Why is it that human beings can be so damn cruel to each other?
I'm asking this because I was reading HumanityCritic's entry about being bullied throughout his life and it got me thinking about my own experiences with bullies in my 30 years of existence on this planet.
All kids get into fights. It just happens and there is very little, if anything, that can be done about it either on the part of the kid or their relatives. Terrible? Yes. Cruel? Damn right. Unavoidable? Only through home schooling.
I lived in a few different locales as a kid. New York, Kentucky, Connecticut, Illinois. Of the four, Connecticut was the worst (I apologize to any CT readers out there in advance). I never really got in many fights in the other places, but, for some reason, Connecticut was different and it made my two and a half years there absolutely miserable.
I was the biggest kid in my elementary school (standard K-6) when I was only in fourth grade. That is one of the two reasons I feel I was such a target. Add to the equation that I was the new kid who moved in during the middle of the year and I suppose the other kids felt they had nothing to lose. I was in fights nearly every other day. That may sound like an exaggeration and, some weeks it was, other weeks it was the literal truth.
I never knew anything about fighting before moving to Connecticut. When I was in Kentucky, I never got in any fights that involved serious fist throwing. Maybe a verbal sparring match or two, but nothing that I really even remember. I loved Kentucky. Great place to grow up. But, as soon as I moved up to the northeast, the fit hit the shan. They must've painted a target on my forehead in the principal's office on that first day.
I lost my first couple of fights and hated the embarrassment so much that I swore I would never lose a fight again. And, so help me, I didn't. Maybe I didn't win them all, but I didn't lose either (yes, you can end a fight neutrally, believe it or not).
I was involved in one-on-one fights, two-on-one, three-on-one, etc. Heck, I was even involved in some of those stereotypical Hollywood fights where a bunch of people form a circle around you and each take their turn. Two of those as I recall.
The saddest thing about it all is that I never even knew 75% of the people that picked fights with me. So how the hell did I do anything to offend them to the point where they felt the need to "bring it"?
You wanna know how bad it got? At some point, the school bully became my friend. I'm not talking the big, hulking kid who's misunderstood (that was probably me). I mean the little kid from the wrong side of the tracks whose parents have little to no money and he always wore the same coat but has the attitude and tenacity of a bengal tiger being hunted in the wilds of India. He was one of my good friends because even he saw that what was happening to me just wasn't fair. So, yes, after a while, the fights became relatively more balanced. Relatively.
But, I wasn't the only target. My brother wound up on the wrong side of many fists while we lived in Connecticut, as well. We both went to the same school, but since he was four years younger than me, he entered, exited, and had recess on the other side of the building. So I was rarely able to defend him.
Except one time. And I love this story.
I was walking around to his side of the school to meet him so we could walk home. I came across him being bullied by a kid his age and the kid's older brother who was a year younger than me. How fair is that? Not at all in my book. So I jumped into the melee. I never threw a punch to the younger kid; only threw him down to the ground to get him out of the way so I could have some fun with his brother. Even when the younger kid tore my new T-shirt, I still only threw him down.
His brother, on the other hand, did not go home as the same kid that left that morning. I clocked him a couple of times but good. And, to top it all off, and end the fight, I distinctly remember dragging his face down a brick wall. I don't recall any blood, but my brother was never touched again.
Whoever wanted to pick on me could do so. Fine. I'd become accultured to it by that time. But you don't fuck with my brother. I won't take cheap shots against those that bullied my brother. I would make sure they knew it was me and they saw it coming and would remember who delivered it.
Believe it or not, I'm not a violent person. Really.
Oh, and if you have read HumanityCritic's blog and like it, give him a couple of votes in the 2005 Black Blogger Awards. The most appropriate categories in which to vote for him would likely be "Blogger of the Year," "Blog of the Year," "Best Humor Blog," and "Best Writing in a Blog." When you register, use the name "HumanityCritic" and the URL "www.nappydiatribe.blogspot.com" when prompted. Good stuff deserves positive recognition.
