The Good Bully

During my formative years, I learned quickly to navigate the rough waters of academia's fish pond. My under developed stature didn't give me many options when it came to facing the occasional shark, and as most of us do in life, I learned to use the tools at my disposal to ensure my survival, and perhaps a little more…

As luck would have it, in grade 8, I ended up sitting beside the roughest, toughest bully of all, in English class. These very words may not have turned out as carefully crafted had it not been for the extra effort I put into that subject, which along with an open notebook and a blind eye, became the currency with which I purchased peace from "Little Joe" (who by the way wasn't little)...
I remember my new desk mate terrorizing the toughest guys in school, yet nodding politely in my direction whenever we crossed paths. Artificially fattening his scholastic achievements was a small price to pay for that kind of piece of mind. Plus it came with magnanimous benefits; one day I stumbled upon my good friend Roy, as he was being tormented by Little Joe in the cruelest possible way. My buddy had begun intensive and debilitating treatment for a brain tumor that would later take his life, and as his hair began to fall, he used a ball cap to hide his shame. But Little Joe was having none of it, as he had taken the hat and, pointing and laughing, made sure no one missed the bald spots on Roy's head. The appalling sight made me clench my fists, but even in anger I knew that my chances against this Goliath would require a divine sling I didn't possess. Besides, all I had to do was walk up to the bully in action and politely ask for the hat, while bystanders watched in disbelief, as he complied and shifted his attention elsewhere.

"Show is over everybody. Move along…" Said I, returning the hat to my thankful friend. If they'd only known that my heroics amounted to little more than academic prostitution.

Little Joe was no fun. He was perhaps the first example of humanity that I may have thought beyond redemption, in my self-righteous teenage existence. But there was another bully in my life who was ever-present in those years. I call him the good bully.

This fast mouthed weasel, never missed an opportunity to find humour in a situation as inappropriate as it might have been. His insolent personality was shocking at first, but the good bully was quite skilled at turning annoyed frowns into unwilling chuckles and eventually unbridled laughter. Even teachers and his victims (often one and the same) couldn't help but tolerate his antics.

Over the years, this bully pulled a multitude of stunts; from throwing stink bombs into classrooms to "schedule" spares, to being caught cheating on tests without facing consequences, to shoplifting chocolate bars for his peers like some twisted modern day Robin Hood. I remember him once quietly exiting the classroom through a window unbeknown to the teacher, who minutes later would answer a knock on the door and question his own sanity: "How did you?…"

There were episodes such as; the one of the chocolate laxative, exposing innocent girls to nudie mags, stealing a friends' girl and somehow managing to keep the friend, and many others. Some of his hijinks went way beyond good fun, and would certainly have landed him in serious trouble in a different time and place. Burning the posterior of unsuspecting classmates with a cigarette lighter as they stood in the yard was a common occurrence, as was filling old soccer balls with heavy rocks and strategically placing them where unwitting bystanders couldn't resist to attempt a goal kick. One summer afternoon, the good bully and some others decided it would be fun to follow the least popular boy in class and taunt him all the way home, while throwing stones in his direction for what must have been the longest walk of his life.

Sometimes funny, at other times cruel or just senseless, the good bully was certainly good for a laugh, but I wonder if his classmates saw through the pranks and realized that such careless behaviour was much more toxic than anything Little Joe could have throw at us. Not because he was tough, but because somehow he proved that you can be mean and nasty, just as long as you're fun. History has taught us that destructive ideologies arise not on the strong hand of evil men, but on the acceptance from those who judge them to be good.

This bully was good. He was popular, respected and well liked, yet still a bully.

There was one time, however, when the good bully did pay his due. A quiet chubby kid thought it a good idea to wear a clip-on tie to school… (Tsc, tsc, tsc). The good one could not resist such an easy target and he went to town on the poor young man from the minute he saw him, by unrelentingly teasing him and his decorative accessory. His victim sat quietly, staring into space trying to blend into the background of the busiest entrance hall of the school. As time passed and getting no reaction, the good bully released his unresponsive prey and walked away in search of a better return for his efforts. It was then that he was swiftly placed in a headlock and laid flat on his back, dead centre on the cold marble atrium floor, in front of dozens of students. The chubby kid had finally had enough (I still cheer him on, all these years later). In his newly found courage he punctuated his surprising maneuver with a whisper into his stunned adversary's ear: "What say you now?…" He asked.

Nothing. I just got up and walked away in shame.