What Bullies Need

"In every venture the bold man comes off best."  Homer's The Odyssey

I recall my single mom leaving for work before I walked to school in the 2nd grade. It was a solid mile to the elementary school. I learned quickly that if I cut through one way, the girl on the bike would try to run me over or smack the back of my head as she passed. If I went straight through, I had to contend with two brothers who would throw rock hard snowballs at me from their front yard.

I had to go around.

Walking around was longer but allowed me to view the large crates used by the local beekeeper. I didn't mind so much. Nonetheless, I can still feel the deep twist I had in my gut when I walked to school as a skinny little 8-year-old girl. I felt alone. I was afraid. I was also intuitive; it likely kept me safer than other kids.

Bullies have been around as far back as the cavemen. They still exist in the animal kingdom. They reside all over the world in every culture and every community. I suppose this is because we still hold a primal and sometimes sinister need to survive, thus the local bully has determined that this is how to do it. There are a lot of cruel names for bullies; although, a spiritual approach might require pity. We must acknowledge the bully's stinking little life and tortured soul after all. No one suffers more than a sinner.

When my oldest son was purposely humiliated the first day of 7th grade, he simply lost his temper. The boy picking on him ended up flat out on the floor, and my son was not bullied for another two years. The next time he was threatened, he held his ground and the bully, much larger than my son, stormed away. My son was willing to fight, even if it meant he would lose. But he didn't lose, and I admit, I was proud of his courage.

Still, to some degree, he was lucky. It could have gone a lot worse, and I've seen a high school boy with his jaw wired shut for the same response to bullies.

Bullies are not generally willing to reason. I guess if I'm going to go down, I'd rather it be with a fight.

I'd want people to know that I didn't run away or hide or walk around the long way. For me, today, there's a little tiny spark of an old, ancient idea. It's called honor. If my son were in a war, or called upon to protect his own family, and a bully stepped in to tear that security out of my son's hands, I'd want my son to fight. I'd want him to fight the good fight. If he lost a limb, or his mind, or his life, I'd want him to be remembered as brave and willing and honorable.

If my son was forced to kill another in order to defend himself, I'd say maybe that bully finally bullied one too many people.

Don't get me wrong, I'd far prefer the civilized route; I despise those who go looking for the fight. I'd encourage him to check out the beekeeper crates first, but if a bee or two also came after you, I'd say stay cool. Stand your ground. Be calm and be quiet. Bees rarely sting when you refuse to run. If you get stung anyway, know that losing the bee's stinger just caused its own death. God has a way of making things even in the end.