The stock and the other wooden parts on the old shotgun were all marked up and scarred, so with my grandfather's help, I took the gun apart and sanded all of the wooden parts until the marks and scars were gone. Then I applied a finish that gave the stock and wooden grip under the barrels a nice shine. I love my new shotgun and it is one of my favorite possessions. I have my .22 rifle and shotgun in my bedroom closet. Some days, coming home after a beating, I stare at them. I remember what the maker of the Colt pistols, Colonel Colt said, as quoted in the movie, “Winchester 1873”. “A Colt pistol makes all men equal.”
The point Colonel Colt was making was that, if a man had less size and strength, he could protect his family and his life with a Colt pistol. I would definitely use a gun if still in the Wild West but the Ten Commandments say, “Thou shall not kill” so I guess the rifle and shotgun cannot be the solution to my problem. Nevertheless, I wish I could use them to kill Rick, Bob, Donald and a few other people. On the other hand, maybe I can buy something else that will help me.
One day, when looking through a mail order catalogue, I found a “gravity blade”. It was a knife with a blade only 4 inches long, which was legal, and did not use springs to open it like a, "switchblade,” which was illegal. According to the brochure, holding the knife in a downward position and pushing a button, the blade immediately fell into a locked position ready for use. I sent for it immediately.
Three weeks later, the knife arrived in the mail. I took the package into my room and spent several hours practicing. I can get the blade to lock into place not only by just pointing the blade down but also by flicking my wrist while pressing the button, the blade snaps into place quickly. This is perfect, it is legal to carry and I can get the blade out quickly if I need it. The knife became a normal part of the things that I routinely carry around with me. When wearing my jacket, I placed the knife in the right hand pocket. In warmer months, I carried it in my right pants pocket. The handle was black and made of hard plastic with the button in any easy position for the thumb.
Having that weapon gives me more confidence when facing bullies because it is there for my use if I need it. I also discover that facing the bullies without fear but and showing genuine anger is the best way to stay out of a fight. I hear some adults discussing kids fighting always say that the best way to avoid a fight is to walk away. That simply does not work. Every time I tried this, it encouraged them to keep it up or they beat me up anyway. Obviously, attempting to walk away signals the bully that you fear them and this encourages them to continue with the intimidation.
I am sure of one thing about bullies, they are afraid of getting hurt. If they think there is any chance they might experience pain, they act cautiously. However, if they have friends with them they will most likely continue with the intimidation process until they show their superiority to the victim. From their point of view, it is not as much about the actual fighting as the importance and need to enhance their image in their own mind and in the eyes of others. Simply put, the shared goal by all bullies of all ages is a desire for a better opinion of themselves and, if possible, a high social ranking.
Now that I am 14 years old, and a sophomore in high school, I am older than most students that go to my school because it includes all grades from kindergarten up through high school. Because I am still smaller and shorter than many other males two grades behind me, I am the first chosen when a person in a lower grade needs to enhance his image by fighting someone in a higher grade. When this frequently happens, I now have to get very aggressive in a confrontation. The growing anger within me seems to help but it still surprises me if they walk away after I pretend to be so eager to fight.
Isolated in my room, every night I think about the unpleasant daily events and search for new ways to drive away an attacker. Well experienced with bullying, I created my rules for fighting, with the first key question, “Do I have to fight” so I was sure that I do not have any choice. If I can somehow avoid the fight, I will. My rules for fighting help me take quick action when necessary but I continue to think about them in depth, and include many different situations.
What the bullies want to see most is fear. If you show fear, they continue the bullying. Therefore, another rule is, "When face to face, do not show fear or retreat.” Be very careful about moving your feet backward by the slightest amount, and stand your ground. I never started a fight in my life but I have been in hundreds of them. The first question of, "Do I have to fight”, is important in many ways, but it is also a major disadvantage to allow the bully the first punch. When hit solidly in the face or stomach, it makes me weaker and gives the bully a bigger edge in winning the fight that follows. When punched in the nose as I have many times, tears come into both eyes from the impact, and I cannot see clearly. Learning to anticipate and block that first punch is critical.
Other rules that make sense are, “Never make the first punch unless you get a solid “yes” to the question of, “Do I have to fight?” Then hit first, and keep hitting until they stop moving or quit. If not sure, be ready to block that first punch, and strike hard when touched in any way. Unfriendly touching includes poking with the hand or finger, slapping, punching or shoving. The only chance I have to win a fight with someone bigger is to keep hitting him without pausing. If I do get the advantage on a bigger person and I stop punching before I win, he has a much better than even chance of winning the fight due to his size and strength. These rules, made after years of bullying, lead to a lot more aggressive behavior on my part than the person I prefer to be. The truth is that I want life to be always peaceful, professional and friendly but I have to follow these personal rules in order to defend myself. I hate violence, but I have to get good at it if I want to stay alive - - - -and I will.
In addition to fighting, there are many occasions with other acquaintances, when there are challenges like climbing a steep hill, playing football, colliding with big players that constantly test my courage. I will not chicken out from here on out, no matter what, because this makes the bigger people think they can push me around without paying the personal price of pain. Death cannot possibly be worse than this constant pain and overwhelming fear of my everyday life.
When waking in the morning, in addition to the pain that goes from legs to chest, I also have that terrible sad feeling most of the time. I have it a lot, but it is getting worse due to my constant fear. I am glad it is finally summertime again because sunshine makes me feel better, and the sad feeling sometimes goes away. Besides the sun, eating ice cream is another thing that helps, temporarily. It makes my head feel colder and the sadness goes away for a little while. When dealing with sadness by eating ice cream, Mom says it will make me fat. However, if I do gain more weight, it will help me deal with some of the bigger people. I still work out three or four times a week and am beginning to feel my muscles more than ever. I plan to get stronger because there is nothing more that I want than to beat up Rick the prick. I will never forget him and plan to get even no matter what it takes.
A few days later
Today is a nice summer Saturday and I am heading to Enjoi Park because the large bandstand in the football stadium is under construction for the upcoming Fourth of July celebration. Many of us go there every year and watch them build this large, twelve-foot high temporary stage. If there is not much else going on, I can always go over to other parts of the park and even ride the merry-go-round. Of course, I could also go swimming in the public pool but I did not bring my bathing suit. All of us kids are excited about the upcoming Fourth of July spectacular live music show followed by fireworks. Walking down Main Street toward the high school, I turn left into the parking lot. Entering the football stadium, the first thing I see is the large band platform right on the fifty-yard line of the football field close to the front bleachers. Because it is Saturday and the construction workers are off for the weekend, there are already many kids on the platform playing and having a lot of fun.
The platform is not finished
but the stairs in the rear that lead to the top of the platform are complete. There are no handrails yet and it is unpainted. The platform has a large wide-open space on top where the band will play. Walking up the stairs at the rear of the stage, I see some of the kids playing tag and running around. Looking behind me, I see Bernie and Jim coming up the stairs. Bernie and Jim both live about two blocks from me on another street. Bernie, a strong person my age, used to beat me up occasionally a long time ago but we became friends in the last year or so. Jim lives a couple of houses away from Bernie, and I have heard he is even tougher than Bernie is. The story is that Jim and Bernie had a fight once and Jim won. They are both a lot bigger and stronger than I am.
Jim and Bernie looked around and noticed the kids running around, most of them who are smaller. Jim says, "Let's play king of the mountain! The last one on the platform is the winner!” Some kids immediately jumped off the platform to the soft grass below or went quickly down the stairs. I did not want to play this foolish game but it was important for me not to chicken out either, so I stayed. When I was doing my part to get other kids off the platform, when I got them near the edge of the platform, rather than push them off, I would tell him, "jump.” Soon there were only the three of us left. Jim and Bernie looked at me and said,
“We are going to throw you off, first, and then we'll fight it out between us”.
“That’s not fair,” I protested. I resisted, but they grabbed me and threw me off the platform headfirst.
Going towards the ground headfirst was frightening but I blocked the ground with my left arm and immediately heard a snapping sound, then experienced pain like nothing I’d ever felt before. I laid there on the ground with my left arm throbbing, crying hysterically. Bernie and Jim came down the stairs and looked at my crooked left arm that had two bumps just below the skin. Soon, adults who were commenting on my fall off the platform surrounded me.
All of a sudden, a familiar face appeared in the crowd and immediately came to my side. He was the doctor to whom I delivered papers and I went to see because of my flat feet. He lived right across from the Boys Club, next to my friend, John. He was one of my heroes because, unlike most of the veterans who would never speak about the war, he told me about what he did in combat in the pacific islands. One day when I was in his office for an exam, I asked him,
“What did you do in the war?”
“I fought battles on a few small islands in the Pacific,” he said.
“Did you ever see any of the enemy?” I asked.
“Sure I did, plenty of times.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“A few of them used to try to surrender to me. I had a Thompson machine gun so I would just stitch them across the front, and that would be the end of it."
This was a really nice, but tough person, hard as a rock that resembled that famous actor Donald Niven, mustache and all, and I really liked him. Also standing in the group of about a dozen people surrounding me was a man wearing a badge that stated that he was a reporter from the Binghamton Press newspaper. I was in great pain, and holding my left arm against my chest with my right arm wrapped around it.
“Please, May I take a look at your arm, Patrick?”
“No, you are a foot doctor!” I shouted. I did not know it at the time but this exchange, and my comment, would appear in the Sunday Press the next day.
The whole group of people surrounding me laughed hysterically. I did not know what was so funny. The doctor also laughed, then said with a big grin,
“I am a real doctor too, I just specialize in feet,” he said.
That is good news to me because there is no one I trust more than this doctor is because he is like my heroes in the movies. I lifted my left arm, and he held it gently in both hands.
He said, “It is a compound fracture. Both bones in your arm are broken but you're lucky because the bones did not pierce the skin or we would have a lot of bleeding too.” The pain is so intense I cannot imagine anything worse.
Someone went to make a call on the public phone just outside the stadium, and soon an ambulance arrived to take me to the same hospital in which I was born. Then, because my Mom was still at work and they needed her permission before giving me any medication or pain relievers, I had to sit in the hospital waiting room enduring the pain for several hours. When Mom finally arrives at the hospital and gives her permission, they finally give me medicine that makes the pain less intense. After that, I have to endure more intense pain as a doctor pulls hard on the arm so both bones go back into place. I thought I had experienced pain before from many fights, but this took it to a new level. After that, they wrapped the arm with some wet bandages that would harden into a cast.
When I was at the hospital, the doctors and nurses asked me several times how I broke my arm. I told them, "I fell off the band platform.” For some reason, they acted as if they did not believe me. I did not tell anyone the truth about how it really happened. This sort of personal response to questions from adults seems normal to me. What difference did it make? It will not do me any good to tell them what really happened because anything they say or do will not be in my best interests. Adults always seem to have an unknown secret agenda that favors their own interests when they question me about anything, and with only a few exceptions, I do not trust them.
A few days after I got back from the hospital and was on my morning walk to school, I met Bernie and Jim walking together. Bernie, who seemed a little nervous because he was rubbing his two hands together, said,
“Hey, Pat, how are you?”
“Pretty good,” I replied.
“Look at that cast”, Jim said. “It sure is a big one, and it goes all the way up your arm!”
“Yeah, it is heavy, too.” I said.
“How long do you have to wear it?” asked Bernie?
“At least three months,” I said.
Nervously clearing his throat while looking at Bernie, Jim said, “Look Pat, we really wanted to let you know that we appreciate you not telling on us for, you know, for what happened at the stadium”
“Yeah, Pat, I appreciate it too,” said Bernie. “Thanks.”
“That’s OK, guys,” I said. I was very surprised that these two people, some of the toughest people I knew, were actually thanking me for not ratting them out. I did not think I had done anything special and I am glad this means we are still friends.
While wearing the cast, I notice that even though I hear constant insults with words as well as endure slaps and pushes, no one knocks me down and beats me up, now. The beatings were such a common occurrence for me at least three or four times a week that I was glad to have the cast on. In addition, I also learned in the last months of my wearing the cast, after they shortened it, how to use it as a weapon or block a punch. Yep, I guess the big kids cannot enhance their image if they beat up someone who only has one free arm.
However, I still wake with that stomach and chest pain every morning just because I will have to face the words, pushes, slaps and punches. I still spend a lot of time in my room working on getting my anger going rather than staying afraid. I also still deliver my papers six days a week for the money I need for movies, ice cream and books on fighting. Lately, though, I notice that I seem to be proficient in defending myself verbally against other people. Name-calling, unlike some, does not bother me too much because I am growing not to care what people think of me. If they like me, fine. If they do not like me, that is OK too. I just need to know who likes me and who does not.
I also use humor so people will leave me alone. Once I get a kid laughing about something, he will usually stop bullying. What is surprising me is that, lately, I can really feel a growing anger that really does often take the place of fear when someone intimidates me. I am glad for this even when that anger causes me to say provocative things to people that bully me verbally or physically. In addition, the Sisters still grab me by the hair, ears or the right arm frequently so my day is still full of physical assaults, ca
st or not.
Now we are getting close to the holidays again and I still have this cast on. My arm smells bad too because I cannot wash it. I am also skipping taking baths whenever I can get away with it so I smell bad all over and many people, especially the bullies, will stay away from me. I do like the holidays, though, because some of it is fun; but the part about having the whole family around is definitely not. Yes, I still love my Grandmother, Grandfather, Mother, her Sister Mary, my Sister, and my cousins Donna and Danny. As far as I am concerned, the rest of my family can go to hell.
Having this cast on my arm has been good in some ways because I have had time to focus on the best ways to handle a bully. I am still thinking about how to act when confronted and what to say. In addition, I continue to work on knowing what to look for when in a confrontation and, if it goes further, the physical tactics to use. I need to be very cold and calculating in order to have any chance of winning fights or “scuffles” with the bigger people.
“Scuffles”, are just shoving matches. Things are liable to end in a scuffle rather than a real fight if the bully understands I am ready to take him on and that he will definitely get hurt, even if he wins. Pain, to me, is just an unpleasant but normal part of everyday life that I have to endure to continue living. I guess that fearing pain, as they do, makes them cowards. My attitude now is that all bullies are cowards. I cannot imagine getting pleasure out of beating up someone smaller than I am, or anyone for any reason. I hate fighting and will never do it if there is any choice.
Chapter VIII –Fifteen and Ready to Kill
It is January and I am 15 years old this month. The two great things that are happening this month are finally getting the cast removed after six months. The second great event is my birthday and I can hardly wait for both events. That means, when I get the use of my left arm back, I can finally start working out again.
After I resume the exercises, I notice immediately that my left arm is a lot weaker than it was before I broke it. The chin-ups are definitely harder as well as when leaning against the wall pushing for dynamic tension. Since my left arm needs a lot of exercise, I found a number of arm exercises to do every day. The stomach pain is still there in the morning because I know what is ahead but now I also know how to make the pain go away.
Bullied Page 13