Prey and Predator
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(Note: this is a painful post on a painful subject.)
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I’m short. I’m skinny. I have weak hands and arms. I’m afraid of people. I can’t play most sports. I am afraid of gym class. I love books and poetry. I hate History. I love Math and languages. I love music. I like flowers and plants. I love movies. I love to watch baseball. I hate professional hockey. But I like Olympics hockey. I love everything Olympics, Winter and Summer. I love Ice-Skating. I love Downhill Racing. I love Snowboarding. I don’t like Curling. I don’t like the one where they lie down, shoot, get up, snowshoe, lie down again. etc. I am afraid of big ships. I like to dance–alone. I am afraid of bullies. I like school–except for bullies and gym and history–but only when the teacher and class aren’t boring. I am afraid of changing in front of other boys. I like rain. I like snow. I like sun. I like trees. I hate parties. I can’t swim. I like bike riding. I hate noise. I like computers. I hate small talk. I like being alone. I am afraid of shopping malls. I am afraid of big cities. I am afraid of acting. I am afraid of church. I am afraid of playgrounds. I get sick when I see mean things. I cry a lot. I hate jokes. I don’t like being touched. love gorillas. I am afraid of kids. I hate having to talk to people I don’t know. I hate shopping. I I hate sitting in waiting rooms. I hate getting haircuts. I hate most clothes because they are itchy. I like sneakers. I love pianos. I hate tall people in the movies. I am afraid to meet new people. I am afraid of looking weak. I am afraid of girls. I hate barking dogs. I hate scratching cats. I hate being told to do something I don’t want to do. I am afraid of fist-fighting. I am afraid of prison. I am afraid of policemen. And women. I am afraid of the dark. I am afraid of high places. I am afraid of spiders. I love Christmas. I hate Halloween. I hate dark streets. I hate motorcycles. I like sunshine. I hate that I can’t sleep. I hate cafeterias.
The above is an excerpt from one of my novels, Notes from under the Skin, a troubled boy’s diary. It is an example of some of the characteristics of someone who is Prey. For me, what marks the Prey is one or more weaknesses that a Predator can sense–or in the theme of much of this blog, perceive– a hunting sense. These are internal, of course, but a Predator can sniff them out. Externally, there are markers that Predators carry as weapons: too feminine, too weak, too skinny, too small, too smart, too sensitive, too shy, etc., which, along with any internal issues, trigger the Predator in a bully. I was bullied in grammar and high school. Fortunately, I was never physically abused, and the bullies I met were few, but they were lethal. No they didn’t physically assault me, but they made sure that every time our paths crossed, they might. The intimidation factor was terrifying. What confused me the most was that in every instance, I had done nothing to antagonize my bully. He just had a keen sense of whom he could prey upon to satisfy his need to be superior and overpowering.
Another excerpt from my book:
I’m scared shitless. We were told today that we had to take showers after gym. I’m panicking. Compared to some of the other guys, I look like a kid—or worse, like a girl. My arms and legs are sticks. Bony chest. And my penis hardly even shows in my underwear. How can I be naked in the shower? I don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do. I’m fucked. I’m trapped. If only I had the balls to kill myself. Why not? How the fuck can I go very day afraid that I’ll be found out? There’s always a pit in my stomach. I can’t stand it. I’m trapped.
I’ve been bullied my whole life. I might as well have a target on my chest. Anybody can tell that I can’t defend myself in a fight. I’m not only fucking small, but I’m not strong–shit, I’m weak. I keep thinking it’s just a phase, that I’ll grow, that I’ll bulk up, at least a little, but it hasn’t happened. I look like I’m 10. Some guys are just built to pick on other guys, and when they see me, they know I’m easy. What am I supposed to do? I can’t fight them. Run away? They would only catch me, and then it would be worse. So I try to walk behind other kids on the way to and from school. I try not to be alone out of the house. But just writing this makes me sick to my stomach, and, fuck, makes me want to cry–who wouldn’t want to stomp on such a baby?
So far, they’ve left me alone. I try to get in the shower either before or after most of the other guys are there, and I just let myself get wet so it looks like I showered. But the whole time, I’m shaking inside. I still have to undress at my locker in front of all of the others. And I have to walk to the shower and back. I can’t even imagine what it would be like not to care about all this shit. What would it be like not to care about showers, pool changing rooms, to be able to go skinny-dipping, to be normal. I’m stuck in this body. I hate it. I hate me.
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Worse. It was worse. It couldn’t have been any worse. I can’t go back.
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Principal’s Report on Locker-Room Incident
Brian Miller, a sophomore, was “hazed” while showering after Gym class, Fifth Period. Apparently the “bigger” boys circled him and started taunting him. They began to snap towels at him until he fell to his knees, covering his head. One of the boys, Samuel Anderson, grabbed Brian by the hair and forced Brian’s face into his crotch, calling Brian a “wimpy faggot,” and making lewd suggestions. When some of the boys began to hoot in encouragement, Mr. Damon, the gym-teacher, heard the ruckus, entered the showers, and intervened. He immediately told Anderson to get dressed and come to my office, accompanied by Mr. Allen, another gym-teacher; told the other boys to get dressed and go to class; and attempted to console Brian, who was very close to being catatonic. Brian is borderline ASD, which exacerbated an already deeply disturbing and humiliating experience.
Under our zero-tolerance policy for bullying, pending verification of the details of the incident, Anderson will be suspended and assigned to mandatory counseling. In light of the fact that none of the other boys stepped in to stop the abuse–and I use that term markedly–the entire gym class will be subject to after-school counseling. It is at least somewhat to their credit that some of the boys did come forward to Mr. Damon and supplied the details that I described above.
We are deeply concerned for Brian’s welfare. Not only did he endure the humiliation of the actual event, but the whole school is now aware of it. This is a hard thing for a young boy to endure.
Post-script: Brian’s parents, understandably angered, called and said that Brian would not be returning to our school.
Scenarios like this play out thousands of times in schools everywhere. I included a resolution that does not occur often. Often it’s: “Boys will be boys;” “Kids can be rough. It’s a phase;” “Kids have to learn to fend for themselves;” “It’s a tough world out there, and getting toughened will be to their benefit.” I doubt that there is a reader out there who has not either experienced bullying or seen it done. It seems to be part of our culture, and, part of some people’s biology? This *Cri de Coeur* (“cry from the heart”) of mine is an appeal for change, for more accountability on the part of educators and administrators, for treating bullying as the school-crime it is, for taking a stand against abject cruelty, and, to be blunt, torture, to treat other people’s children the way we would want our children to be treated.
Please be kind to each other.
(In the novel, Brian survives his youth and goes on to be a content and successful teacher.)
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“Notes from under the Skin” can be purchased at Amazon here:
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