Growing up with Bullies, and learning to Triumph!

The bullies

I was Born in Oakland in the end of the forties. My dad was a Sailor in the Navy. We lived in a housing project for military families until I was about 4 years of age. It was after that we moved to San Leandro where my Dad had just purchased a new house. The Neighborhood was called Washington Manor, and it was as close to “Happy Days” as you could get. This was the blocks of nice homes being built into the once rich farms and orchards of the San Leandro Hills. Our house was in the middle of the suburbs , and was on the cutting edge of middle class America.

The houses on our block were neatly arranged side by side with lawns in front and back, a wide street with plenty of room for tag football, skating, and all the typical games of that era. We kids owned the street except for the occasional car needing to pass by. Eventually everyone had fences put in to make nice and private back yards, and the front lawns all had nice sycamore trees planted in the middle. Cutting lawns was part of my weekly chores using a push mower, and raking leaves kept most of the kids busy when Fall came.

As the neighborhood continued to grow and develop, so did our group of kids. The parents never had to worry in those days about outsiders or criminals coming around, as it was still in the “outskirts” of the city. No one locked their doors, and us kids could mostly walk right in to each other’s house during playing hours.

I had great pals that lived across the street, and we were inseparable on weekends and after school. Next door was Two brothers and a sister Danny, Steve, and ? Danny and I shared the same Birthday, year and all. Steve was his big brother 3 years older, and same age as my sister. The daughter was little and played with dolls. I always seemed to be in competition with Danny, and not sure why. He was bigger than me, but I think his mom was jealous about me having the same birthday as Danny. When birthday time came, she would always put on a big party for Danny, and sometimes without even inviting me. This was a point of contention and irritated my mom. A couple of times we had joint parties, but it was always a bit difficult and strained.

The older brother Steve was kind of over sized for his age, and maybe a bit slow. He always tended to use his size to intimidate the other kids, and in particular, myself. I could always outrun him, so I could tease him if he threatened me. Due to our size difference, he eventually got the title “Big Steve” and therefore, I was dubbed “Little Steve”. I was a bit of a late bloomer as they say, and was small for my age. So, the paradigm was set, and stayed that way for many years. No one thought any different, it was just the way it was.

On the other side of our house was another family. Alan was the son, with a cop for his stepfather, and a sister named Jill. I later had a crush on Jill, but nothing came of it. Tom, their father, was a beat cop in Oakland, and drank alcohol to ease the stress. He turned violent at times, and it seemed to be typically aimed at Alan. I remember seeing Alan with Black eyes more than once, and also some bruises from time to time. Alan never told about the abuse, but most of us kids knew about it, so no one ever talked about it. As far as the rest of the hood, we were pretty oblivious to what the parents were doing, and more concerned about the pecking order of the gang. In those days, the rivals were the streets adjacent to ours, and we would sometimes compete with each other at tag football, or baseball.

All in all it was pretty cool until puberty set in. As the boys got older, the games turned more mean, and alliances were made for dominance and control. Being that I was the smallest one, the bigger boys, also older and having the hormone changes happening faster, began to assert themselves upon us younger kids.The games were getting more rough, and often there would be some bullying and name calling. I knew that I could not fight my way against the bigger kids, so I tried to bribe them and give them candy, or whatever I could find to appease them. This strategy worked well until I reached middle school. Then when the older boys started high school, I was alienated from them, and they started seeing me as a target to harass and take advantage of. Big Steve was now a foot taller, and 50 pounds heavier than I. Alan was a few inches taller than me, but he was broad shouldered and stocky build and undisputed leader of the hood.

Through the years, I had been beaten, held down, spit on, clothes torn, and humiliated too many times to count due to my being so small. It seemed like they did it as a ritual, and rarely anyone else. The favorite game was to sit on me pinned down and helpless while they took turns spitting in my mouth if they could, and even urinating on me. I never felt like they didn’t like me, and for the most part just put up with it. By 8th grade, I had gotten into a fight with a kid who liked the same girl as me, and felt the feeling of winning the effort, but then was beaten by his friends afterward. Clearly, I was being victimized. Many times Steve and Alan would wait for me in the bushes alongside one of our neighbors houses, and jump out and grab me to beat me, and torture me. The neighbors turned a blind eye to all of this, and it was getting pretty bad.

By this time, I was starting to realize that it was not going to stop unless I did something about it. Bribery no longer worked, and the violence was escalating. I told my Dad, and he said it was my fault for not fighting back. I told him I tried, but they were so much bigger and older, that I had no chance. No help was offered.

One day when I was just completing the 8th grade, it was almost summer, and our last day of school would be next day at noon. I had my bedroom window open, and heard Steve talking to Alan about catching me after school. Something happened. Inside, I knew the time had come to end it. I waited for them to walk up the street, and disappear out of site. In my back yard, was a pile of wood with a piece about 3ft long. I took the 2x4, and as I walked to school, I stashed it in the bushes where they hid and waited to ambush me so many times before. When school let out for summer that day, I did not stay to sign yearbooks, and I left to go to the place where I hid the board.

I waited for them to come, and I was very scared, because I knew if I failed they would beat me bad.When I saw them around the corner,

I let them see me, and then ran to the bushes. Alan was smaller than Big Steve, but he was always the one barking out the orders. He was swearing and cursing me for trying to avoid my beating. As I ran to the hiding place, I pulled out the stick discreetly keeping it hidden till he was within reach. When I turned, he was putting his books down on the grass, so he could use both hands to grab me. I wasted no time to swing the wood full force into his face. It was a sickly hollow sound as it struck him on the bridge of his nose. He flew back and was knocked unconscious. I know I hit him again a few more times to be sure.

Big Steve was caught off guard, and when he saw what had happened he turned to run. I could not reach him from my position, so I threw the board at his back, and it caught him on the back of his leg. He fell hard into a brick wall flower box. He had a pretty bad gash on his arm, and also on his knee. I quickly grabbed the stick and hit him on the shoulder while aiming for his head. He was crying so loud at that point, I knew it was over. The Lady who lived in the house was looking out the window at this point, and she was smiling. I knew that everything changed in that few moments.

Big Steve’s mom who always turned a blind eye to the actions of her son, was appalled by the turn of events, and complained to my mom when she found out about my actions. I did get a 15 second reprimand from my Dad, but I could tell he was glad it happened. When Big Steve’s Dad came home, he came by to say they had to take Steve to the doctor for his wounds but would be alright. As for Alan, I did not see him for the first week of summer vacation. One day he was out mowing his lawn, and I saw him. His whole face had turned black and blue. His nose was broken, and he had his wrist in a sling. I did not recall how I had done that, but did not much care. Later, his Dad came by to apologize for Alans behavior, and I wondered if it was he who gave him the injury on his wrist.

I never had any more issues from any of the neighbor kids, and the story spread to other streets as well as in our own hood, I was no longer a safe target. I ended up having to repeat the 8th grade. I was very devastated by that in the beginning, fearing ridicule, and labeling. I guess my reputation extended to the new class, and no one ever brought it up in any significant way. It turned out to be the best thing that could have happened. I got higher grades, was older and therefore more popular with the girls, and I started to finally grow. I started playing guitar, and was in the school band playing drums. That was the year I learned about Bob Dylan, and all the folk singers out of the Bay Area. I even formed my first band, and played at a battle of the bands winning second place playing Rolling Stones songs. I learned Judo after I had a fight with my best friend over a girl. My Dad saw that I was bloody when I came home, and he put me in the class with a lot of Japanese kids. He did not know it was the other Guy’s blood, but I had always wanted to learn Karate, so, it was my way in. I studied many Martial Arts forms for the next 25 years until sustaining an injury that led me away from fighting.

There is a moral to this story. So many kids grow up in similar situations, and although I am mostly non violent, I found the courage to stand up to the bullies I could not escape. By starting training in Judo, Karate, and gaining confidence, I was able to join the wrestling team in High School. Eventually I was dismissed from wresting because I had an advantage by knowing Judo, and I never lost. It was considered an unfair advantage, but it ended up starting many of the other kids to learn it. I continued to grow up learning Martial Arts, and all the way into my Thirties. I have not had many fights in my life because I rarely felt fear which often gives rise to someone taking advantage of a weakness. I have taught my children and grand children to stand up to those who would be mean to them. I also teach them to have respect for others and never be the first to use physical violence.