Writer's Block: Everybody hurts
Little 8-year-old Lurkeriat, being an avid reader of action-packed tales of adventure, from The Hobbit to Young Jedi Knights, had both a profound, unswerving sense of justice and complete assurance in her authority to judge and render the same unto all her classmates. As such, she stood for neither bullying nor any unfair play of its sort. She brooked no meanness or rumor-spreading in her presence, and when made cognizant of the same, swift fell the gavel of her retribution. Direct confrontation was her six-shooter, and if the rumor-mongerer were bigger than she, Sheriff Lurkeriat kicked him in the shins before marching away, ponytail held high.
But late in the fifth grade, the world-weary gunslinger had a moment of spiritual enlightenment. She holstered her guns and embraced pacifism (most of the time) for the rest of her middle school days. Unhappily for her rogues' gallery, Lurkeriat never actually told anyone she was now above resorting to violence in her persuit of righteousness. And never did she muffle the clapper of her tongue as she brazenly extolled the unvarnished truth whenever her opinion was solicited. and sometimes when it wasn't
So no one ever bullied or teased her or anyone she knew, because she would stand for precisely none of it. And then she went to a small high school full of kind, considerate people. Also, there were uniforms, a warm, close-knit community, and very strict rules, so the troublemakers washed out pretty quickly.
And once you're out of high school, there's no such thing as bullying anymore, because the grown-up term for that is harrassment.
Anecdote time!
When I was in grade school, I had a couple of guy friends, whom I shall call Marcus and Aurelius, with whom I hung out sometimes. They were kind of like Terence and Phillip, the show-with-in-a-show guys on South Park. They loved making jokes, most of them revolved around farts and were trying for South Park-style humor (but before South Park was everywhere), and we all thought we were hilarious. Before kindergarten and after 7th grade, this is completely normal, but at the time I was one of the few. Maybe the only one. Anyway, in fifth grade, some moron made a dumb joke to his friend about how we must be “doing kissy-kissy in bed.” When word of this reached my ears, I sprang up out of my seat, marched over to the boy, and kicked him in the shin.
“What’d you do that for?” he yelled. I have no idea how long it had been since he’d actually made that hilariously vague innuendo (if you can really call it that).
So the Lurker, fueled with righteous pissed off-itude and already stomping away, turned around and yelled back, “That’s for spreading nasty rumors about me and Marcus!”
“Um, Michael,” somebody piped up.
“Michael,” I snapped. Resume walk of rage. Well, that makes even less sense, I remember thinking. I barely even talk to that guy!
But late in the fifth grade, the world-weary gunslinger had a moment of spiritual enlightenment. She holstered her guns and embraced pacifism (most of the time) for the rest of her middle school days. Unhappily for her rogues' gallery, Lurkeriat never actually told anyone she was now above resorting to violence in her persuit of righteousness. And never did she muffle the clapper of her tongue as she brazenly extolled the unvarnished truth whenever her opinion was solicited. and sometimes when it wasn't
So no one ever bullied or teased her or anyone she knew, because she would stand for precisely none of it. And then she went to a small high school full of kind, considerate people. Also, there were uniforms, a warm, close-knit community, and very strict rules, so the troublemakers washed out pretty quickly.
And once you're out of high school, there's no such thing as bullying anymore, because the grown-up term for that is harrassment.
Anecdote time!
When I was in grade school, I had a couple of guy friends, whom I shall call Marcus and Aurelius, with whom I hung out sometimes. They were kind of like Terence and Phillip, the show-with-in-a-show guys on South Park. They loved making jokes, most of them revolved around farts and were trying for South Park-style humor (but before South Park was everywhere), and we all thought we were hilarious. Before kindergarten and after 7th grade, this is completely normal, but at the time I was one of the few. Maybe the only one. Anyway, in fifth grade, some moron made a dumb joke to his friend about how we must be “doing kissy-kissy in bed.” When word of this reached my ears, I sprang up out of my seat, marched over to the boy, and kicked him in the shin.
“What’d you do that for?” he yelled. I have no idea how long it had been since he’d actually made that hilariously vague innuendo (if you can really call it that).
So the Lurker, fueled with righteous pissed off-itude and already stomping away, turned around and yelled back, “That’s for spreading nasty rumors about me and Marcus!”
“Um, Michael,” somebody piped up.
“Michael,” I snapped. Resume walk of rage. Well, that makes even less sense, I remember thinking. I barely even talk to that guy!