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Sunday, February 20, 2011

My Once-in-a-Lifetime act of Violence


My Once-in-a-Lifetime act of Violence
The results were at least constructive

In one of my previous blogs I wrote about bullying, and the fact that anyone is a bully if he or she seeks to put another person down in order to "big up" their own self. Having talked to a couple of people it seems that life is constructed of the bullied and the bullies. This is a very serious problem, and a flaw in human nature.

It will come as no surprise that I confess to having at one time played the role of both.

As a young child I found it easier to hang out with the losers. At that time I was not a good student and this greatly troubled one of my teachers, who I will call Mr. Sweeting, because that was his name. I had failed to complete my homework assignment for him, again, and he said that I would have to stay after class to complete the work. I was not a happy chappy.

After the other children had left he told me that he wanted me to stay because he wanted to say that he thought I was throwing away my opportunities. He could tell I could do so much more with my studies, and that by hanging out with a group of boys who obviously would not achieve much in life I was hurting myself.

That message was received by me as him disrespecting my homies. How dare he! I wanted to hear no more and began to leave. I bullied him, and there was a little scuffle, he stepped back and I was gone. I was fuming on the way home when I got an idea. I would tell my father that he had slapped me around without provocation on my part, and my father would go to the school and sort him out.

When my father came home I put on my sad face and told him my story. I said I just didn’t think it was right that an adult should be treating a child in such a manner. My father immediately became genuinely angry, to my complete satisfaction. My father was a big man, and a person who was strictly uncomplicated. Trouble between a teacher and his son! He wasn’t having it. How did he hit you? Was it an open-handed slap, LIKE THIS!!! SLAP!

The slap knocked me off my feet and sent me sailing through the screen door that was left hanging on one hinge. Now my father was really pissed because I had broken the door and he would have to fix it. I lay in the dirt wondering what the hell went wrong when he came out and scooped me up. He said, did he hit you with a closed fist, like this? I will tell you that I screamed a scream unlike you have ever heard:” No! It never happened!” My scream must have been heard halfway around the world.

He said, “ I send you to school to get an education. I don’t care if the teachers have to pound it into your head with a mallet. Don’t you ever bring such nonsensical stories home, and do not make it necessary for a teacher to complain about you. Now, get an education!”

I sat outdoors for hours asking myself what the hell did I just do? Who did I prefer to lock horns with, my father or the gang?

The trouble started right away as soon as the gang sensed a change in my attitude. The bullying was intense as I tried to settle down to study. It all came to a head during one lunch hour when I went to the boy’s toilets. The gang followed me in and harassed me relentlessly, culminating in hanging me head down into the hole in a bench with the latrine below. My terror was so complete that someone went to call a teacher. That teacher was Mr. Sweeting who came to my rescue, just as the bell rang. He was also the teacher who took my next class, which was gardening.

My crying was unstoppable, so he placed me on my own in one corner of the garden and gave me a pitchfork to turn over the ground, and the rest of the boys were allocated the opposite corner. He then briefly left to inform the head teacher of what was going on. In that short space of time the gang leader, and bully-in-chief, came over to me. I didn’t even know he was there until I saw his shoes and heard him say, “so, you love me, huh!”

I don´t know where it came from. I didn´t think about it, I just picked up the pitchfork and slammed it through his shoe and foot until it would not go any further. He was pinned to the ground and his whole frame shook like jelly as he swayed like a giant tree. His blood seemed to spray from his foot like a watering hose.

The entire school went mad, and I was sent home. It was customary for me to walk the seven miles to school, so I set off to walk home. However, I did not go home, instead I waited on the shortcut where I knew the second in command would pass as he was my neighbour, separated by two houses. As he came into view the branch of the tree that I had in my hand crushed his nose like an over-ripe tomato. “Leave me alone!” That was my demand.

A policeman came to our house that evening to inform my parents of what had taken place. That was the first they knew that something had happened. The officer said that I had been under extreme harassment and bullying, and in all good conscious they could not bring charges against me, provided I took no further action.

My father looked at me in complete amazement, and I told him I was trying to get an education. He never moved, and his mouth just hung open.

The incident happened on a Friday, and on Monday morning I arrived at school early and took up a position at the flagpole. The children sensed that something would happen and began to gather around. I was waiting to sort out the leader of the girl gang who had also been a thorn in my side, but when she came up the steps and saw me she dropped her books and ran back the way she had come, and was absent from school for a week.

During that week a group of the boys came up to me to apologise for their behaviour, and because I was the one who took their leader down they wanted to pledge their loyalty to me. What did I want them to do?

My reply was as follows: “You come to school to get an education, so get an education! Secondly, leave me the hell alone!!”

I went on to become a grade-A student, normally graduating each class in first or second place.

Copyright © 2011 Eugene Carmichael