In my 5th grade class, the general punishment was writing lines. Y'know like in the intro. to the Simpsons, how Bart is standing at the chalkboard writing the same sentence, over and over again? It was like that, except on paper (lol thank God, 'cause our arms would have been damn exhausted if we had to raise 'em up all the time to write). I can't remember what I had done that day to deserve it, but I did something or other that got me lines. The worst part about the punishment wasn't really the punishment itself - anybody with an ounce of patience and a motivated attitude could bang out a couple hundred lines no problem, even if it took awhile. The issue was the timing; writing didn't take place after school.
It took place during your breaks and lunch, and you weren't free until you finished 'em. Even if you were a great student and finished up your work early, you couldn't even start on those damn lines 'til break/lunch started.
Do something stupid in the morning? Miss your break.
Write slowly? There goes your lunch too.
And if you thought you could only be punished for one day per transgression? Wrong. Instead of having some sort of amnesty policy that would let students off the hook after a full day's worth of missed fun, you were just responsible for taking care of those lines. Sooner or later didn't really matter to the teacher, because if you wanted to dick around, you were just screwing yourself at that point. I guess that also prevented kids from being assholes at the end of the day - who the hell wants to end their day with the knowledge that they've got to waste time the following day with lines?
So one morning, I was looking at missing recess to write lines. Fortunately, I had a loyal group (or was it just a pair? I don't remember) of friends that would have enjoyed recess much more with my presence. Another thing going for me was that these dudes could write fast. So, what did we do? As soon as break started, we whipped out the papers and pencils and got down to business. We scrawled those lines as fast as we could. The number of lines originally meant for just me was taken care of in a matter of minutes by the 3 (or more) of us, and soon I gathered all our papers and turned in my lines. Cue our exit from that prison-like atmosphere and into 10-15 minutes of great, childish fun.
After recess, we went back to class to a stunning announcement: from now on, people had to write their own lines.
........................................forREALS? This was no coincidence (obviously), and I was absolutely seething. Sure, all my teacher did was close a loophole I had exploited, but try explaining that to my 5th-grade self. All I felt at the time was that something I had used to beat the system was taken away from me - and I was furious. Before lunch, someone in class told me that I had been snitched on. And by who? Well... let's just call him Derek.
He was probably the tallest kid in class, pretty lanky. Really strong values (...obviously). Not Mr. Congeniality, but he wasn't an outcast, or picked his nose all the time, or smelled like poop (and before you ask. Yes. I did go to school with a kid who smelled like shit on a regular basis). He just happened to set me off.
With my information, I finally had a target for my frustration (and trust me, there was a lot). Looking back at it, whoever the hell told me it was Derek could have been giving me false information, but I guess because of my rage (or, more likely, youth), I never even considered it. Sucks for that guy, but I was out for blood (...not literally).
When lunch rolled around, I gathered a group of friends and we went in search of Derek. Y'know how people are very tribal?? The mob we formed was very reflective of that - all that was missing were some pitchforks and torches, lol. Anyways, we found him on the kickball diamond, just hanging out by himself. My memory isn't the clearest on this (maybe part of me wants to forget that I could be so mean...), so the following might not be completely accurate.
As we approached Derek, he didn't make any attempt to get away from us. We circled him anyways. I'm positive we engaged in some sort of conversation, but I can't remember what was said. I probably said something really cliche for a childhood bully. "You know why I'm here?" "You think it was a good idea to snitch on me? Does that still seem like a good idea to you??" Probably something brief and really just a formality - I don't think anything we said was going to change what happened next.
I end up having 2 of my friends pin his arms behind his back. After our brief conversation, I punched Derek in the stomach. He doubled over, and that was that. We let him go and just walked away. And... that was that. I got a visit to the principal's office and a call home for it, but that was all.
So there you have it - my 2nd experience in a bullying scenario, and 1st as the bully. It's really interesting to reflect on it, for a couple reasons. One because I don't remember it too well, two because I feel like time and experience has really detached me from it.
I guess the detachment is the most interesting part about it. I don't think I'd ever do such a thing again, obviously (and besides... I'd also need 2 accomplices, lol). Not only that, but I can't even imagine the mindset I would have to be in to want to lay my hands on someone. Over the past few years, I've noticed that my tendency when I'm upset is to be really sad and disappointed - it's kind of hard for violence to make its way into that. Although I think it's worth mentioning that detachment also applies to many of my past experiences, so maybe it's just part of something greater going on.
Whatever the case, I hope you enjoyed reading!
He was probably the tallest kid in class, pretty lanky. Really strong values (...obviously). Not Mr. Congeniality, but he wasn't an outcast, or picked his nose all the time, or smelled like poop (and before you ask. Yes. I did go to school with a kid who smelled like shit on a regular basis). He just happened to set me off.
With my information, I finally had a target for my frustration (and trust me, there was a lot). Looking back at it, whoever the hell told me it was Derek could have been giving me false information, but I guess because of my rage (or, more likely, youth), I never even considered it. Sucks for that guy, but I was out for blood (...not literally).
When lunch rolled around, I gathered a group of friends and we went in search of Derek. Y'know how people are very tribal?? The mob we formed was very reflective of that - all that was missing were some pitchforks and torches, lol. Anyways, we found him on the kickball diamond, just hanging out by himself. My memory isn't the clearest on this (maybe part of me wants to forget that I could be so mean...), so the following might not be completely accurate.
As we approached Derek, he didn't make any attempt to get away from us. We circled him anyways. I'm positive we engaged in some sort of conversation, but I can't remember what was said. I probably said something really cliche for a childhood bully. "You know why I'm here?" "You think it was a good idea to snitch on me? Does that still seem like a good idea to you??" Probably something brief and really just a formality - I don't think anything we said was going to change what happened next.
I end up having 2 of my friends pin his arms behind his back. After our brief conversation, I punched Derek in the stomach. He doubled over, and that was that. We let him go and just walked away. And... that was that. I got a visit to the principal's office and a call home for it, but that was all.
So there you have it - my 2nd experience in a bullying scenario, and 1st as the bully. It's really interesting to reflect on it, for a couple reasons. One because I don't remember it too well, two because I feel like time and experience has really detached me from it.
I guess the detachment is the most interesting part about it. I don't think I'd ever do such a thing again, obviously (and besides... I'd also need 2 accomplices, lol). Not only that, but I can't even imagine the mindset I would have to be in to want to lay my hands on someone. Over the past few years, I've noticed that my tendency when I'm upset is to be really sad and disappointed - it's kind of hard for violence to make its way into that. Although I think it's worth mentioning that detachment also applies to many of my past experiences, so maybe it's just part of something greater going on.
Whatever the case, I hope you enjoyed reading!
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