Playground Bully

 On my 10th birthday, I was on the swings on the playground at my elementary school. 

Because the swings were a hot commodity and our playground time was occupied with a large amount of children, there were playground monitors, beyond the expected one teacher. 

The playground was on the north west corner of a brick school. We used a back hallway to shuffle single file to our freedom. 

On this day, because it was my highly anticipated birthday—double digits—I wanted to dress the part. I wore a dress. My mom had put my hair into pigtails, complete with ribbons. In 1991, ribbons, barrettes and bows were somewhat of a status symbol. I felt special. 

The swings were in a separate row adjacent to the main playground area. There was a large flat open field where the boys would play football. 

Finally! It was my turn. The playground monitors would chat with one another while they kept an eye on a gold Timex watch indicating when it was time to rotate turns for the coveted swings. 

My friend, whom I don’t remember now, and I got going by pumping our legs back and forth to start the swings. After several minutes into our turn, I could feel a presence behind me. The sun was casting a large shadow under the area of my swing. Something wasn’t right. 

Suddenly I’m on the ground, in the dirt, in my dress and pig tails. I can’t intake any air. The boy with his size 8 brown leather boots with red laces, steps within inches of my eyeball. “Don’t say a word”, he threatens. My lungs feel like they’ve been pancaked—all stuck together and sticky. 

The thumping of other shoes approaching. Kinder shoes. White Keds, so common in 90’s moms. The playground monitor, gold watch glistening, is horrified. Whatever just happened while she gossiped about the neighborhood affair—happened on her watch. 

“What happened?!”, she exclaims. To anyone who might be willing to answer. Silence. Snitches get stitches. 

Finally, I force air into my lungs. I right myself and wobble to my scrawny knees. I stand. “I don’t exactly know what happened. I felt like I got hit by something in the back and then I just went down.” Answering, because I honestly had no idea what the heck had just happened, but I knew it wasn’t right. 

The dirty size 8 boot print on the back of my white and lavender dress tell her all she needs to know. There’s one kid with feet that big. And right now, he probably needs a change of underwear. 

His attack, though unprovoked, wasn’t personal. It wasn’t pre-planned. Hell, it wasn’t even smart and calculating. It was selfish. This kid wanted a turn. He couldn’t wait. He also couldn’t think through the consequences of his actions. He was so blind to riding those swings, that he didn’t understand the hurt he’d cause another human to get there. Then, because he’s modeling what he sees at home or some equally disturbing environment, he threatens a 65 pound little girl. He tells her to shut her mouth. He knows what he did is wrong, but he isn’t ready to face the music. He has been hurt before, and it shows. He is also 10. Cognitively, he probably couldn’t think past: I want what I want and I want it right now. He lacks impulse control. 

I wish this experience had been the last pain I’d ever see. The last time the wind, both literal and figurative, was knocked out of my lungs. 

This kid.

The playground bully.

I hurt you.

You shut your mouth or I’ll hurt you again.

I wish these people grew up into adults that functioned within society as kind humans. I wish that bullies got called out. I wish that kids could step forward when they are being abused and get help. I wish that instead of the silence of “snitches get stitches”, people stood up and spoke against disgusting behavior—consequences be damned. I wish that the truth was the only utterance ever spoken. 

It’s hard to speak up. It’s hard to endure in silence. Sometimes you have to choose your hard. If you are the victim of bullying or abuse, you do not stand alone. There’s a scrawny, scrappy 10 year old in messed up pig tails and a dirty pinafore telling you that do not stand alone.