Puppy Love Voilence
When I was in first grade I used to have a crush on this red-haired girl in my class. It seems that she was not well liked because a lot of people teased her about her bright orange hair and her highly freckled skin.
But on the playground I would always try to spend some time with her. She mostly tried to get me to stay away from her. I don’t recall having ever teased her like some of the other kids did, but maybe I did and I just didn’t remember, or maybe she just thought I did because some of my friends were some of the ones that teased her.
I really had a crush on this girl. I lay awake at night and think about how the next day I would hold her hand, look into her eyes and tell her I loved her, and she would tell me she loved me too.
I was six years old. Two years later I had an even deeper crush on another girl. That second crush was perhaps the most intense fond emotion I have ever felt for another person, and I regret that such an intensity is only a cherished memory, but that’s another story.
There was one other guy in my class that also liked the little red-headed girl. He was bigger than me. Not much taller, but he had a lot of meat on him and liked pushing people around and sticking his fists in other kids faces and making promises of knuckle sandwiches.
I wasn’t much of a fighter and I let this guy chase me away from the little red haired girl during recess for weeks and it was bothering me. I must have been in a contemplative mood one day because my father asked me what was wrong one day and I started crying and told him about the bully and how after chasing me away from the red haired girl sometimes he would make her cry because she didn’t like him either, and he would push her and call her “freckle face” and things.
My father was a gentle man. Perhaps too gentle most of his life, but he told me that day if I was going to be afraid of someone and not stand up to someone who would hurt someone I liked that I would be a coward and I would suffer from cowardice the rest of my life. So, I took his advice.
I went to the edge of the woods and looked for a good sturdy stick and I found one and hid it next to one of those three-foot diameter concrete drainage pipes that were on the play ground for the kids to go through and or climb on.
It took a few more days of being chased off by the bully, but every day I would check to make sure the stick was where I had left it.
One day the bully came over to chase me away from the red haired girl, and she and I were finally getting along and she had told me she didn’t like the bully boy. I remember the way she looked at me and bit her tongue, like she was confused, like she was hoping I would stop being a coward and stop the bully from messing with her.
As usual, the bully boy came towards us and told me to beat it, go away. I said, “No, you go away!. She doesn’t want you here!” He pushed me. Usually when he pushed me, or pushed any kid, whoever he pushed fell smack on their butt, but I didn’t that day. I fell back a few feet, but I stayed on my feet, and I came back at him not knowing what to do, but I could see the look of surprise on his face and when I got close to him I spit a hocker dead square on the middle of his forehead. His eyes rolled in his head and I could see steam come out of his ears. I wished I hadn’t done that, but it was too late now. His head and neck quickly turned red and I was more afraid than I had ever been in my life, so I took off running, I jumped over some steel pipe railings, and ran through a couple of kids playing tetherball, and then headed for the concrete pipes, there were several.
I could hear the kid behind me screaming, “I’m going to kill you”, and I was certain he would too, if he caught me, but I was pretty much the fastest runner in the school, and I was probably getting some extra speed because of the adrenaline rush.
I ran through the concrete pipe where my stick was, ducking my head and shoulders to go through, then turned around the side of the pipe, picked up the stick, leaned back against the pipe, and raised the stick, preparing to strike. Sure enough, the bully kid was right on my tail and as he came out of the pipe and made the turn to follow me I could see this look of amazement that just faded away into dullness as I crashed my stick into his head,just over his left ear.
I don’t think he was unconscious, but he was not fully conscious either. He was blinking his eyes, but I don’t think he see me or focus on me.
And then I proceeded to beat the shit out of him. Normally on a playground other kids will intervene, but in this case, here I was with a big stick in my hand, beating up the class bully who everyone was afraid of, and no one came close to me. I remember hearing kids yelling at me “stop it!”, and some of them were crying, and one or two even screaming.
I broke the stick on him. I jumped up and down on his chest, on his head. I kicked him in the face, in the ribs. I jumped on his arms, his legs. I even punched him a couple of times.
When a teacher finally did come, I was finished, too exhausted to continue, staring at the little red haired girl who was kneeling nearby crying.
There was blood all over the bully boy’s face. I think he was bleeding from several places. Nose, ears, mouth, maybe even his eyes.
I was one of the brightest kids in the school and one of the teachers favorites. I remember she took my hand, looking at me in the strangest way, and led me to the Principal’s office. I did not resist. I had been to the Principles office many times and I knew what awaited me there. Twenty six times I went to the Principals office in first grade. I knew how to count. I don’t remember how many spankings I got, but I got a bunch. However, this day I did not get a spanking. Instead I was sent home from school. Not just told to go home and allowed to walk home. My mother came to get me.
The bully boy was put in the hospital and I was told I would never see him again. I felt good about that, because I was still pretty scared of him.
It turns out that my grandmother owned and rented the house that the bully boy lived in. My grandmother was one of the most powerful, richest and influential people in town. My grandfather had died just four years prior to this event.
I never really got the full story of what happened, but everybody knew the kid was a bully. While he may not have deserved to have been injured to the extent that I injured him, he did have a good attitude adjustment due him, and despite the fact he had probably been paddled by the Principal more than me, he never changed.
I don’t know if my grandmother ever paid the bully boys parents any money or paid the kids hospital bills, but I’m pretty sure she evicted them from the house she owned, just told them to leave, and they did, they left town.
I think the reason I was never physically punished for beating this boy was that no adult could or would bring themselves to put a reciprocal beating on me like I put on that bully boy, there was no punishment that fit, and in many some ways I think a lot of the adults felt some respect for what I did. I don’t remember anyone despising me for beating that kid’s ass, for breaking his bones, knocking out teeth, and covering him in his own blood.
A lot of kids looked at me in a funny way the rest of the time I stayed at that school. I think it was uncertain fear. They didn’t know if they should be afraid of me or not. But I wasn’t a bully and I didn’t push other kids around.