“Punch your bully in the face”
When I was in fifth grade, there was a kid who bullied me regularly. He was really big for his age. In the playground, he would yell in my face and get angry for no reason. He would punch me in the stomach, throw me to the ground, or choke me, depending on his mood. I was never violent, so I never retaliated.
I remember how he used to hit me in front of everyone and how ashamed I felt for not punching him back. He even harassed me in front of the girl I like, so it was doubly embarrassing. I never retaliated against his attacks; I was much smaller than him.
In a moment of courage, I explained everything to my mother. I hoped she would talk to my teacher (I would have told the teacher directly, but I was afraid of looking like the kid who snitches). My mother told me, “Stand up for yourself! Be a man, punch that idiot in the face. If you don't, he'll never learn!”
I remained silent and surprised. It wasn't the answer I was expecting.
“Okay,” I thought.
I never intended to follow his advice; I wasn't going to fight with anyone. I wasn't even sure that violence was part of my personality.
The next day during recess, I was playing around with a basketball I found in the trash can. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my bully harassing another kid. He had grabbed him by the hair and was whispering something threatening in his ear. (Now that I think about it, where were the teachers? Were they blind?)
He turned around, saw that I had the ball, started walking diagonally towards me and yelled, “Hey, stupid!”
I felt terrified. I had rehearsed how to respond the night before, but I was still very scared. And to top it all off, the girl I liked was right next to me, completely unaware of my tormentor's imminent arrival.
He came up to me and put his face two inches from mine and repeated, "Hey, stupid, didn't you hear me? I was talking to you."
I stared at him, not knowing what to do.
With his breath on my face, he repeated again, "Hey, stupid, I told you, did you hear me!"
He grabbed my hair just like he had with the other boy, but I resisted. I vaguely remember the rest. We started wrestling with our arms intertwined and fell to the ground at the same time. He was much bigger and stronger than me, but I was determined not to let him strangle me or hit me anymore. We rolled around on the ground a few times; I remember the taste of dirt in my mouth and heard Annie, the girl I liked, shout something like, “Stop it, leave him alone!”
Somehow I managed to break free from his grasp and without thinking, I raised my fist and punched him in the face as hard as I could.
He stared at me, dismayed and silent. He let out a little girl's shriek and ran off crying. I remember turning around and seeing Annie with her hands over her mouth, but smiling.
I felt like the coolest kid in the world.
That's when, miraculously, the teachers appeared and punished me. But it was worth it. He never bothered me again.
I'm not encouraging any child to hit others; this situation was solely my personal experience. And it worked.
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