Author’s Note: For some
time, I have listened to my parents talk about the decline of a former member
of their church (the church I grew up in). I have grown used to this as my
parents are in their seventies and their friends from the church are even
older. Once or twice a month my mom will share the passing of a person from the
congregation, a church I left almost 30 years ago. The man that they had a
great deal of concern with was my first bully. He wasn't in the halls of my
school or on the playground, he was at their church and his bullying still
rings in my years several decades later. When we visited my parents with the
kids for the holidays, they brought up the fact that he was now in hospice and
not expected to live much longer. I shared with both of them his bullying
actions to me and my friends growing up, but they didn't seem to care. My dad
shrugged his shoulders and mumbled something about him being an old friend and
my mom commented on how rough this all was for his family during the holidays.
I addressed this man
and his bullying in my book; this is an excerpt:
There is much talk about bullying these days, and rightly
so. With the boom of social media over the past decade, it has become very easy
to taunt and harass both in person and on line. Much of the bullying prevention
is aimed at younger kids and schools everywhere have “Bully-free” signs
adorning their halls. Sadly, bullying happens at all levels. For me, I took my
fair share of ribbing when I was a kid, most of it was not aimed at my
sexuality. But going to my parents’ church was a different story. Toledo (Ohio)
in the mid-80s was still holding on to its automotive/factory roots and many of
the parents of the kids I grew up with were factory workers for Jeep or
Champion Spark Plugs. One of my friend’s parents had a collection of awards and
clocks proudly display on their television for their decades of service on the
assembly line. I chose education as my career of choice as I had great respect
for many of my teachers and I wanted to continue that tradition with my own
career.
During this time, I was still living with my parents and
attending church with them each week. I dreaded the weekly service, as a rather
loud and obnoxious member of the church (who is probably a member of the Tea
Party now) would verbally harass us young adults, cajoling us for being in
college and not “doing anything” in his stunted vision of life as an adult. Due
to his family’s status in the church, we usually blew him off and nervously laughed
while he called us worthless one hundred different ways each week. The Sunday dread
set in when I saw his pickup truck in the church’s parking lot, adorned with
flags, veteran stickers and countless other right wing causes.
Was this bullying? Probably, but we were young, and no one in
the church seemed to care that this guy could verbally abuse us every Sunday
and get away with it. Everyone, including my parents, seemed to think it was
okay. They would laugh and say that he was just being himself and in so many
words, we should buck up and take it. I think my parents actually sent me to
ex-gay camp at his house when I was a kid to knock out some wood working
projects and tinker on cars (which I hated) since I didn't embrace any of that
as a kid. I would have been happier playing with my Planet of the Apes
Tree house set or reading, but they had other plans. So I diligently trudged up
the street to his house each week and pretended to care about what he was
trying to teach me.
This man was physically large and intimidating and he always
wore a flag pin before you had to
wear one post 9/11. He would pony up to us youngsters in the narthex of the
church before the service and smack our shoulders and ask us what we learned in
college as he wiggled his hips and made funny faces. He took particular joy in
making fun of my choice to teach art. His voice would slip into a lisp and he
would ask how my classes (classsssssssssses….he hissed) were going at the
museum. Never mind that I was going to a world class institution and had some
of the best art education professors in the state, to him it was all a joke. If
he didn't do that, he’d ask us what we had done for our country lately,
insinuating that since none of us were in the military the answer would be
nothing (he was a veteran, natch). He never once called me gay or questioned my
sexuality. He didn't have to, his actions spoke for him.
One of my college jobs was an activities director at a
nursing home. The facility had a VA contract, so we had a rather large
population of veterans from all branches of the military. Aside from hosting
countless bingo games and craft projects, I was also mandated by the VA to give
the veterans a well-deserved block of my attention each week. With this aspect
of my job, I could finally respond to his annoying question of “What have you
done for your country this week?” My work at the nursing home provided a
tangible answer to his taunt. The veterans and I would do puzzles, smoke cigars
(yes, they could smoke in the facility, and drink too!), or we would watch old
war movies that I rented from the library. For those that couldn't get out of
bed, or were too far gone, I’d sit with them and read them a story from a
Reader’s Digest, or I would just sit with them and hold their hand.
So one Sunday, I had finally had enough. When the man came
up for his weekly harassing, the question came up, as it had so many Sundays
before: “What have you done for your country this week?” I turned to him and
started listing all the things I had done with the various veterans in the
facility, calling each of them by name and mentioning what I did with them and
how much time I spent with them. I then looked him straight in the eye and
said, “How about you?” He didn't have an
answer and walked away. My heart was in my throat after calling him out on his
bull shit, but it felt good to finally put this lug in his place.
Post script:
I learned
that he died on New Year’s Day. My dad
posted on Facebook that he held on until January 1st as he wanted to
live to see 2015. He told his family that he had already bought a calendar for
the year and didn't want to waste it. The comments after the post expressed
sympathy for the family and praised this man. For me, I am just glad that the
bullying stopped, but the memory of those actions remain.
You can find my book,
“Jesus has two Daddies” here: https://www.createspace.com/4404757
