KLAS STOLPE
PURE SOLE
I hope a young person is reading this.
Perhaps a youngster who has been tormented, threatened, verbally abused or bullied in some other way.
Or one who fears the playgrounds, restrooms or hallways of their school.
It is not your fault.
I, too, had a bully.
Her name was “Helga.”
I am changing that name, not because “Helga” is still out there cooking up more ways to torment me, but because I know she feels sorry for her actions.
She loved to dunk me in the pool during the week we had swimming lessons in physical education class and dunk me in anything else in the weeks we weren’t.
She would wash my face in the snow during winter recess and in the gravel during spring.
Now here is the strange thing: to “Helga,” this all meant we were going steady.
That was the twisted part of a little Scandinavian village before the Internet, where girls picked on boys.
I doubt that is what’s happening with you.
From what I have gathered your situation sounds more intense.
The bottom line is, any bullying is intense to the victim and can be devastating.
“Helga” told me later in life that it was immaturity and fear of having no friends. She also had been bullied once, too.
Bullying can be addictive.
“Helga” had a sidekick, “Inga,” who loved to call me “Tomato.” Especially if I had been crying from “Helga’s” assaults.
My embarrassment would only redden my pale face more each time the word was said. Having a finger pointed in my direction didn’t help, either.
My buddy Ladd and I were the object of the Tomato rant, with additional disparages of our weight thrown in as our bodies seemed to morph daily.
Sometimes I was the chubby little baby and Ladd the skinny pale one, and sometimes Ladd was the puffy one and I was the homeless looking waif.
“Inga” had been abused at home in a manner that changed the way she looked at the opposite sex for years. She confided this to Ladd and me years later, at a reunion.
There is no clear reasoning why a bully takes an interest in a victim.
Some days I walked funny.
Some days I was hungry.
My hair was messy one day, my clothes were shabby once, another time I laughed and boogers came out of my nose, and at one time I was very much a less-than-average athlete.
I was shy, too, and had trouble approaching people.
Sometimes we victims believe we deserve their attention, and yearn for their aggression as a sign of being accepted.
I had started longing for “Beatrice” to push me back into the ditch when the bus came. Every morning, rain or snow, “Beatrice” would wait until those headlights came around the corner and put me down among devils club and skunk cabbage.
One day I saw a couple of older boys push “Beatrice” off the bus.
It all made sense then.
I helped her up.
The next morning she pushed me into the ditch, just not as hard.
And then there was “Freya,” who was just mean.
She was born nine pounds of feisty cantankerability that grew into a passion for overthrowing Valhalla.
It took just one encounter for me to realize that the Rae Stedman Elementary hallway, between 12:05 p.m. and 12:06 p.m., when “Freya” stomped from Ms. Svenson’s class to the lunchroom, was not a good place to be in.
“Freya” enjoyed depositing the lunches of consumers upon their respective heads. And in Scandinavia-ville, most lunches were made by kindly old grand-folks with a passion for seasoned raw herring bits.
One day that all changed.
Maybe it was everyone laughing at my tuna and lutefisk sandwich dripping down my hair or my tumbling over Ladd.
But “Freya” extended down her large hand, and after first flinching away, I placed my tiny little appendage in her care and she lifted me up. Ladd flew along for the ride as he was grasping my coat tail.
To this day she can’t explain it, she just enjoyed being nice more.
Bullies, go figure.
So if you have been abused in some manner, know that you have done nothing wrong.
Who you are is special. There is no one else exactly like you.
The gifts you offer this world are endless and, though you may not know what your gift is now, be prepared as it will be shining a light as bright as any smile you wish to see.
If you are a victim, please know it is not your fault.
And if you are a bully… well, remember that even my “Helga” feared something … and she and “Inga” and “Beatrice” and “Freya” are my friends now, and they owe me a favor.
P.S. The above were my exaggerated experiences that I chose to make light of. The topic is serious. A good informational website is stopbullying.gov.
For parents, licensed social worker Signe Whitson’s website at www.signewhitson.com can provide insights.
For school districts, the Olweus Bully Prevention Program (OBPP), see violencepreventionworks.org, is a whole-school program proven to prevent or reduce bullying throughout a school setting.
