Missing out

My brother was picked on. Chased. Beaten up. Humiliated. And otherwise made to feel less than, different and like someone who was not worthy of a happy life. And in the end, he had just what his tormentors wanted - a tragic end witnessed by no one.

As we watch our "it gets better" videos and read the heartfelt pleas for better education of and instilling of morality in our youth, I am reminded of a day in sixth grade when such morality was not to be found. I watched my brother being chased down a hill by the school's toughest kid, with at least 50 kids running behind him, ready for the show. He was chased all the way down Aviary Road to the park at the bottom, where he was finally caught and thrown to the hard winter ground. The crowd began to shout "FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!" as the bully - easily twice the size of my brother - wrestled him and began punching his head. He fought back, but was helpless in that boy's grip — unable to stop the blows that came one after another. I was breathless and unable to even scream — at the memory of this, I feel that same nausea and fear taking over my body. I ran to a neighbor's house to plead with them to call for help, pleading in a choked voice for someone to call my mother, call the police, call someone....just please, please...leave my brother alone. That was to be my rally cry for the rest of his life, though often it was he that needed to stop hurting himself.

That scene was to be repeated many times in my brother's life. He wasn't gay or assumed to be gay, not that would have changed anything or made the bullying any more acceptable or expected. Still, ugly homophobic epithets were hurled at him like sharp stones everyday. Faggot. Queer. Shithead homo. Anything that could bruise a young boy's soul and leave him crippled for life. To this day, I have no idea how anyone sensed that he was different or worthy of this cruel attention. He was a little hyperactive, a little brilliant, very creative and — after moving 10 times before fifth grade — a little standoffish. That was it. No visible signs of "difference" or "kick me". Just some unseen invitation that only the cruelest could read and reply to.

As I watch my son grow up, his joy and love and kindness so visible to all, I wonder at what it was like for my mother to see her son so beaten in all ways. What it was like to see his same joy and love leave his eyes and heart and leave only a kid who started drinking at 14 to tamp down the pain. What could she have done, should she have done, was there anything at all...and I wonder if she too asks herself the same question.

I think of all the mothers of children who are victimized by bullying in this country — a recent article noted that over 160,000 kids stay home from school just to avoid the pain of bullying. I think of the principals who care and those who can't be bothered, of the adults who do step in and those who allow their own issues to step in the way of doing what's right and good. Of the people from all walks of life who have posted their own "it gets better" video, and of those kids who may — just maybe — have just a little more hope because an adult who had lived through their pain and acknowledged that it's more than just a bad day can tell them that yes, it does get better. And you need to be here to see that.

My brother died nine years ago, a long-delayed victim of bullying. He finally believed that his life would get better and in fact was getting better, but for him it was too late.  The taunts and punches had started a cycle of lifelong destructive behavior that stopped only two years before his death but waited in the wings to claim him.

As you sit down to dinner tonight with your children, look at their joy. Their openness. The way they shine. Think about what you are doing to keep that light going — teaching them what it means to be compassionate. To have integrity. What it means to be accountable in this world. What it means to know yourself and how valuable you are to not only your family but to the world. These aren't traits or values that just happen; we need to be as diligent about guiding and showing them each and every day as we are about teaching them to do addition or floss their teeth well. And if we are able to do that, to help them become people who are compassionate, accountable and confident in their value— then we can all believe that yes, yes indeed. It does get better...for everyone.


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