Social Commentary: On Bullying

When I was a kid, growing up in Fort Lee, NJ, I was so damned skinny and I hated it! Most of the male role models I had at that time where the complete physical antithesis of what I was. They were more of a stereotypical Italian-American build; refrigerators with heads. I was so damned skinny that every time that I put my elbows down on a hard surface, I got a shock in my hands from hitting the nearly exposed nerves in my elbows. I simply had no extra meat anywhere. It so did not fit the image that I wanted for myself. And, especially with the kids I tended to gravitate towards, left me ripe for teasing and bullying.

Despite my thin build, I was quick, athletic and competitive. This brought me in contact with kids of, let's say, a less gentle nature. To compete with this gang, you had better bring your "A" game. You'd better be pretty thick skinned too if you were to survive swimming with these sharks. And I was not thick skinned in any sense of the word. I've already discussed the limitations of my physical appearance and, despite wanting to be otherwise, my mental outlook was of a more gentle, sensitive nature, too. This can be a lethal combination to a young person who is desperately trying to fit in. Especially, in a social setting that is ripe for conflict. I'll leave the psycho-babel to the professionals but I think it's safe to say that most of us have "been there, done that".

Why, then, do some of us survive (and even thrive) those experiences while others do not? And, here, I believe is the key. Good parenting, at this time, perhaps more than at any other, is absolutely essential in aiding a young person in dealing with all of the trials and tribulations that ARE adolescence. And it has always been this way. Even though very much in the news lately as cyber-bullying, young people looking to take advantage of any perceived weakness in other young people is as old as humanity itself. It may take on new forms, but it's always been there. It's just so human. Young people often validate themselves at the expense of others. And because it is SO human, we need to teach young people the skills to cope with it.

There is one incident that crystallizes the moment I truly knew how to deal with bullying that instantly flashes to the front of my mind. Although both of my parents were active in teaching me this great lesson, it was Stella, who taught me, perhaps, the most valuable one. Those of you familiar with my writing know that Stella is my mother. She has been mentioned frequently in the many tales I have shared over the years. Much to her chagrin, I have always called her Stella. It just suits her so well. Now, Stella is not very big, about 5 feet tall. But she is compact, certainly not frail! She is smart, worldly, feisty, and Sicilian. In other words, although always thoughtful, simply put, she doesn't take any shit from anybody. My father, in his own way, was very much like minded. They were non-violent and taught us to be so as well. However, at the same time, they were VERY adamant about teaching us self respect and INSISTING that others respect us as well. Perhaps, it's a Sicilian thing. To accomplish this we were taught that there was a certain line that was not be crossed. If someone felt the need to cross that line with you, you were to TAKE ANY MEANS NECESSARY (short of a weapon!) to protect your person AND your honor. We were to walk away from ordinary, daily insults without fighting. However, we were not to be insulted to the point of embarrassment in front of others. And we were not to be physically touched. If we felt either of these thresholds had been exceeded, we were not only allowed to, we were even encouraged to, take action.

The incident I speak of with Stella unfolded like this: I think I must have been 10 or 11. We lived in a great neighborhood with lots of kids near my age. We had a neighborhood gang when the word still had a healthy connotation. In my romanticized recollection, it was a lot like a latter day version of the "Our Gang" comedy serials we watched as kids. Of course, as I mentioned, a dynamic like that is bound to have rites of passage for all the kids involved in that neighborhood. And that includes bullying. Well, one day, it seems the gang had been particularly hard on me. I'm sure that it probably went something like this: Your so damned skinny, how could you possibly hope to play football? Your clothes are so lame. Your last name rhymes with "boner". Look here comes "Frankie Boner"! You know, after all these years, I don't remember exactly what was said. What I do remember is being abused to the point of tears. Hearing enough, I turned away quickly so they wouldn't see that I had begun to cry. Once I cleared them, I wailed all of the way home. I was crying when I flew through the front door, where my mother bounded down the stairs to meet me. What's wrong, Frankie? What's happened?, Stella inquired. The gang, mom, they're picking on me. Picking on you? What do you mean? They're calling me "skinny" and "boner", I sniffled. Then she asked, What else? Did anyone hit or physically harm you? No mom, they just kept teasing me! She gently patted my head, wiped my nose, and checked me for any physical damage. Then she said and did something extraordinary. Well, what to you want me to do about it? There not my friends. I was shocked. With her hand on my back, she ushered me towards the front door while saying, look don't come here whining and crying because someone hurt your feelings. We can talk about that later. In the meantime, YOU have to back out there and find a way to make people respect you. That's how they'll stop calling you names. She completed the last sentence on my final step out the door. Then I heard it close and lock behind me. There was no going back, only forward towards, in a sense, my own destiny.

I don't remember if I went back and actually challenged those kids to take it back, or else (although I probably did). What I do remember is that after the initial shock of what Stella had said and done, I realize how right she truly was. This is not to say that this is for all parents in all situations. It worked for me, in my time and place. The point is, parents cannot live their children's lives for them. They cannot eternally shelter them from the slings and arrows that come with living a full and rich life. But they can teach them to respect themselves and others. And that respect must be earned. Once earned, it can never be taken away.

To earn my respect, even though I hated violence, I felt like I had to use my fists on more than one occasion. In fact, I feel like I got into a fight everyday of my life from the time of that incident until I was about 14 or 15. That's 4 or 5 years! And I'm proud to say that I don't think I won ANY of them. I'm not that tough. But winning those fights outright was never the point to me. What WAS important was winning the respect from those who would not treat me with it. You know what? It worked. After awhile, bullies got tired of beating me up. It was if they said, I can't fight him AGAIN today! It's just easier to leave him alone"! And, so I won my respect. I wish it were easier, for all of us. But that's not nature's way. We have to find our own way to respect. I found mine, strangely enough, in a locked door.

photo: C LoBuono