The lesson a “bully” taught me

When I was in 5th grade, I was much better at making enemies than friends. I had my share of run-ins with neighborhood bullies, both male and female. Looking back, I realize that most of these “bullies” were themselves the object of ridicule. Michael Black, who was responsible for the scar on my left knee had a facial mole the size of his well used fist. Clifford who met me at the flagpole for a fight was quite small for his age. Michelle plume was held back one grade level in school, which meant she was the same grade as her younger, smarter and prettier sister. Because she did not comb her naturally curly hair nicely or wear brand name clothes, she was accused of starting the lice outbreak that year. I realize now how cruel children can be in talking about others who are different in an attempt to make themselves feel better. Unfortunately I was one of those children on both sides of the teasing.
I can’t remember what exactly started the fight between Michelle and I, but I remember running away from her on a frosty afternoon after school. I can still see the chilly blurr of white in my peripheral vision as I focused on my on the speed and accuracy of my feet navigating the icy walkway. I had managed to stay ahead of her for three blocks and was almost home-free.
As I raced down the final steep hill and crossed the busy street to my house, I heard a blood curdling scream. Michelle had slipped on some ice at the bottom of the hill and had cut her lip in the fall. At first I continued running toward the safety of a locked door at home, but then something stopped me. I turned around toward her and found myself offering my help. I breathlessly approached a scene of blood mixed with ice on the slushy sidewalk and since my mom wasn’t home, I took her to my neighbor who lived a couple doors down.
I can’t remember what happened, but I know she was bandaged up and impressed that someone would help her—especially someone who went to church with me. We didn’t fight anymore after that. I had more understanding toward her situation, although I can’t say we became close friends either.
But what is left for me to ponder is how who we come to consider others our enemies. The ideas of loving your enemy and turning the other cheek are very difficult for me to use in my daily life. I suppose it was easy to turn around and help Michelle because I could see she was hurting. When I saw what she needed in that moment, I no longer saw her as an antagonist but a sister. She was just as vulnerable to pain and hurt feelings as I.
Today I have different bullies in my life. These do not hurt with physical violence, but cause mental anguish by wielding the weapons of gossip, fault-finding, and apathy. I have found that it is much harder to forgive those who hurt in more subtle ways than the open childhood taunts and teasings of yesterday. But if I juxtapose these difficult relationships with what I learned with Michelle, I must conclude that those who hurt others are truly in pain themselves.
Perhaps, I can strive to be more aware of these people’s inner minds. Perhaps I can be the first to help, when someone finds himself immobilized by the results of his choices. Perhaps that little bit of help will be enough for me to see another as they really are, rather than regarding someone as a bad person for hurting my feelings. And maybe if I am truly honest with myself, I will see the hurt I may have caused others by my own impulsive and emotional and sometimes irrational thinking.
In each instance, I have found that those individuals who have hurt me are not much different than this 5th grader I knew long ago. They too feel pain and will respond differently when I bind up their wounds with understanding, rather than exacerbating their injuries with self-righteousness. The lesson I learned from a bully, is helping me to strive for mutual understanding through peaceful, rather than forceful means. May I remember that before any further hurt occurs.