Bullied (19 page)

I stare at his back and I pick the exact place where I should stab him. The rage wells up within me. Should I really kill somebody in church? I thought. Is my temper that bad now? He has not done anything to me except call me names, so I really do not have to fight, do I? No, I do not have to fight, according to my rules. Then, I move to the other side of the church lobby standing area. I now understood how that anger could lead me into making big mistakes. I was very close to taking lethal action this time, and, to my surprise, he had not even touched me.

A few weeks later, I am finishing my paper route late and it is getting dark. On a street corner, there were five young males. As I approach them, one of them shoved me. “Asshole,” I said. One of the members of the group, not one of the biggest people, grabbed me with two hands by my heavy jacket and threw me on the ground. Then, he squatted over me. Hitting the ground, I reached for the gravity blade in my right jacket pocket. As he towered over me, I put my left hand on his left side where I could feel his ribs. My plan was to pick the right place to stab him on his right side between his ribs with the blade turned sideways.

He whispered, “Be quiet and listen. I am trying to keep you from being hurt. Understand?” I nodded my head to indicate a yes. He said, “Now, I am going to get up. Please just lay here, OK?” I got the idea that he was really trying to protect me from the others. He got off me and said, “Let’s go, Guys”, and they walked away. Surprisingly, I really was not hurt at all because of the way he put me down. I guess it could have been a lot worse, but I came very close to stabbing him, too. I am certain that if this violence continues, I will stab someone, soon.

A few days later, I am in a coffee shop on Washington Boulevard across the street from Union Endicott High School. I was leaving because it was time to pick up my newspapers. Four big guys stood outside the coffee shop entrance. I was talking to a friend behind me and, without intending it; I lightly bumped into one of them.

Oops, “Sorry,” I said. He turned around, grabbed me by my jacket and threw me against the brick wall of the coffee shop. Holding me there, he said,

“Watch where you're going, you little shit or I'll kick your ass!” he screamed. Then, he slapped me on the face with his big hand. He walked off, laughing and joking with his friends as they headed across the street to the high school parking lot. As I watched him, I was possessed with intense anger and fury and I knew I had to get revenge, at any cost.

I knew that a few of my acquaintances inside the coffee shop had probably seen this person throw me against the wall so I went back inside and asked if anyone knew who he was. I learned his name was Sam, a jock who played basketball and baseball for UE high school. I could not get this person out of my mind so the next day, after school, I went to the Union Endicott High School baseball field but no one was there. Next, entering the gym, I saw a basketball game in process with some of the players wearing UE shorts, shirt, and others with mixed colors so I knew it was not an official school basketball game, probably just for fun. I did not think it through about what I was going to do if I ran into Sam again, as I hoped to. I had my right hand in my jacket pocket tightly gripping my knife. Shortly after sitting in the third row of the bleachers in the center of the court, I could see the game was nearly over.

When it was finished, the players came back to the benches at midcourt. Sam was among them and he was picking up his towel, wiping his face and his arms when he looked up and saw me in the bleachers.

“Well,” he said, “It's the little shit again!” He walked away towards the dressing room. I got up and followed him. Many big people who were basketball players surrounded him. Opening the door to the dressing room, I saw Sam sitting on a bench taking off his gym shoes. He looked up and seemed surprised to see me again. I was about to enter the dressing room when a teacher came out and said to me,

“What you doing here? Are you a player?” I said,

“No, I am not.”

"Then you can't go in the dressing room. Come with me”, he said.

The teacher led me away towards the exit and I left the school building.

Several days later, there was a Friday Night Dance at UE High School in the early evening. My friends Bernie and Jim were planning to go check it out so, without telling them anything about Sam, I went along, too. The music was good and most of the people at the dance were older, so Bernie, Jim and I sat in the chairs around the dance floor watching everyone dancing. About a half hour after we arrived, Sam walked over in our direction and asked this pretty girl to dance with him. As he was leading her towards the dance floor, his eyes fell on me. He did not say anything, but just shook his head. With my hand in my pocket, I gripped the knife tighter as I watched him. He seemed to notice my stare and my hand in the jacket pocket.

A little while later, Bernie had to go to the bathroom so the three of us went down the long hallway to the men's room. We were coming out of the men's room and starting to walk towards the exit when Sam appeared also headed for the men's room. Again, he seemed surprised to see me but did not say anything because I was with friends. The three of us kept walking, left the school and headed home.

A couple of days later, I stopped at the coffee shop to see if any friends were there. No one I knew was there yet, so I ordered a Coke from one of the booths. All of a sudden, in walked Sam, alone. He looked at me and said, "Every time I turn around, you are there.” He seemed to stare at my hand, again, which was inside my right jacket pocket. His eyes widened, he turned around and walked rapidly out of the coffee shop. I smiled. I was surprised to see the traces of fear on his face. He got the message, I thought. After that, whenever I saw him again, he would rapidly walk away. I guess all bullies really are cowards.

What surprises me is how careful, cold and calculating I am getting about my confrontations with people. Lately, every time I get in one of those situations, I have anger and a strategy. Now, I am always ready to fight, and they seem to be happening less often. I guess when you are always ready to fight you seldom have to. I did not know it at the time, but this attitude would be with me for the rest of my life.

Several weeks later

Today is another day at school and my timing this morning was perfect because, just as I was approaching the school, the bell rang and, without stopping, I walked directly into the building. The day seems to be going well but late in the afternoon, just a few minutes away from the end of the school day, I drop an important piece of paper with notes on it as I am walking to my seat. I did not notice it was missing until almost at my desk. When looking back, I noticed it lying near the classroom entry door. Stopping, I walk back toward the front of the room to pick it up. As I was reaching down to pick up the paper, Sister Mary Anthony grabs me by my left ear and says,

“When I tell you to take your seat, you do it right now!”

My ear really hurt so, with an immediate reflex, I use my left arm to slap her right hand away from her grip on my ear. When I did, she immediately reached for my right ear with her left hand. I slapped that hand away, too. She screamed,

“You go to the Principals office right now!”

I was very angry but obeyed her instructions to go to the Principals office. Arriving at the office, the Principal was not there, so I sat in the small room just outside it. After sitting there for several minutes, Sister Mary Anthony walked into the office followed by the Principal and three other Sisters of Charity.

“Stand up, Patrick”, said the Principal, Sister Prentice. As I stood up, the five nuns surrounded me. Sister Mary Anthony said,

“You are very bold in slapping my hands today and you deserve punishment and detention.”

“I don't want you touching me anymore, any of you,” I replied loudly. In the eleven years I had attended this school run by the Sisters, I had never spoken to them this way.

“We will touch you anytime we want to make you obey” Sister Prentice, the Principal said. “Then, I don't want to go to this school anymore! I want to go to public school instead.”

All five Nuns, three of which had known me since I was four years old, screamed in terror.

“And I don't want to be a Catholic, either”, I added.

They all shrieked again as they stood around me. Sister Prentice said,

“You go home now and don’t come back here unless we see your Mother first,” the Principal said. All the other sisters nodded in agreement.

I stormed out of the office, down the hall that was getting busy as classes ended and went outside in anger. I felt great as I left Seton High School for the last time. Public school could not be worse than this. I do not know why Mom wants me to go here so much she is willing to pay extra for it out of her small paycheck. I will go to the coffee shop to hang out, do my paper route, then go home and talk to Mom at 5:30. I am done with this place, I thought. On Monday, I will go to Union Endicott High School and will have to deal with bullying by the kids or Sisters any more.

Mom was home about 5:30 PM, as expected. As soon as she came in the door, I told her I had something to discuss with her. We sat down in the living room and I said,

"The nuns always grab me a lot, so I don't want to go to Seton high anymore. I want to go to public school starting on Monday.”

Mom’s face fell and I could see she was shocked, sad and disappointed.

“Why do they grab you?” she asked.

“Today, I went back in the classroom to pick up a piece of paper that I dropped. Sister tried to grab me by the ear so I knocked her hand away,” I said.

“She grabs you by the ear?” Mom asked.

“Yes, they grab me by the ear, my hair or anywhere else they want to.” I said.

“Sister Mary Anthony sent me to the Principals office and told me I was bold for slapping her hand away. I told her, and other Sisters, that I didn't want to go to Seton High anymore because I don't like them hurting me all the time.”

Mom replied, “Do you know how much I have to pay every year so that you and Lauren can go to a Catholic school and get a better education? Do you realize what a sacrifice that is? Tomorrow is Friday, so I will take off from work and go down to the school to speak with the Sisters, Ok?” Mom said.

“OK”, I said, “but I don't want to go to school there anymore and I don't want to be a Catholic, either”.

Mom looked at me with a very sad expression on her face and said,

“You stay home tomorrow and we will talk some more when I get home.”

That evening she spent a lot of time talking with Grandma downstairs and then her boyfriend, Dean, came and picked her up so they could go out somewhere. Lauren and I ate dinner downstairs with Grandma and Grandpa. No one spoke about the events of that day, but I knew that my Grandparents knew everything about it.

The next morning, our family of three woke up as usual and went through our routine of getting dressed, brushing our teeth, combing our hair and eating breakfast just like every day.

“You told me that I wasn't going to school today, so why can’t I just stay in bed,” I asked.

"You might have to come back down to the school with me later on today,” she said.

"But I don't want to go to that school anymore!” I replied.

“I am going to the school this morning taking off a day of work because of this. When I get back, we will have a long talk about everything,” she said. She had that determined, serious look on her face and I could tell she was very mad at the same time. I did not reply.

When Lauren was ready, Mom brought her downstairs and Lauren walked off to school. I could hear Mom talking loudly to my grandmother downstairs but I could only catch a word here and there, something about,

"All the sacrifices I have made for the cost of a good education for my children,” and so on. I could also hear grandma talking loudly back to her but could not make out what she was saying. When I heard the front door downstairs slam, I ran to the front of the house to look out the window over the second story porch.

Mom was walking to the sidewalk and turning right for her four and a half block walk down to Saint Ambrose School. She had an extremely angry look on her face and her body was stiff. As she took long strides, she had her hands clenched in fists, pumping her arms in a rapid motion up and down at the same pace. I had never seen my mother looking so focused and enraged at the same time. This vision of my fast walking determined, angry Mom would stay vividly with me forever.

I asked myself, why couldn’t I just start school on Monday at Union Endicott High School without all this commotion? What is Mom going to do and say when she gets to the school? Boy, whatever she is going to do; I would love to be there to see it. I stayed upstairs and read a book for several hours that morning. I was glad I did not have to go to school today, prepared to fight. Reading a book was much more relaxing. I enjoyed myself thoroughly, and then I heard Mom talking to Grandma downstairs and, after a few minutes, heard her walking up the stairs.

Mom walked through the door and into the kitchen where I was waiting.

“Well, I spoke to the Sisters and I have lots to talk to you about”, she said.

“What did you say to the Sisters, Mom?” I asked.

“Pat, before we get into that, I want to discuss something that is going to change our lives quite a bit,” she said.

I could not imagine what else she had to discuss other than the school issue that meant anything to me, so I said, “What is it, Mom?”

“You remember that time you almost strangled that kid on the front lawn?”

“Yes, Mom,” I said, while thinking, how could I ever forget that?

“I have also been thinking a lot about what you told me you were going through with other kids, but besides that, I have some other news for you. You know I have been dating Dean for a while, and I know you like him. Well, we have decided to get married this summer, and we will be moving somewhere away from here after the wedding.”

“Wow, Mom, you and Dean are getting married? That’s great.” I said, as I thought, who would not want a cool stepfather that drove a 1956 red and white Corvette?