The best preparation for handling bullies in the future is an older brother. At least in my experience. There’s six years between us, so it was a sizable difference in my early years. I spent a majority of my days as a child begging for the day that I would be big enough to even the score. You find ways to adapt when you are undersized by that amount. I grew up observing my environment and distinguishing how anything around me could be used as a weapon. Something to use as an equalizer when the time came for battle. Regardless, I had many defeats and would find myself trapped again in the dreaded suffocation lock. Once my brother was able to grab hold of me he would just literally blanket himself on me. Pinning me down and breathing on my neck and saying in my ear “It’s the suffocation lock! It’s the suffocation lock!”
God, I hated that. I did have a few triumphs. There was one time he had gotten me in a full nelson. I was not going to let him keep me there this time. I bucked and bronc’d like a bull until my head slid through and I reverse headbutted him in the mouth causing him to let go. He immediately tried to get me in trouble for hurting him. Thankfully mom didn’t take the bait and told him he asked for it.
She didn’t always take my side though. I suppose she had good reason for the one time I really remember. To her credit she had reason to be upset with me. My brother and his friend were harassing me outside. Talking shit, goading me, and even spitting at me. The spitting was what pissed me off. I felt disrespected and these assholes were gonna pay. I picked up a rock and they saw in my eyes I was going to throw it. They took off running into the woods. I ran a little to catch up and to get some momentum behind my throw. Now, to this day I don’t know how other than by divine intervention it struck. It did and with fury. I saw my brother go down. I couldn’t believe it. How the hell did that actually hit him? He was running full speed through a thick patch of woods but with pinpoint accuracy it struck him in the back of the head. At the time I didn’t feel bad about it. I felt it was justified and he’d gotten what he’d deserved. When mom found out about this one I was not greeted with her support. In fact, I was greeted with ” You could’ve killed your brother!”
Those were the words she said to me before she took off to bring him to the hospital. I was worried the whole time, crying, thinking he could die when he got to the hospital. It wasn’t life threatening by any means, but I didn’t know that. It did require a couple stitches though. They also had to shave a small patch of hair. Hair at the time he was so proudly growing. In the long run, I don’t think he ever spit on me again.
Basket of Thoughts 