The second chapter of "It's All Relative"
|I sucked at learning. Like really sucked. Like imagine the worst person in your class and multiply that by twelve? You're still not close. There was just something about me and the work that didn't connect. I had the teachers think I was lazy which, fair enough I was, but there was something more to it. Almost like I could sense what I would need and what I wouldn't need in future years. Obviously, I'm kind of wrong about this. Things are taught at School for reasons. Even French.
French lessons were the ones I chose to be the biggest, loudest idiot I could be. Mainly for attention and to get people to try and recognise me as the funny year seven who doesn't give a damn. But that didn't go right at all. I forgot that everyone else in the class was also trying to make a name for themselves whether it was the sporty cool kids or the geeky keep-your-head-down kids.
Oh one thing. I don't stereotype anymore. But I did back then.
These guys weren't going to give anyone else a chance in becoming more popular than them. And I wasn't an exception from this. Instead of the laughs and smiles I wanted to recieve from the kids, or, at the very least, a mix of mutual respect and fear, I got abuse hurled at me. As well as the odd glue stick or half eaten cereal bar.
It was the usual childish abuse. "I was with your Mum last night." that sort of stuff. After that I tended to take it. I wasn't one for violence and conflict and both of these would have become involved if I was to stand up for myself.
The rest of year seven was the same. A blur pretty much. Although I discovered in this year that I had a particular love for Basketball. In case you didn't know, I live in England. Where most Schools weren't as hyped up in basketball as our US friends over the pond. I started to play basketball more and more to keep my mind off of trying to create an image. On the court I was naturally confident in myself.
Year Eight. Much different the year previous. For starters, I had a growth spurt during the summer and was bigger and stronger than most of the other kids in my year apart from those who had also developed balls and a deep voice during the holidays. How funny it was to see my bullies look up at me with fear. Apart from one of them who couldn't get enough. Comes up right behind me and slaps my head (though, noe, he had to go on tip toes to do this)
"Dickhead" he said.
Well, that wasn't needed. And something changed in me that day when my face became hot and my thoughts started to think; "I don't need to put up with this."
At the end of it, I had a kid in tears with a bloodied face, a bill for a broken science beaker and a nice weeklong stay in Isolation.
Let's get something straight. During the summer, I stayed with my Parents. If you remember me stating previously that I was brought up and raised by my Grandparents, then you'll like to know that this Summer was awkward. But I began to observe my parents and my Dad in particular. He was built to be violent and he used this whenever it was needed.
Sure I stood up for myself. and yes I finally got a name around my year for being someone who didn't take any crap anymore. But think about it. This world is bad enough wigth the wars and killings occuring on a larger scale. Why do people like us need to bother to fight over the petty bullying of others? To stand up for yourself was to not let them hurt you. But to fight them and hurt them was being a douche.