Who Was Your Bully?

As you may have noticed, there was one boy in the 1956 class photo who was a little different that all the rest. He wasn't just camera shy or had a fever blister or a bad hair cut, he was different.

His name is Bobby and he was my bully.

Now Bobby and I grew up in the same neighborhood, had similar houses, and obviously went to the same elementary school. I don't know why we started to walk home together, but that is what I remember about him. I don't remember going to his house to play or him coming to my house, though I do have a photo of him in a birthday photo. He was pretty well behaved around my house because I had a large boxer who he was scared to death of.

But I do remember about him was he was my bully.

He would go out of his way to annoy me, knocking my books out of my hands, pushing me off the jungle bars. He seemed to find joy in these acts. I'm sure the others who walked with us were entertained by Bobby's antics and that reinforced his actions.

I don't remember other kids behaving with such rudeness and inappropriate behavior, since this was the time in our lives we were learning how to eat, talk, dress, and behavior properly.

While the other kids were soft spoken, being taught not to speak unless spoken to, Bobby was brash and loud. He would run around flailing his arms and screaming at the top of his voice.

None of the other kids knew how to react to him, but somehow I kept walking to school and home again with him and one other boy, to be tormented every day.

I couldn't tell my mother, because "kids were just being kids" in those days. My big brother was too distant and my father was always at work.

In the classroom, he would shoot spitballs at me breaking my already lacking interest in school. On one occasion, the teacher, after scolding Bobby several times for his disruptive behavior, stopped the class and told me if I wanted to respond to his constant barrage of heckling, I had her permission. I sat quietly, squinting at the blackboard and did nothing. The teacher told the class how much of a gentleman I was, then continued with the lesson while I was pummeled by spitballs.

In the cafeteria, he would spill my milk or steal my food. On the playground, he would perilously throw the ball as hard as he could and laugh at the crowd who would scatter. When riding bikes, he would crash into others just to watch them fall over and cry.

I don't know what the connection was between Bobby's parents and mine, but on one occasion was in the hospital and my mother and I went to see him. As the two mothers talked, Bobby called me over to his bedside. I stood there as he reached into his mouth and pulled out a wad of bubble gum. He leaned over and rubbed it into my hair. My mother didn't notice until we had left the room and I remember her wondering what would make a boy do that. For a week or two I had a bald spot where the gum had to be cut out.

Bobby and another friend and I went to summer camp together. He seemed to be better in crowds under constant supervision, but he was still pulling pranks like short sheeting other campers or pouring salt into their bunks or taking their underwear from their footlockers and throwing them into the woods.

Bobby could have been other kids bully, but he was the only one I remember treating me with such terror.

One day, walking home from school, I had finally had enough. He was doing something irritating to me when I suddenly dropped my books turned around and clocked him. He fell to the ground with the others pointing and laughing at him. I was ready for him to get up and start a donnybrook, but he seemed shocked. I picked up my books and walked home alone.

By the time I got home, I was no longer mad, but waited for my punishment, that I was sure to come. There was a phone call from Bobby's mother, yet after the conversation and my mother asking me if I had hit Bobby, nothing else was said. I had fessed up to punching him and was not punished?

Two years later, Bobby is not in the class photo. I don't know if he moved away or went to another school, but he didn't bother me anymore.