This is one for the introspective crowd. You might want to push off if you’re not interested in that kind of thing.
Lately I’ve been thinking about my teenage years.
Don’t ask me why. Those days are loooong past.
I’ve been thinking about how far I’ve come, the friendships I’ve retained, and the wonderful things that I’ve seen and accomplished since.
One thought has dominated my musings and it’s a troubling one.
How did I survive? Or, more accurately, how did I make it from teenage angst to adulthood without a criminal record?
These dark thoughts were recently cleared away, and I feel as if a weight has been lifted from me. (Oy, simile). It’s a burden I’ve carried for years and never realized it. (Good grief, now I’m waxing metaphorical).
Let me start at the beginning.
When I was a teenager, I was a reader. I loved books of all kinds and this especially included comic books and graphic novels. However, there weren’t a lot of people around who shared this love.
I pursued interests that were viewed as a waste of time. I loved to sing and I wanted to act. However, more than anything, I wanted to be a writer. I was constantly imagining and thinking up stories and scenarios to write down.
Like Edgar Rice Burroughs and J.M Barrie, I lived in my own world and liked to create within that sphere. The practicalities of life held no real interest for me.
In plain and simple English, I was a nerd and I had a target on my back.
So yeah, ignoring the metaphor, (you’re a bit late for that), I was bullied. I’ll spare you the details. I’ll cut to the chase.
Why didn’t I stand up for myself? Well, I got so frustrated at one point that I was ready to do serious bodily harm to one of my bullies. I remember thinking. I just want them to leave me alone. Maybe this will get them to stop, once and for all.
I’m not going to go into detail here. Suffice it to say that there would have been blood on my hands, and it’s likely I would have put a kid in the hospital.
I was literally two steps away from aggravated assault on another human being. However, I turned around and walked away.
What stopped me? I have no clue.
When I think about that day and what I was thinking about doing, I’m glad I didn’t go through with it. My life would have been very different otherwise.
I wouldn’t be writing this, for starters. I wouldn’t have a wife and kids either. At the least, I’d have a juvenile record. You see where this is headed.
So, from that day forward, I took it. After a while, their attention focused elsewhere and they left me alone for the most part.
I was a little damaged though.
Everything I took made me build up a core of self-loathing and resentment began to build up inside of me. Most days I did a fair job of hiding it. But every now and then, the frustration would come to the surface. It was never pretty when that happened.
So I began to suppress those feelings of bitterness. I buried my anger and any feelings of
impotence I felt. Any regret or remorse went into a dark place in my mind, and there it remained.
I would have been a therapist’s dream patient, if I could’ve afforded it.
I graduated, grew up, and matured (enough). But I still held on to that stifled rage. My ten year High School reunion passed, (I went. I know. I still don’t know why). My Twenty year reunion came and went. (I stayed away at my wife’s request. I feel better for it). Through all that time I held onto that anger.
For those years I carried a perpetual chip on my shoulder. From my mission to just a few years ago, I have always been looking for an excuse for someone to knock that chip off. So I could prove to, anybody really, that I had worth. That I was more than a picked on little kid.
All that time, gone. Such a waste.
When I was thirty-five, thinking about the things that had happened to me , I had an epiphany.
I was bullied by kids who either had a crappy home life, were spoiled rotten, or a combination of the two. (Yes, that is possible). I realized that they felt just as powerless as I did. They had their own bullies, but their bullies were so much worse. Their bullies came in the forms of negligent parents. Overbearing, completely out of touch,
these parents had made their kids into the monsters myself and others had to face down on a daily basis.
In that moment I felt sheer empathy for those kids, because I finally understood. I forgave those bullies for their wretched behavior because they were products of their environment.
As I did so, I felt relief. The kind of peace you hear people talk about, but you never think you’ll feel.
What was the point of writing this down, or sharing it? I’m not sure. A better question might be why did I hold such a grudge for so damn long? Why now, after all this time, have I been able to let this go? Why the hell didn’t I do this sooner?
I might never know the answers to all the whys and whats. What I do know is that with the realization I reached, weight lifted from me. I’m peace with myself and I have nothing to prove to anyone.