In the autumn of 1979, I was in 7th grade (middle school). One day I was sitting in the front seat of our school bus, on the door side, play fighting with my friend. We weren’t being especially rowdy — we were just being silly on our bus ride home in the afternoon.

For some reason, an older guy in the other front seat, behind the driver, took exception to our playing. I was sitting on the aisle side of our seat, across from this guy. He told us to stop. I don’t remember exactly what I said back, but it must have been something smart, because the guy leaned over and slapped me on the cheek. He didn’t hit me real hard (not as hard as he could’ve), but he did slap me. I leaned over and slapped him back. I didn’t hit him hard — it was just a touch, really.

I was a scrawny little 12-year-old geek, maybe 90 pounds, soaking wet. He was a hulking 25-year-old line backer, maybe 300 pounds, hungry. OK, maybe he wasn’t. But he was older than me, taller than me, and considerably heavier than me. He looked like a kid who had failed a couple grades and should have been in high school, on the football team.

When I popped him on the cheek, his face changed from an annoyed frown to an enraged roar. In a flash, he reached out and grabbed me with both hands, picked me up out of the seat, shook me in the air, and hurled me down the aisle toward the back of the bus.

I landed on the floor of the walkway, surprisingly unhurt. It’d happened so fast, I was just then thinking, uh-oh. The bus was stopped and silent. I slowly got up off the floor, scared of what might happen next. This guy could tear me apart, I thought.

No one was looking at me — all faces were forward. Even the hulking monster wasn’t looking at me. The bus driver, a high school senior girl, had her head leaned back over her seat, and she had her hand up to her face. When I stood up, I saw her hand and face were covered with blood. What happened to the bus driver? For a moment I thought she might be dead.

Well, here’s what happened: I was wearing my Dingo boots that day, and when the hulk twirled me in the air, my legs and feet whipped around and hit the bus driver straight on the nose. Her nose broke and blood sprayed everywhere.

A couple kids helped her off the bus and across the street to the nearest house to use a phone. I sat down in the back of the bus, out of sight of the mountain of mean, while we all waited for a replacement bus driver to come and take us home.

* * *

The next morning, I was called to the principal’s office. The hulk was there, too. The principal asked us what happened, and I said he picked me up and threw me across the bus. He said I hit him and busted his lip. The principal looked at his unmarked lip, then at the whole mountain, then at little mole hill me. He gave us a stern talking to, and then dismissed us. We both walked out quietly, and to my knowledge, neither of us received any kind of punishment.

The big kid rarely road the bus, before or after that incident, and I never ended up near him again when he did. I saw him occasionally , at a distance, around school, but we never had any direct contact. He just ignored me, and I pretty much forgot about him, too, after a few weeks.

That girl never drove our bus again, but some time later I heard she was “OK.”

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

My job counterpart lives and works in Sweden. She’s just arrived here in the US to visit for a week.

She and I have communicated daily through instant messenger, email, and telephone for three weeks, since I started this new job, but until yesterday, I had never seen her. We’ve had good rapport, and I was anxious to finally meet her in person.

We spent all day at the same desk, working on the same material, getting me knowledgeable with all the corporate procedures and rules for our job. She’s a great coworker, and she’s very personable. But, I feel like a total hick.

She speaks at least three languages — her English is impeccable, with a British accent, so it has an air of sophistication. I speak one language — in contrast, my speech sounds like some hillbilly with a fourth grade education.

My accent and drawl are not bad at all compared to many people I’ve known here in the South, although it gets more pronounced when I’m home among my folks. But next to someone with a “proper” British accent, I sound downright hick. And then to remember English is not her native tongue, it makes me seem like an uneducated bubba.

Before we quit for the day, I got her to say, “Y’all.” (I had to explain the meaning.)

I’ll hav’er speakin’ rat ‘fore she goes back ta yur-up.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

Here’s a hodgepodge collection of info and things:

Back on December 30, I mentioned that I took our family minivan to my hometown to have the brakes fixed. I’ve mentioned before that I take our vehicles to my hometown for repair work because it’s usually cheaper to get it done there. Well, here’s an example. Getting all four brake pads replaced and turning the rotors cost $190 all total (parts and labor). Out of curiosity, I called a local shop, here in my current city, to get a quote for comparison: $400. Yep, this just confirms that going home for vehicle repairs is a smart idea.

* * *

I was at the nearby Lowe’s Home Improvement store picking up a little gadget I needed. When I came out, back to my car, there was a notice under my windshield wiper:

Eye examines in the hardware store parking lot? On a cold January day?

* * *

Less than two weeks ago, it snowed one day. Last week was very cold — in the 30s, and a couple times in the 20s in the morning. This week the forecast is saying highs in the 50s and low 60s. It’s like God is rolling dice to determine the weather each week. I really should be used to this by now. This is pretty typical of the climate in this area.

* * *

I thought I had more things to say, but I’m really tired and can’t think straight. I haven’t slept fully through a night in a couple weeks, and right now, I want nothing more than to just go to bed and go to sleep.

Although, there is a cinnamon roll in the kitchen that’s begging to be eaten. I’ll go put it out of its misery first, and then I’ll go to bed.

Please, please, please, let me sleep till at least 6:00.

* * *

Calfgrit3 slept till almost 6:30. Yay! Calfgrit7 woke up at 5:20. Boo! Cowgrit said the irony is unjust, “I want to lodge a complaint.”

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

I’ve posted about the turmoil in our neighborhood over the local school board’s district reassignment proposal. There’s a Web site and an email discussion forum for the neighborhood, and sometimes it runs long and hot. I’m not part of the online community, but Cowgrit is, and she keeps me up to date on the important information. She has me read messages on her computer, so I know the general tenor of the people and the opinions.

Today one of our direct neighbors posted an email asking if anyone knew about a particular aspect of the new school (Laurel Park) and how could we give input. It was a logical question predicated on the intelligent understanding that we might not win this battle against the Board of Education. It was not a note of surrender, but just a question about formulating a “Plan B.”

Her question was wrapped up in gracious appreciation for what everyone was doing about the situation, and thanks for how everyone before her (she has a kindergartner at our school) had made our school the success it is.

One guy responded with this:

I thought this Group was not for Laurel Park but for DDE and to drive DDE as the solution. Maybe you might want to register somewhere else in another group other than [XXXXX] since obviously you have been shepard and will be shepard again I am sure before your child hits 2nd grade.
Five simple words, “What a Load of Crap”

Cowgrit had me read this and the other responses. My first exclamation was, “What a jackass.”

There was one response after this that said, “Exactly,” supporting this guy’s flame. There were a couple other responses saying, “Let’s be civil,” and such. The jackass came back in a following email, saying, “No intent in being uncivil, but . . .” Then someone even thanked him for saying he didn’t mean to be uncivil. He was thanked!?

I was pissed. The woman who posed the initial question is a friend of ours. She’s participated in the same support against the BoE proposal that we have. She didn’t deserve that kind of response from anyone, much less from someone on the same “team.” Cowgrit talked with her on the phone, and she was very hurt and upset.

I hate bullies, in the school, in the neighborhood, and in email threads about the neighborhood school. I’ve been a regular poster in various Internet message boards for years, so I’m no novice at dealing with the various Flame Warriors online.

I wrote up a response for Cowgrit to post to the group, but she was hesitant. Like most nice, polite people, she didn’t want to engage in a fight with a jackass. I, however, will stand up to a jackass, if necessary. In this case, I just wanted to call the guy on his statements, let him know he can’t get a pass on saying things like that. Cowgrit wanted to think about it before sending my words out to the email group.

So I looked up how to reply, and I sent the email, with only my own name signed:

Regardless of how right you think your response is, it was absolutely not neighborly. I think, and hope, you would not have responded with those words in a face-to-face discussion. Trolls and flames are normal parts of many anonymous Internet discussions, but remember, in this Internet discussion, we are all not only not anonymous, but we are neighbors. A friendly neighbor would not tell someone off like that.

My wife and I have also thought about what input parents would have, and how input should be given, if we lose this fight. Having these thoughts is not traitorous — they are actually wise things to consider. Asking the questions in a discussion is not rude — it’s a natural part of the discourse.

Snide, dismissive, and directly insulting (“What a Load of Crap”) responses do not show support for the neighborhood. They do not show friendliness to our neighbors. An apology to the neighbor is due.

The next response from the jackass said, “I sincerely apologize and lets move on. The fact is . . .” So, at least he did apologize. He continued to rant, but it wasn’t directed at anyone particular.

I got a private email from another neighbor thanking me for standing up like I did. And the neighbor who was attacked called us and thanked us for responding like I did.

Now, I didn’t do anything heroic or impressive. I just called an online bully on his attitude. He knows my name and I know his name, although I don’t know where exactly he lives in the community.

Standing up to bullies is easy to do in email, but too many people are willing to just let things like that go. It’s a short step between letting online bullies go and letting real world, face-to-face bullies go. And it’s a big leap between standing up to online bullies and standing up to real world, face-to-face bullies.

I like to think I would have done the same thing in a face-to-face encounter — I’d rather be knocked down from standing on my feet, than stepped over groveling on the ground. I’ve backed down from bullies in my past, and I’ve stood up to bullies in my past. I’ve found that standing up is rarely as bad as we fear, and the feelings about oneself afterward are always better. Plus standing up makes for a much better story to tell.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com