Alright, children, everybody sit down. Catherine, you’re late. Take your seat! And you, Jimmy in the back row, pay attention!
Now, first you need a bully. And in the late sixties, they were a dime a dozen. Most of them made their mark with empty threats and subtle physical intimidation. The hot air ones just tried to take something out on kids younger, cause it made them feel like they were big shots.
Our bully here is a numb nuts from the next block who no one particularly liked. He had a knack for saying stupid shit and getting an ear beating (ie, verbal abuse and mocking) by kids his age. He used to brag that he taught his five-year-old brother to say shit and fuck. No one found that amusing.
The hero of course is me. Yes, don’t mis-spell my name Jimmy. Glad you’re taking notes.
I’m at the playground after supper waiting for the b-ball games to start. I notice out of the corner of my eye that my bike is gone. A quick glance reveals dickhead riding around on it, looking very inch the moron ’cause the bike is too small for him. Having your bully be of limited intelligence is a good thing.
I sit down. He’ll be back. He has his own bike and besides I actually wished he’d get hit by a car, ridding me of his ass-face and the bicycle from hell that I was involuntarily chained to.
Finally, when he gets no attention, he rides up. “What would you do if I just rode away on your new bike?”
Never raise your voice or over-react. Of course it helps I hated the bike. I sigh. “Then I just have to tell the old man where the bike is when he asks. He loves it.” Pause. “Then he’ll show up at your house with two cop cars and want to put cuffs on you in front of your father.”
He gets bug-eyed. (Always a good sign, students) “Then I’d beat the shit out of you!!”
I stand up and sigh, sadly. “Hell, if I didn’t tell him, he’d beat the living shit out of me. So…” I shrug. “I’ll take my chances with you. At least that way, I’ll be allowed out of the house.”
Silence. He can’t find words. Finally, he sputters, “My God, your father’s a psycho!!”
This was supposed to insult me. But remember, kids, if you don’t show emotion, he runs out of gas.
I smile.”Yep, he sure is. Psycho is a good word.”
With that, he gets off the bike, letting it fall to the ground. Walks away, looking for a new fool.