Lucinda Breeding: Well, bully for you

[stop bullying]

http://www.dentonrc.com/sharedcontent/dws/drc/entertainment/stories/DRC_Breeding_Column_0403.246ebfbe2.html

I hate raining on a parade. Especially a parade that touches on so
many dimensions of life — the social, the civic and the spiritual.

But the tidal wave of feel-good YouTube videos countering school
bullying leaves me a little mad.

It’s not because the messages from gay, lesbian, bisexual and
transgendered Americans — and their straight allies — aren’t important
or truthful. They are. A number of young men made headlines last
September because they killed themselves to end the pain of bullying.
The rash of suicides last fall were the result of being bullied
because they were either openly gay or perceived to be gay.

On one hand, I’m cheered by the videos, and moved by Denton High
School graduate Taylor Bailey for his strength and willingness to put
a public face on what young gay men live through in our schools. Teens
and preteens need to hear that they aren’t condemned to the awkward
uncertainty that constitutes so much of their adolescence.

On the other hand, so what if it gets better? Teens need support now.
They need the adults in their lives to enforce the boundaries of
proper civilized behavior today.

I was bullied.

I was bullied first by members of my own family — adult men and women
who thought they were doing me a favor by telling me my weight was
some defect of character, some essential sin that made me unworthy of
respect or love. Around some of these family members, shared meals
drove me to tears — everything I ate was evaluated, along with my
character.

My troubles got worse in middle school. A summer spent teaching
children to swim at the local recreation center was a daily exercise
in torture. Why? Because I wore a swimsuit in public. While being fat.
I stuck it out, hiding my body as best as I could with a giant T-
shirt. That didn’t stop my tormentors, a group of boys my age who were
also teaching swimming lessons. Between lessons, I’d find a quiet
corner to hide. They tracked me like bloodhounds, cornering me so that
they could spit thick, chlorine-scented blobs of mucus into my face.
One day, a boy tried to pry my mouth open so his cohort could spit
into my mouth. I bit the boy’s fingers so hard he cried. He told a
lifeguard, who in turn told my mother what I’d done.

That night at home, my parents threatened me with the wrath of God.
Violence is always wrong, they insisted. And anyway, I was wrong to
let those boys know they hurt my feelings.

I know my parents were trying to help me. But I felt utterly
abandoned.

In high school, I managed to get bullied by — wait for it — theater
students. Yeah. I know. Theater is supposed to be the real-life Island
of Misfit Toys. But wherever there are primates, there is a pecking
order. I was usually near the bottom. I can’t deny that I was an
insufferable know-it-all in high school, and that I earned some of the
grief that came my way. I don’t think I did anything to deserve the
threats of violence from a few of the older guys, though. And I
certainly didn’t deserve to be groped by some of them.

To be fair about my high school’s theater arts: The program was
directed by a man who gloried in name-calling and humiliating his
students in front of a class or an audience. He had a habit of secret
intimidation. His tactics might well have rubbed off on some of his
students. All I know is that I grin to myself when I hear booster club
parents extol the tolerance and compassion of theater students. If
only they knew.

I left the theater program to join the school newspaper. I encountered
some bullies there, too, but they were tolerable, and I endured. I
became editor in chief of the school paper. It was a rare bright spot
in my school experience.

This is where I’m supposed to say that the ugly duckling became a swan
and the fetters of puberty fell away. Well, yes and no. I like my
life. I choose the people I consort with very carefully. I call other
adults out when I think they’re being bullies every once in a while.

But the thing is, it doesn’t get better. Not really. It just gets more
adult. The cruelty goes underground a bit. Hostilities take on a
complicated life of their own. Yes, you learn to persevere amongst the
civilized apes. But those apes still have it in them to throw feces at
you.

I think we owe young people the truth. It doesn’t get better. People
will always be people. And some people just revel in being mean.

YOU get better.

You learn to cope with the subtle and the not-so-subtle pressure of
bullying that is sanctioned by the arbiters of our cultural
boundaries. But it doesn’t get better. It will if we quit making
excuses for bad behavior, dismissing it as snips and snails and puppy
dog tails. It might get better if we institutionalize punishments for
the quieter aggression of “mean girls.”

Bullying doesn’t end. Not ever. Bullying is in every human arsenal in
every country on the planet. It’s the toxic molecules that build
genocide, that make leaders starve their own people for sport. We all
know it. Anyone who thinks atrocities aren’t an extension of garden-
variety bullying is naive, deluded or just cruel.

So this “It Gets Better” campaign? It tastes sweet in my mouth, but
sours in my gut. It makes me angry. How dare we soothe our own bruised
consciences with these half-truths? It might be heartbreaking to tell
a terrified boy that he’ll have to shoulder the reality of cruelty his
entire life, but it seems more noble than telling them, “Don’t worry,
kiddo! You’ll grow out of this and everything will be fine.” Maturity
does not guarantee decency. It just doesn’t.

I want a video campaign that promises bullies that decent people will
demand from them a price. I want school districts to adopt a zero-
tolerance policy against bullying, like the ones they have against
drugs and guns. Most of all, I want adults to stop, once and for all,
their excuses for these bullies. “They’re young! They don’t know any
better!”

If a child is old enough to know that stealing a piece of candy from a
store is theft, then that child understands that willfully terrorizing
another human being is wrong. Using terror and violence — whether it
is hurled in a wad of spit or in a fist — is wrong.

Maybe I want my pound of flesh. Maybe I’m being unfair to the eternal
optimists on the Internet. But if I have to sit back and watch
everyone from politicians to pastors dissect gay men while arguing
nature vs. nurture, then, by God, I want someone to talk about the
stratagem of bullies. And then I want to see those consequences meted
out.

If that happens, then I’ll grab a banner and wave it in Dan Savage’s
cyber parade.


LUCINDA BREEDING can be reached at 940-566-6877. Her e-mail address is
cbre...@dentonrc.com.