Bullying, and how I dealt with it...

[Jester]

There has been a lot of press in recent years about bullying, suicides related to bullying, bullying on social media, etc. This post is NOT a commentary on those.

What this thread IS is me relating a few tales of how, when I was younger, I dealt with bullying, as it came up in this thread. Due to various elements of the following stories, and the fact that, to a degree, they condone violence as a response, and because of the potential for heated responses to these tales, I felt it best to post this here rather than in CS.com.

For those who don't want to read that whole thread but want a little background, understand that it was about a student getting bullied, and part of one of my responses read as follows:

In grade school, I was somewhat bullied. Physically. My father told me I needed to punch the guys picking on me square in the face. Since I was deathly afraid of REALLY getting my ass kicked, I never did this. Perhaps I should have. But luckily for me, I was basically the class clown, and I found that even the bullies wouldn't hit the guy making them laugh all that much. (Besides, have you ever tried to hit someone while you're laughing? It ain't easy!)

In junior high and high school, I dealt with other bullying and bullshit that was unwarranted. Unlike in grade school, in these later situations, I eventually ended the bullying with swift and brutal reactions. Without going into details (unless people want me to, that's up to y'all), my reactions caused each bullying incident to end immediately.

To which another poster said:

I always love reading stories of assholes getting theirs handed to them. I live vicariously through others.

Okay, enough background. First things first--I was mistaken. There were not two incidents, but three, one of which, despite my comments to the contrary, actually was in grade school.

Background: I am not a big guy. Never have been. At the moment, I am the largest physically I have ever been, at a not-very-imposing 5'8" and not-exactly-heavy-weight 160 lbs. This is massive compared to my school days, when I was shorter, far thinner, and woefully physically inadequate, being neither athletic nor all that skilled physically. What I did have going for me was my quick wit and sense of humor, which made me the class clown, and kept me from a lot of additional ass-beatings and bullying I might otherwise have endured. (After all, it's hard to kick someone's ass when you're laughing.) And I will admit, I did not have it as bad as many others, from other bullied classmates of mine to many of today's youth. I am not here to say that I did. I am merely here to share a few tales of how one small, skinny, clumsy, nerdy boy responded to bullying, and what the results were.

Fifth grade, grade school (1981-1982): For years I had been physically pushed around and occasionally beaten up by a classmate, Michael. One day, not that long after my father had died, I found myself on the playground at recess, once again taking abuse from this jackwagon. But this time, Michael crossed a line I hadn't even known existed--he started insulting my father. My recently deceased father. And what he was saying was simply unacceptable to my ten year old mind. Not because all of it was complete and utter bullshit, which it was. But merely because it was being said about my father who had just died. And before I really thought about what I was doing, I reacted. Swiftly, violently, and brutally. Before Michael even had a chance to react, my hands were wrapped around his throat in a death grip, and I had every intention of choking the life out of him. I was prevented from doing so by the teacher's aides who were on duty during recess, who literally had to pry my hands off of this kid's throat, whose face was a combination of surprise, shock, bewilderment, and pain.

Michael was sent to the nurse's office. I was not punished, not that I recall. Michael never, ever bothered me again, and for the rest of the time we were in school together (about a year to a year and a half), he kept a wide berth of me, despite his knowledge of his obvious physical superiority to me. I don't know that he ever said another word to me.

I also do not remember if my mother ever found out about this. I don't think she did, as she was dealing with the loss of her husband, re-entering the work force, and raising three children on her own, one of them a rather difficult eldest daughter. If she did find out about it, I was never punished for it. I do remember that she knew clearly who Michael was, and that he was my main tormentor. So I doubt she would have dealt out much punishment for me doing essentially what my father had always told me to do: strike back.

Eighth grade, junior high (1983-1984): Gary was a classmate of mine, and like Michael back in grade school, he was larger than me. Unlike Michael, he was not more physically gifted or athletically talented, he was just a big fat blob who outweighed me by a lot. But, while he was hardly Mr. Popularity, Gary enjoyed enough friendships with the jocks to not get his ass beat as much as he might otherwise. And for some reason, he thought that this gave him the right to lord it over some other, smaller students, including me.

While he never actually physically pushed me around or tried to hit me, at some point he got it into his head that it would be great fun to start in on me verbally. Not just insulting me, mind you, but taking cheap shots at my father and my mother. As I was 13 and still dealing with my father's death, AND the fun that is puberty, AND dealing with the tension in my house between my mother and my older sister, who were constantly getting into fights with each other (for which I always played the peacemaker)--well, let's just say Gary's timing was not exactly brilliant.

His ongoing commentary continued for a few weeks, usually at lunch in the cafeteria, with my friends advising me to ignore him, and me doing the best I could to do just that.

And then one day, at lunch, he went way, WAY too far, and made the mistake of calling my mother a whore. To my face. To which I said nothing. Which he was rather used to. What he wasn't used to, and wasn't expecting, and what my friends and he were completely unprepared for, was me suddenly vaulting over the lunch table we were all sitting at, and viciously and wildly hammering down punches on Gary. While there is a good chance he could have kicked my ass soundly had he thought about it, I think his utter surprise at my response kept him from doing anything but sitting there, slack-jawed, taking my punches, until a male teacher on duty got between us to try to break things up. At which point I probably should have stopped swinging. But I didn't. I was too enraged, and kept swinging, not caring that I was hitting....which in this case was the teacher in question. Frankly, at the time I didn't care what I was doing, nor what the repercussions might be. All I knew in my utter, furious rage that I wanted to kill Gary, and I didn't give a flying fuck about anyone who got in my way, teacher or otherwise.

Eventually I was subdued (I don't remember how, but it was probably verbally by the teacher and/or his colleagues), and Gary and I got to take a trip to the vice-principal's office, as he was in charge of discipline. The VP asked us what had happened, and in cold, calm, and furious tones, I related my side of the story, not even bothering to try to protest my innocence, but making damn sure the VP knew what had set me off. At one point the VP suggested that we apologize to each other, and in equally cold and calm tones, I told the VP that there was no way in hell I would apologize to Gary after what he had said. And I guess the look I gave the VP told him that this scrawny little kid wasn't kidding, and wasn't budging....because he finally gave up that idea.

Gary and I each received a day of suspension from school, and that marked the only time I was ever suspended from school, before or since. As we walked back to our lockers to get our stuff and go to our next class, I very calmly, very quietly, and very coldly said, "Gary, if you ever talk to me again, I will fucking kill you." And he didn't. Not during the remainder of that school year. And when he finally did, in our first two years of high school, it was only because we had a class together, and he was asking me about the assignment....exceedingly politely. Other than those occasional assignment questions--which I answered politely but succinctly--Gary never bothered me or even really talked to me again.

While my mother was not happy about the suspension, and disagreed with my course of action, she understood from talking to me about it what had moved me to react as I did. And Mom let it go. I was never punished for it. I think I rather enjoyed my day off from school, to be honest.

(continued...)

[Jester]

10th grade, high school (1985-1986) This was the first of my three high schools, and while my family had already moved to the town in which my future second high school was located, it had been agreed that I would finish out my sophomore year, not only to finish my classes, but because I was on the track team, and wanted to see that through, it being my first athletic--and indeed my first extracurricular-- activity in my school years. To accommodate the last couple months at the first school, Mom would drop me off in the morning on her way to work, and then after track practice, she would pick me up, as that generally timed well with her work schedule.

To meet up with Mom, I would walk a few blocks from the high school to a local shopping center, which was convenient for both of us. Also, this would allow Mom to avoid the clusterfuck that was the intersection right in front of my school.

Well, around this time, two douchebags (whose names I have either long since forgotten or never actually knew in the first place) decided it was their job to fuck with me. They were long-haired rock and roll types, who seemed to have nothing better to do at this time of late afternoon/early evening than to fuck with the skinny kid. (I should note that I have nothing against long-haired rock and roll types, and was one myself for years--just painting a picture of these dirtbag slackers.)

For a few weeks, they would follow me, pushing me around, fucking with me, trying to steal my backpack, trying to get a rise out of me--the standard shit. And I tried, I really tried, to be the better man and ignore them. But, as often happens with douchebags, they insisted on being douchebags, and continued their newfound form of entertainment. And it was driving me nuts. I couldn't really complain to the school, as this was always off of school grounds, and I wasn't even sure if they were even students there. I didn't know their names, so telling the police wouldn't have done shit. And frankly, nothing they were doing was probably really all that illegal, and I doubt very much if the local PD would have bothered lifting a finger for it--remember, this was the early eighties and "bullying" laws weren't even thought of yet. "Boys will be boys" was the prevailing mentality.

One day the dirtbags were in rare form, and were really pissing me off, and I was pretty convinced that they were going to get violent. Or perhaps they already had. Hard to say. But think about it: Two of them. One of me. I have always been really good at math, and I could figure this problem out, and the final sum didn't add up so nicely for me. Well, right as we got to the parking lot of the designated shopping center, everything suddenly happened at once.

The douchebags really got up in my face, right as my Mom's car was pulling up. My Mom's new car, that she had bought two days earlier. But before I even thought to seek help from her, or jump in the car, or anything else, something in me snapped, and I had had enough. I don't remember what they did, or what I was thinking, or what made me react the way I did...this was, after all, over 25 years ago. But I did snap. Oh did I ever. I dropped my backpack, snapped my arm out, and grabbed Douchebag 1 by the back of his head, and slammed his skull into the trunk of my Mom's car. Hard. And he dropped like a rag doll. And then I stood there, Ready for Motherfucking Battle. I was seeing red, and was ready to take on both of these idiots, and the entire world for that matter. I was PISSED.

Douchebag 2 looked at his friend, crumpled on the ground, then looked at me, breathing fire and looking like anything but a fun form of entertainment, and he took off for the hills. Douchebag 1 slowly got up off the ground, holding his head, groggily looked at me, and decided it would be in his best interests to be somewhere else--anywhere but there. And he took off, albeit at a more gingerly clip than his buddy, still holding his head in pain.

I was still spitting nails, ready to kill anyone who came at me. Of course, the only person there was my very bewildered mother, who got out of her car, looked at the brand new scratch on the brand new trunk of her brand new car, looked at me, looked at the douchebags beating a hasty retreat, and....well, I don't remember, actually. She may have asked me what the hell that was about, or she may have taken stock of the situation and thought better than to ask any questions. I can't honestly say. I do know I never got in trouble for that, despite the fact that my mother abhors violence, was not really happy with how I handled that situation, and was really fond of that (now freshly dinged) new car.

For the remainder of the school year, I enjoyed the walk after track practice from the school to the shopping center, as I never saw those two douchebags again. They may have found someone else to harass, but it sure as hell wasn't me.

Some would say that my telling these stories condones violence against children. They would be correct. NOT that I think adults should use violence against children. I don't. Ever. I DO, however, think that sometimes children who are bullied need to strike back against their tormentors, in the only language bullies truly understand: violence, intimidation, and fear. Now, before anyone really gets on me, understand that I do NOT think that it is EVER right for children to go on a shooting spree in their school or anywhere else, nor is it EVER right for them to be so violent in their retaliation that they kill, maim, or seriously injure the bully.

But honestly, sometimes a bully really needs a punch right in the nose. (Or a car trunk to the head.) If it comes from those they are bullying, and it is swift and brutal, it generally will let the bully know that their targets are no longer easy victims.

Yes, today's world is different than my childhood was. I am virtually certain that none of my tormentors were carrying guns, which today's children cannot always be so sure of. And my reactions would not be appropriate for all forms of bullying. Certainly not the social media bullying we've been hearing about. But I do know that the only way to stop a bully from bullying is not to ignore them, as too many ill-informed parents teach their children. In some way, physically or otherwise, the victim needs to hit the bully right where it hurts. They have to turn the tables on them.

Let me put it this way: if a wolf is charging at you, and you simply ignore it, it is unlikely that you are going to walk away uninjured. However, if you stand your ground and face down the wolf, and indeed retaliate, while there is no guarantee, I'd say you have better odds for a happier outcome than if you simply ignore the obvious danger bearing down on you.

Again, not everyone will agree with me. But I have learned through personal experience and years of observation that these methods work more than they don't. Through my experiences, I have learned how to scare the shit out of someone much larger than me, merely by uttering a few words very calmly. And I have made a point of teaching all of my nieces not to put up with shit. How best to deal with an attacker physically superior to them. And yes, "knee to scrotum" is one of the things I have taught them. And to not do it half-assed, but to bring the knee up very hard, with the goal of sending it through the scrotum and all the way up into his stomach. "But what do attackers have to do with bullies?" Well, if someone is taught to lie down and take it when they are children, or to ignore unwanted, unwarranted, and unwelcome attention by idiots, why on earth would they think or react any differently as adults? I have taught and instructed my nieces as I have because I think it is the best way to deal with those who insist on harassing them, bullying them, attacking them, intimidating them, or physically pushing them around.

It may surprise some people to find out that I am not a fighter. I don't like to fight. And honestly, I am not a very good or experienced fighter. I would much rather talk my way out of a situation--and usually do--than get into a physical altercation. But woe be to anyone who backs me into a corner and makes me feel like I have no other choice. No one has ever made that mistake with me more than once.

As I reflect on all this, I realize that I owe my bullies a debt, odd as it sounds. After all, I don't know that I would have become the man I am were it not for them. I might not have found my voice, my ability to intimidate those who would do me or mine harm, or my considerable inner strength, were it not for these idiots pushing me around. Because I know that had I just not reacted, had I ignored them, had I allowed them to continue to bully and dominate me, I would have grown into someone that I would not be proud of, that would not be able to hold his head high, that my nieces would not respect or know that they could come to in times of emergency to protect them, that would have had far fewer friends--because who is going to respect someone who doesn't respect himself?

My father told me what to do for years. I ignored him. After he was gone, I finally learned the hard way that he was right.

Feel free to agree or disagree, as that is your choice, your decision, and your right. But that is MY take on bullies.

[Nekojin]

While my history isn't quite as dramatic as yours, mine was essentially the same - passive resistance to bullying only caused me to get bullied more, until I reacted violently and "won" a couple of fights against a few of the lower-tier bullies. After that, I stopped getting bullied, almost like magic.

I could explain in detail, but I don't want to look like I'm trying to steal your thunder.

[Lace Neil Singer]

I couldn't agree more. As I have stated on this forum before, I was bullied in secondary school and followed the teachers' instructions at first; that is to say, ignoring and walking away. That didn't work, cuz that never works. Ignoring them is no good, cuz they will keep on at you til you react, and if you walk away, it doesn't magically stop them following you.

However, once I'd cracked and delivered an epic smackdown to the main bitch who was bullying me, things turned around. If someone picked on me, I punched them. They soon learned to leave me alone; in fact, by the time I left that school, they all feared me as "the psycho".

In short, ignoring and walking away does jack shit. Ignoring them makes them want to do even more til they push you over the brink, and walking away just makes them think that you're afraid of them.

[Jester]

I could explain in detail, but I don't want to look like I'm trying to steal your thunder.

Please, feel free to post your stories if you want. There is no "thunder" to steal here, to be quite honest. Anyone who wants to post a story about how they dealt with bullying, or wants to comment either in favor of or against such actions, feel free to do so.

[TheHuckster]

Given the stories you presented, I absolutely agree with how you handled it. You started out trying a few other ways to get them off your back, including just ignoring them, and when they didn't work, or when they cross a line like insulting your mother and deceased father you had to resort to giving them just enough ass beating to make sure they never bother you again.

In the 1980s, you got away with saying "if you ever talk to me again, I will fucking kill you." without getting the SWAT team involved. Good luck with that today.

These stories remind me of the classic scene from A Christmas Story where Ralph snaps at Farkus.

[Jester]

Given the stories you presented, I absolutely agree with how you handled it. You started out trying a few other ways to get them off your back, including just ignoring them, and when they didn't work, or when they cross a line like insulting your mother and deceased father you had to resort to giving them just enough ass beating to make sure they never bother you again.

You make it sound like I exercised restraint. I didn't. In the first two cases, I had to be physically separated by adults from the other kid, and in the last case, I was ready to throw down, and only the fact that the douchebags fled prevented that. I exercised no restraint, and was ready to cause more damage. Make no mistake, I was in a fury each time, and given the chance, would not have stopped. I am neither proud nor ashamed of that fact, but it IS the way it happened.

In the 1980s, you got away with saying "if you ever talk to me again, I will fucking kill you." without getting the SWAT team involved. Good luck with that today.

It would work today about the same as it worked then, because the only people who ever heard it were me and Gary. And had he said anything to anyone in authority about it, I would have looked them straight in the face and lied my ass off denying that I ever said any such thing. And I was much, much more convincing than Gary.

These stories remind me of the classic scene from A Christmas Story where Ralph snaps at Farkus.

This may shock several people, but I have never seen A Christmas Story, so am not familiar with that scene.

[TheHuckster]

You make it sound like I exercised restraint. I didn't. In the first two cases, I had to be physically separated by adults from the other kid, and in the last case, I was ready to throw down, and only the fact that the douchebags fled prevented that. I exercised no restraint, and was ready to cause more damage. Make no mistake, I was in a fury each time, and given the chance, would not have stopped. I am neither proud nor ashamed of that fact, but it IS the way it happened.

I'm saying you exercised restraint up to that point. If you had not, the first time any of those bullies called you names you would have resorted to violence immediately. As soon as you throw the first punch, you have to keep going, else get punched back or worse.

Yes, you had bloodlust once you snapped, but what I'm noting is the fact that you didn't snap until they really crossed the line. I've known of kids who had a far lower threshold into that snapping point that got them into more trouble because the disciplinarians thought the bully was really just lightly teasing them and didn't deserve the brutal punishment by the victim.

EDIT: Now that I reread my response to you, I see what you meant. Yes, you weren't thinking of giving them "just enough" ass-kicking, and I guess if the teachers weren't there to defuse the situation your rage would have gotten much worse... my thoughts on your reactions up to that snapping point still stand, though.

[Nekojin]

Please, feel free to post your stories if you want. There is no "thunder" to steal here, to be quite honest. Anyone who wants to post a story about how they dealt with bullying, or wants to comment either in favor of or against such actions, feel free to do so.

Fair enough.

I was bullied all through grade school, junior high school, and into high school. I tried a variety of things, but was generally pacifist in nature - the most successful technique I'd learned was running really fast. But as I got on into high school, I had stopped being quite as active of a kid, as I had video games and my computer to occupy my spare time. So, I was more out of shape.

Two painful incidents happened in junior high school that fed into my frustration. The first was that I'd taken a favorite portable video game (think along the lines of a Tiger Electronics game, not a Game Boy) with me. A girl that I kinda liked asked to see it, so I let her borrow it. One of her friends distracted me, and while I wasn't looking, her (male) friends buried it in the sand pit that we were standing next to. I noticed that she didn't have the game, looked around and saw that nobody seemed to have the game, and started demanding it back. They laughed and walked away. I found it ~10 minutes later, after the school bell rang - and it had been stepped on repeatedly, destroying it. I took it to the office to complain about the bullying, and was told that I shouldn't have brought it to school.

Then there was the PE incident, that completely killed any interest I had in gym class - the entire class was playing basketball. I had a ball, and I was practicing shots, when one of the bullies came over, shoved me, and took the ball from me forcibly. I tried to get it back, and he punched me in the face, splitting my lip open, requiring 7 stitches. As far as I know, nothing was ever done to punish the bully.

It actually got worse in high school. My first high school, Leuzinger, was on the edge of gang territory, and we had quite the collection of "rough-and-tumble" kids - junior gangers, wanna-be gangers, and so on. By that time, I'd taken to wearing a ski jacket all year, because it provided some impact protection. One of the wanna-be gangers decided to prove his stuff by beating me up. I turtled, and he rained ineffective blows on my back until a teacher broke it up. We were both suspended for one day for "fighting." I didn't tell my parents about it, intent on going to school the next day to fight the suspension. I left the house the next day at the usual time, carrying my school supplies, as though it were a normal day, and went to the office to plead my case. The administration was "very sorry" that I'd been suspended, but they had a "zero tolerance" policy with regard to violence, and all students caught fighting were suspended, period. I left crying, and went to the library that I volunteered at after school, and sulked. Until my grandmother showed up at around 11 AM. The school had called my parents, of course, and since they didn't really know how to deal with the situation, they called my grandmother. She took me out to lunch, we talked about it for several hours, and that was the end of it.

I was only at Leuzinger for one year - I declared that I never wanted to go back there, so custody changed hands from my dad to my mom, and I went to Hart High, a school near where she was. I was still bullied, but it was a walk in the park compared to Leuzinger. And my Junior year was the same. And then the Senior year happened... and something completely unrelated effectively broke my spirit. I went through the motions for several months, as my rage and frustration built over even minor, petty bullying (and, again, I got suspended on more than one occasion for "fighting" when I hadn't been). And one day, I snapped.

I never realized that I'd grown to be a rather formidable guy - 6'2", 200+ pounds. I knew I was tall, but that's not the same as realizing that you have power. One of the punks at school started giving me shit in the locker room, and I grabbed him by the neck and slammed him against the wall. I was furious and terrified at the same time. I held him there for what seemed like minutes, but had to have been somewhere in the 15 second range. And then let him go, mumbling something about, "Get away from me."

But that wasn't the end of it. He (and his buddy who saw it) never mentioned it to anyone else, as far as I know. I still got bullied, and one day, again in the locker room, one of the "hangers-on" (not a jock, just a guy who bullied because he was friends with jocks) decided to cause shit. He went out of his way to go down my row in the locker room, and kicked me as he went past. I got pissed, and went after him, shouting about how I wasn't going to let him get away with that. And then he swung a punch at me.

I don't remember the fight. I really wish I could, but I don't remember a thing past that first punch, up until the coaches showed up to break it up. I vaguely remember restraining myself from swinging a punch at the coach who was pulling me away. But some kids were cheering for me, and the bully was on the ground, looking scared. I don't think I did any real damage to him, but I wasn't told one way or the other. And, surprisingly, I wasn't suspended that time. As far as administration was concerned, it never happened.

And I was pretty much left alone after that.

I'm still terrified of fighting. But not because I'm afraid of being hurt. I'm afraid of losing control and hurting someone else... because I most definitely understand my body far better than I did then, and I honestly think that if I go berserk again, I'm going to put whoever I'm fighting against in the hospital, or worse.

[cindybubbles]

It's the reason why I took karate class in Grade 9. I was bullied throughout grade school and high school, and I once punched a student that called me a vile name. I've have had it with bullies, and even though my karate training told me to use it in self-defence only, I felt that I had no choice. Even though I was called into the office, I wasn't punished for it.

Perhaps it was because I'm female and the student that I punched was male. Or maybe because I was smart and got good grades. I was told that the teacher praised me for standing up to the bullies; I just wished I could have used words instead of fists, but I had little social skills back then.

[Jester]

I'm saying you exercised restraint up to that point. If you had not, the first time any of those bullies called you names you would have resorted to violence immediately.

I understand what you're saying, but understand, it wasn't restraint. Restraint implies that you are intentionally holding back to either be a better person or spare the other person from serious damage. Neither was the case. I didn't react up to the points that I did because of one simple thing: fear. I was scared shitless. I was scared I was going to get my ass beat if I tried to take a swing at either Michael or the douchebags. With Gary, I wasn't scared so much as respectively wary of his much larger size. Gary never scared me, I just knew he was larger than me (by a lot) and thus had nature on his size. So perhaps it could be argued that the situation with Gary WAS one in which I showed restraint, but honestly, that is not really the case either.

Honestly, I was not the mentally and emotionally strong Jester you guys know. I wasn't. I was a wuss. A pussy. A coward. I have OFTEN said that if present me met past me, present me would kick past me's ass for being such a fucking pussy. But those incidents, and others, were what made me into the person I am today. I honestly needed those incidents to know who I was and what I was capable of.

Back then, if you had asked me if I was capable of killing, I would have said sure...but I would have been wrong. Intellectually, I thought I was, if push came to shove. But I wasn't. I really wasn't. Today, however, if something happened to one of my nieces or, theoretically, my girlfriend (theoretically since I am currently single), I have no doubt that I would be very, VERY capable of ending someone's life.

Again, this is not something I am proud of. The intellectual, rational side of me prefers that, if anything did happen to someone I loved, the justice system would take care of it before I did. Because, while I often say I would leave no DNA evidence of the person responsible ever existing, the fact is that people are imperfect, and chances are very good that I would leave some evidence behind, and then end up in prison for my reaction, which would do no one any good. But proud or not of this fact, I know without question that if some yahoo ever did something unspeakable to my Mom, my stepfather, my sisters, my stepsister, my nieces, or anyone else I truly loved, I would absolutely be able and willing to end their life. And if that person or people were smart, they would turn themselves into the authorities before I found them.

It ate at me that I never took any such action when Tiny Dancer ended up dead. It still eats at me that Big Boy is still walking this earth. That he is still walking the streets I walk, and breathing the air I breathe.

Yes, you had bloodlust once you snapped, but what I'm noting is the fact that you didn't snap until they really crossed the line. I've known of kids who had a far lower threshold into that snapping point that got them into more trouble because the disciplinarians thought the bully was really just lightly teasing them and didn't deserve the brutal punishment by the victim.

Yes, that happens. But here's what I am wondering: did those bullies ever bother those kids again? I am going to bet they didn't, and that those kids, those bullying victims, would serve that punishment again and again, and happily, if it meant that that bullying stopped.

[Ladeeda]

That ridiculous "everyone gets in trouble for fighting even [especially] when it's a beatdown" nonsense still happens.

My view? If you're going to get in trouble anyway, get your licks in. Nothing to lose.

[TheHuckster]

Yes, that happens. But here's what I am wondering: did those bullies ever bother those kids again? I am going to bet they didn't, and that those kids, those bullying victims, would serve that punishment again and again, and happily, if it meant that that bullying stopped.

I guess it depends on the situation. Getting punished by the school is a sign of weakness, and if the victim's attack was also weak or was broken up too soon, it might have not invoked fear in the bully but rather reinforcement and encouragement. The victim, on the other hand, is discouraged by what happened and might be less aggressive the next time.

In your case, the bullies not only saw that you ripped them a new one, but didn't face any consequences for your actions (except for that one time you were suspended for a day, but then so was the bully in that case).

[draco664]

A lot of people have wondered why teachers and the education system seems to ignore bullying.

Well, I have a theory.

My wife recently went back to work after 5 years spent raising our daughters to pre-school age. She got a job with the industry superannuation fund that deals with academia and related jobs. Basically, anyone who teaches at university, or works for a university in Australia, has the option to invest their superannuation with this industry super fund.

For .usians, superannuation is sort of Australia's version of your 401K. By law, your employer has to put aside 9% of your salary into a super fund of your choice, which you can't touch until retirement (though there are exemptions to that rule). Essentially, it was an effort to ensure that in fifty years, everyone's retirement is self-funded.

Anyway, my wife is working with the team that deals with temporary incapacity claims. The number of people taking time off for bullying is *staggering*. It is systemic, ingrained, and considered a fact of life in academia. Not just physical bullying, but stealing papers, deliberate mismanagement of research grants to make research fail, consistent degrading - anything you can think of.

And this is going on in Australian universities, hotbeds of far-left freedom, rights and tolerance for all. It's disgusting, some of the stories my wife brings home. The worst are the ones of people who suicided.

Now, in that environment, is it any wonder that teachers of schoolkids see it as a non-problem?

[Gravekeeper]

I don't really recall being bullied to be honest. I do remember being teased and picked on when I was really young now and then ( My ears grew faster than my head, it was pretty easy playground fodder ). But it was never anything violent. Sure, I got pushed into a few lockers in the hallway when I hit secondary school. But everyone did when you were just coming into a new school as a grade 8 with grade 12's around.

By the mid grades no one really bothered me that I remember. The older kids and jocks were either bemused by me ( I wasn't a class clown type, but I was still amusing apparently. Also I could draw. Which further amused them ) or convinced I was psycho. ( I legitimately to this day do not know how this came about ). One of the biggest, most notorious bullies in grade 12 ( he'd been held back like 2 years or something, so he had a pretty big size advantage on, well, everyone ) never bothered me once. Because "No way, dude will come up behind me and knife me in metalshop or something". Which I'm still trying to puzzle out ;p

I do believe I've already related on CS the one time another kid *did* manage to make me snap when he sucker punched me out of the blue. A kid I wasn't particularly fond of because he was what you would classically call "The Wrong Crowd(tm)" and was leading my younger cousin down that particular path.

That only lasted about 10 seconds and ended with him on the ground crying and choking. Though he never came near me ever again. Nor my cousin. I don't recall any bloodlust. Only a cold clarity. I'm not the brawler type. I'm not going to wail on anyone. I will just end the fight right there and then. Apparently. -.-

My dad always wondered what happened but never straight out asked. I was only down visiting for the summer, but even after I returned home ( to the opposite coast ) he never went near my cousin again.

I personally abhor violence, but its honestly difficult to argue that when it comes to certain bullies ( The true asshole / psychopathic variety ) it just doesn't seem like anything else works. Someone that's bullying you just for shits and giggles may lose interest and leave you alone if you don't give them the reaction they're looking for. But someone that actually gets off on the power and hurting others isn't going to be dissuaded so easily.

But, now the flip side. While I was never really bullied, I have another angle on this: My best friend was a bully once. Or rather, became one over the years and it eventually ended our friendship. In retrospec I'm somewhat ashamed at how little I was able to curb his behaviour through out my school years. Yeah, I could often talk him down and stop him from going totally apeshit on someone. But he was a straight up psychopath to be honest. Sometimes he'd just randomly hurt a smaller/younger kid out of the blue for no real reason than he was there and it'd be funny. I couldn't predict it coming, because he'd just go and do it. Then walk back to you like nothing had happened. As if he'd walked away for a moment to toss a can in the trash.

He wasn't always like that either. I knew him since about grade 4ish or so. Use to be a decent kid, grade A student. Wasn't till we hit high school that he started to sour and it was a slow burn that crept up on us. I'm guessing because of his dad. His dad was a real bastard and the sort of guy that was just always pissed off/angry over something. Also a real hardcore control freak when it came to his kids. Both in life and their academics. His mom was just a submissive lump that did whatever his dad said and took all his verbal abuse. As such, he began treating his little sister ( and other females. Never had a girlfriend at any point in school nor even any female friends ) in a similar fashion by his mid teens.

Eventually got really bad around 15-16 I guess. I couldn't handle him well anymore and he started going apeshit even on me. Was really hard to talk him down ( Once he was in hurt mode, he wasn't satisfied till someone was hurt. ). Near came to blows with him a couple of times over totally innocously things. If you pissed him off ( Which was pretty damn easy ) even by accident he'd come after you.

Till finally one day, in front of my parents no less, he walked up behind me as I was turning around holding/lifting something and I accidently smacked him in the chin with my elbow. He went apeshit and jumped on me. Tried to choke me out from behind. I broke out of it and whirled on him. But I guess at that point he finally realised oh shi- when he realised he'd just tried to choke me out in front of my horrified parents. While I for one wasn't about to start a fight in front of my mom of all people.

My mom threw him out of the house and forbid him to step foot anywhere near it ever again. Or speak a word to me at school for that matter. Which he never did again unless absolutely nessacary. Though he still found the occasional indirect method of just being a rude dickhead to me, my friends, my girlfriend or his former friends.

He still graduated with good grades, had a small scholarship, went to university. But ended up in jail inside of like 2 years of graduation. Now, 12 years down the road, he lives at home with his parents as part of his parole conditions. With a fancy ankle bracelet on. He only got out a couple years ago far as I heard.