A freshman in high school, my 14 year old grandnephew recently encountered his first bully...

Two weeks into his first year of high school and my 14 year old grandnephew W has learned one of the greatest lessons of all, one worthy of being reminded of, considering the times we all now live in…how to deal with a bully.

It all started on W’s second day at the new school that he himself chose. Today’s version of an educationally aspiring, hopeful kid’s Willy Wonka golden ticket is an approved inter-district transfer. That ticket allows a kid to circumvent the school he or she normally would have been routed to pursuant to a seemingly arbitrary school district map created decades prior by crooked local politicians on the take from greedy housing developers. Even kids aren’t immune from the effects of gerrymandering.

Rather than attend the local school, little more than a funnel for future employment at the dying mall across town, W wanted to attend the nearest magnet school. Scratch that. W needed it. He’s got his sights set on a career in engineering. Coming from a household that is struggling to make ends meet because neither of his parents made the most of their own educational opportunities, W is already feeling the pressure of being “the one” who lifts up the rest of his branch of the family. It’s a pressure I know all too well.

And so it was that W found himself on the second day of high school standing with about forty other boys in an 8 A.M. first period PE class. The teacher, a ball headed bull of a man who decades prior had starred at the local high school basketball powerhouse knew just how to deal with a group of still bleary eyed 14 and 15 year old boys. A half mile run around the grassy perimeter of the school, every runner returning to a numbered spot on the blacktop, after which PE class really began.

As my grandnephew would later tell me, that first run was an exercise in humiliation. Out of forty two boys, he finished second to last, the number 41 staring up at him from the blacktop like a scarlet letter of shame. The only kid W managed to eke past congratulated him, “Welcome to the Loser’s Club. Name’s Nick. I’m only at this shitty school because my Dad’s a dick.” The candor of another affects us all in different ways, depending on the thickness of our skins and our own life experiences. W was horrified.

A lot of kids would have accepted their numbered spot in life, give or take a few digits, the floor and ceiling between which they’d operate the rest of their lives. Not W. A couple of days later, when the boys again ran the half mile, he pushed himself past that first sensation of pain that all beginning runners know, something akin to being keenly aware that your spleen is about to explode. Scurrying back to the blacktop, W stared down at the number between his shoes…28. Turning around, W saw Nick staring at him, forefinger and thumb to his head, mouthing the word “L O S E R.”

Two more days and W, starting to grasp the most efficient use of his gangly teenaged body, finished in 16th place. Nick’s response, when the PE teacher wasn’t looking, was to trip W, sending him to the ground and bloodying his knee. Nick is significantly bigger than W. Side by side, the one looks like a young man while W is still very much a boy. A little too sheltered and unacquainted with bullying, W was initially confused. What just happened? More than just his knee was hurt. The boy’s default world view that human beings are essentially good natured had also taken a critical hit.

Wednesday came and W and the rest of the boys of Sleepy Company again launched into their half mile run around the school. This time though, W felt something different. Even with a skinned and bandaged knee, he felt comfortable. Beyond the pain, he found there was a place of calm, a place where all that mattered was a point on the horizon you know you are destined to reach. His hands and arms having transformed from purposeless flapping appendages to cutting blades, W swooshed onto the blacktop. The number 5 drew him in like a magnet. The PE teacher took note, as did the other boys. Hand claps all around, except for Nick - whose response was to shove W’s head into a locker once they were back in the locker room. W’s head was left ringing. “Knock it off. You’re making me look bad” followed by a cynical laugh. The world had to be better than this.

At the end of the second week of his first year in high school, W had something to prove. He wanted to run as hard as he possibly could and finish first. The thought of one day being an engineer, of becoming the bread winner expected of him, was an apparition. All that existed this morning was the goal of being unrivaled in one simple task. It wasn’t going to be easy though. On every previous day the boys had run, top place had gone to a sophomore who bore an unmistakable resemblance to a very young Mick Jagger. W couldn’t take him. The one time Mick felt W closing in on him, the sophomore shifted into a gear W’s body simply was not equipped with, not yet. Mick took first while W finished second. The younger boy should have been proud of himself but he wasn’t. A harder judge of himself than any other is another trait I recognize well. W’s got it too.

Back in the locker room, Nick was prepared to be the hardest judge of all. The shove caught W’s shoulders in a way that sent his head and arms backwards, leaving his belly undefended to Nick’s subsequent gut punch. The wind left W’s body and he felt himself collapsing and heaving on the ground. The other boys took notice. A few of them turned to intervene before another stood atop a bench and proclaimed for the whole room to hear, “Nothing to see here. Let ‘em settle it between themselves.” Regaining his breath, W briefly imagined himself murdered in a crowded room, inexplicably without witness. It was never going to stop unless he did something to make it stop. Digging deep, he reached a calmer place beyond the pain. He stood up, ready to defend. Nick looked quizzically at W. “I’ll kick the living shit out of you. You really want that?”

The way that my grandnephew later described it to me, the voice that rose up out of him was one that he didn’t recognize. “LEAVE…ME…ALONE” each word said slowly, menacingly and unequivocally. Neither you nor anyone like you will ever stop me. So, don’t even try. And, for just a moment, surprised that his target would no longer be cowed, the bully flinched. What would have ensued will never be known, one of a million unwritten David and Goliath stories none of us will ever be privy to. A moment later and a sophomore a half foot taller than Nick put a hand on the bully’s shoulder and said “It’s over. Unless you wanna continue this outside with me.” And, in this way, W - with an assist by Mick Jagger - dealt with and defeated his first bully.