dealing with bullies

It was the 1970-71 school year and I was in the 7th grade. I started that year at the juinor high school in Taylorville Illinois but at some point my family decided it was time to move. I am not sure if this move was before or after the Christmas break so I don't remember if it was 1970 or 1971, but the important thing here is that in the seventh grade I would be transfering to another school, this time mid-year.We were moving to Virden Illinois, which was not all that far, but it was another town and we knew absolutely no one. I remember the afternoon my parents took me into the school to get regestered and signed up for my classes, which I would be starting the next day. I was so angry with them for moving, and the idea of starting at another school, that on the ride home I was in tears and I remember taking the class list and ripping it up into little pieces and throwing them out the car window. That didn't help because the next day after the bus ride to school, I had to go back to the office and ask for another class list. I was the 'new kid' again and over the next few weeks when I was not being picked on I was being ignored. I was isolated in a school full of kids. I honestly can't remember a single persons name from that school, partly because I was not there that long, we only lived there for two or three months, and partly because I had not a single friend. I never got into any 'fights', but there was one bully and his two toadie friends that went out of their way to pick on me. I didn't like fighting but over the years have had more than my share, some I won and some not. My dad always told me if I ever ran away from a fight, he would kick my ass.
One day school was let out early but I had to stay around and wait for the school bus because we lived several miles outside of town. There happened to be a basketball game going on in the gymnasium so I went in to watch the game while I waited for the bus. The gym had those pull out bleachers and I walked up to the top row of seats to watch. There were only 20 or so people there, but after a few minutes the the bully and his two friends came in and sat down in the bleachers about half way up and a little to the right of where I was sitting. I tried to ignore them but I could see they kept looking back at me and whispering to each other. Suddenly there was a loud 'pop' right next to my head. The bully was using a large rubber band and shooting tightly folded pieces of paper at me. The first one struck the wall behind me but didn't miss by much. He was holding the rubber band over his shoulder and one of his friends was pulling and firing the paper projectiles, one every minute or so. They were doing this without turning around and looking at me but they were hitting very close to me. I tried to ignore this but I was getting angry, and after 3 or 4 misses one struck me in the face. I really stung and it didn't miss my eye by much. I sat rigid, almost shaking with anger. I remember thinking and telling myself that if they shot one more paper wad at me I would make them regret it. It only took a minute or so and another one popped right next to my head. Something inside me snapped, I stood up and casualy walked down to where they were sitting, stopping on the bleacher seat just behind the one they were sitting on. I can still see the bully turn his head, not looking straight at me but looking at me from the corner of his eye and smirking at me. Without really thinking about it, I drew back my right leg and kicked him in the left side of his head. I kicked him just above his left ear, not really hard, but hard enough that his head snapped. I had only hesitated there long enough to kick him, probably only 3 or 4 seconds, then continued on my way. Either no one noticed or no one cared, and the bully surely never told anyone about it because I was never called into the office or confronted by anyone in authority about it. That one act seemed to solve the bully problem, for the rest of my time there those three never as much as looked at me. Oh, and did I mention that I was wearing cowboy boots at the time. That had to hurt.

friends

During my teen years I did not have many friends. My family moved frequently and I didn't seem to stay at any one school long enough to make real friends. I was attending my second high school, and like the first, was relegated to the social outcast group. The dynamics of high school friendships are hard enough for those who have grown up together, but for those who come from outside that social structure, it's the kiss of death. It was at this time that I met Randy Troth. I actually met Randy through my mother, who as an adult had decided to take some night classes. We were living in Azusa California at the time and I was 17 years old; it was 1975. Randy was about a year older than me and was taking night classes because he had dropped out of high school and was taking this route to finish his degree. He met my mother there and she introduced him to me. We hit it off right away. For one thing, Randy had a car. It was a 1965 Chevy Nova that had seen better days, but it was a car. More important than that, Randy was a true friend. One of the best friends I have ever had. When summer came, we spent just about every day together, sometimes it was the beach, other times we would go into the mountains or out to the desert. Most of the time we just hung out at his house or mine, Randy lived only a couple of miles from me. After a few weeks Randy invited me to go to South Pasadena with him to visit some friends from his youth. I was introduced to Robert and Dennis (Bob and Denny) Bassler, brothers, and their cousin, Patrick (Pat) Swanson. That summer may be the best summer of my life. The five of us did just about everything together. Bob was a year older than me, Denny a year younger and Pat two years younger. Bob had a 1965 forest green Mustang that we punished that summer. We were also pretty hard on that Chevy Nova. Later I will have stories about some of the things we did that summer. The five of us were an interesting group; none of us had girlfriends, we all liked the same activities and food, none of us smoked or did drugs, and we all liked spending time together; two in one car and three in the other. Things were looking up for me, I had real friends, and Southern California was a veritable playground for five teenage guys. At the end of that summer my family moved to Central Illinois. I would be starting my senior year at my third high school.

how this all started

For years now, my daughters have loved to hear stories about my growing up years. Every once in a while I would dig up a story to entertain them; sometimes they would laugh. Other times they would give me this sidelong glance like they were not sure I was telling the truth. Growing up as I did, many odd things happened in our family and there are many funny and strange stories lurking in my past that want to escape. I have finally decided to share them. Some are funny, some odd, but all will be the truth as best as I can remember it. Where possible, I will contact members of my family and collaborate to capture the essence of those events. If I can keep up, I would like to post a story every week or so, in no particular order.