he did not continue into senior year.
Fast-forward to 20 years later. School Bully’s mother died last week. My best buds and I paid our final respect. One of them joked about me meeting my all-time fiend once again. Twenty years later, I was bigger, taller, and heftier than him. I could easily outbox School Bully but it was not time for “Revenge of the Nerd”. Former classmate and School Bully welcomed and thanked us for remembering his mom. He said he was sorry but he could not remember our names. When I told him who I was, he said how could have he forgotten. It must be the hair style, he joked. I am now sporting the skinhead-don’t-mess-with-me look. He introduced me to his relatives as the school’s “first honor.”
School Bully is now a real estate broker, selling condominium units. He got my mobile number and asked if he could contact me in the future for a sale. One of my best buds told him that I already bought a property and that I was not a condo-type of guy. He did not insist. We said our prayers and condolences and left.
As I walked away, a burden was lifted off my shoulders. Although there was a part of me that wanted to be obnoxiously proud, the other part told me to say goodbye to my School Bully-phobic years. We all had bullies in our lives. We could have been bullies ourselves. But as I learnt, there is a story for every bully. It is a story worth knowing. The simple act of reaching out may turn a bully into a softie.
