“He’s 28 years old and he can eat a chicken sandwich. Very Impressive. Mike Fitzgibbon’s son is a nuclear physicist, and my son can eat a chicken.” – Freddy Got Fingered
I did hear what Beethoven was up to recently: decomposing.
Adversity is important.
I’ll give you an example: if a kid’s life has been one simple task, with no conflict and eating Cheezy-Poofs™ on the couch while Mom brings him chicken tendies and sauce and his only responsibility is making sure he can walk from his room to the bathroom, well, he’s going to be worthless.
Why? If any little thing goes wrong, the program in the brain that says, “crap goes wrong all the time, figure it out” isn’t there. It’s never been created. This is why things like “safe spaces” and “trigger warnings” exist – a life with an utter lack of adversity. Again, embrace the power of positive bullying.
In my case, school sucked between fourth grade and sixth grade. Why? I was the odd man out. I had moved from one small school district to another when my family moved from Wilder Ranch to our compound Wilder Mountain. I was alone, for several reasons. Me?
I retreated into schoolwork. The teachers were fine. The kids were bullies, though. Little kids are okay. High school kids are okay. But there is a time in the middle where kids are cruel – kids entering adolescence have developed the ability to be mean, but they haven’t developed the capacity for empathy. It’s like they’re communists, or Stephen Colbert. But I repeat myself.
Communists are awful at telling jokes – they don’t stop until everyone gets it.
I also retreated into athletics. The one place where men of different backgrounds can come together is through additional diversity – athletics. If you tackle someone so hard that their Mom felt it, you get respect. And that respect breeds camaraderie. The new guy? He hit me so hard I had to check to see if I was standing on the train tracks.
And then? I was one of them. I also will admit this – when the kids were bullies, often they had a point. It was awful to be confronted with my inadequacies and shortcomings in that way, but the only thing worse would be to live in a bubble of pretty little lies, and never be confronted with the raw truth.
I think about kids who go through life and never meet a single challenge. I’ve interacted with a few recently. Things go bad for them? They crumple. Badly. They don’t have the ability to fight back.
That’s the problem.
A bully told me I had a face only a mother could love. Turns out I’m adopted.
I think I’ve related this story before, about a child in a Japanese schoolroom. In the story, the child (call him Phil, which I assume is a common Japanese name, like Chuck or Dave) looked at a cocoon in the back of the classroom because I assume Japanese people keep those things there along with samurai swords and they all dress like Pokémon characters.
Phil watched the butterfly struggle to get out of the cocoon. Phil felt sorry for the butterfly, so he helped it open the cocoon.
I guess butterflies just aren’t what they used to be.
The butterfly then plopped straight to the floor, since gravity works the same way in Japan (I hear) as in other countries. Phil cried. Because he was a sissy.
The teacher came to the back of the classroom and saw Phil crying. “Phil, did you help the butterfly get out of the cocoon?”
Phil, crying in the way that only Japanese children do (I have no idea what that means, but I wrote it so I’m going to go with it. Maybe their tears shoot out in coherent streams, like a squirt gun?) nodded.
The wise teacher put his hand on Phil’s shoulder. “Phil, the only way that a butterfly can get enough strength to fly, is to struggle against the cocoon. If it gets out some other way, like a can opener, it can never fly, and will die.”
Phil nodded through the tears. Then the teacher wrapped Phil up in Ace™ bandages so he could struggle to get out. I think. I get fuzzy on the end part, since the idea occurred to me as I got to the end of the story that maybe Kim Jong Un keeps shooting missiles over Japan is so he can keep Godzilla® at bay, and if he stops, well, goodbye Tokyo.
I hear Kim doesn’t date, because he’s focused on his Korea.
The point is still clear – struggle is important. My friend sent me an embroidered patch: “The strongest steel is forged in the fire of a dumpster.” And that’s true. Struggle is what makes people resilient. It is what keeps us putting one foot in front of the other when our comrades have stepped aside and given up.
I moved again when I was in junior high. I joined track, because, why not? I was a shot putter and a discus thrower, and one day the coach told us, “Go for a run,” because the most lame sport in junior high is track, and the most lame thing in track is shot and disc and I think the coach wanted to avoid association with us. I had been running up in the mountains because there was nothing else to do because the Internet hadn’t been invented yet, and had been putting in about six miles a day on the mountain roads. Running was fun.
Is your refrigerator running? If so, I might vote for it.
So, when we went running, we went for . . . about six miles. The other shot put dudes couldn’t believe that they’d gone so far. From that day forward, we were brothers. We had struggled with the six miles (well, they had, but I encouraged them onward). Struggling together, and winning, creates a bond.
On this second move, I was in with the guys in about two weeks. “Wilder? The new kid? He’s okay.”
We will have challenges. All of us. Some of them are awful. One of them will, in the end, kill me. That’s okay. I look at these challenges and resolve that I will not be afraid. I already know that I’m going to win against all of them but one, so I might as well go into that future as a happy warrior, knowing that my winning streak will eventually end.
Whatever challenge you’re going through will end. And you’ll win. Unless you die, in which case I think you should blame Phil. After all, adversity is our real strength.
But I’m not going to lose today. And not tomorrow, either. Though chicken tendies do sound nice.
As usual for a Friday post John, once again hit out of the park.
And struggle is not just physical. I was painfully shy growing up (it has improved a little, so more a simply dull aching shy at the moment). Going into high school was hard as I came from a small single class per grade school to our local town high school, which seemed ginormous at the time. Still, I went into marching band, deathly afraid. After the first week of high discomfort, everything sorted itself out. From there, I met one of lifelong best friends and from there, he introduced me to my other lifelong best friend. And they convinced me to try drama, thus cementing the fact that not only did I lack instrumental talent, I lacked acting and vocal talent as well.
So I took up writing instead. Because that was my ticket to fame and fortune…
And sometimes the struggle makes you slower to the point you never feel like you are going to get there – but like, say, hiking up a mountain (like Mt. Whitney) and reaching the point where the last 300 yards to the summit is a long series of 6 foot mini-spurts followed by long periods of heavy breathing, you keep going.
And then, suddenly, you find yourself there – exhausted, feeling nauseous, already thinking you still have to hike 8 8 miles back, but there. And that is what really matters.
That was Toirdhealbeach Beucail. Because commenting on Fridays before coffee is hard.
All good!
It is – all perfectly said, sir.
There is a serious, glaring problem with every Internet “I-took-on-the-bully-and-triumphed” fabricated glory-story and it is this: Bullies are, by nature, cowards, and, like jackals, never act alone. Wimpy dude fantasizes about being George McFly knocking the stuffing out of Biff and becoming the hero of prom night, but let’s be realistic. It almost NEVER happens. Even if he ever did get a lucky shot in, Biff’s fellow bullies and hangers-on would curb-stomp poor George, if they were at all loyal to their leader. And who says that Biff will not come right back tomorrow with wounded pride and double down, being sure not to let McFly get lucky a second time?
Your take, John, is far more realistic than Internet Walter Mitty’s fantasy. You earned the respect (perhaps fear?) of those who would otherwise have bullied you by showing your mettle, rather than engaging in some heroic mano-a-mano stand. I did much the same thing by embracing weightlifting from an early age. But I still got bullied along the way, always outnumbered, until I grew impressive enough that it convinced the cowardly jackals to move on to less formidable targets.
‘But I still got bullied along the way, always outnumbered, until I grew impressive enough that it convinced the cowardly jackals to move on to less formidable targets.’
Once in a while you have to terrorize them. It’s a little sad but there it is. If they catch you in the backwoods alone they’ll run amok. The fat barrel of a twelve gauge proves an excellent anti-amok agent, given that my woodchipper isn’t mobile. Rusty belt-knife also catches the eye.
Some don’t savvy any other lingo and if you let them slide, they’ll just start hunting the sheep and the meek all over again with even greater arrogance.
Well said. It’s the fire that makes the steel.
Oddly enough, there was an emerging moth in my childhood history, too, and I couldn’t keep my hands away. And in high school, I was small, thin, and slow, but when the football coach told us to run some laps, I ran them with honor. Put into the starting lineup (mostly to shame the slacking athletes), I managed to break a bone in my left hand, which let me end my football career with honor and join the debate team, where I faced a different kind of adversity. In the 40-some years since then, I’ve had many more opportunities to stand up in front of a group to make an argument than to chase a man carrying a football. It was definitely a lucky break!
I love it, start to finish! Excellent!
The fourth grade teacher confiscated my lil’ plastic Sten gun that shot round yellow pellets, and this was before the Karen control freak bubblewrap safety uber alles society of weakling biomedical security state slaves.
Going into WWIII with a soft weak risk adverse CCCP lite New Civility (none for you cracker) is going to show just how Ubermensch the faculty lounge really is. (honk!)
It’s gonna work this time, the purple haired gender studies comrade just etched it onto a stone tablet and retweeted it by the Ozymandias sign.
Warning-Ozymandias sign has sharp edges, please no touchy just like the please no steppy rainbow don’t tread on me snake.
Look upon my works, you NPCs, and despair.
I’ve got bully stories, but no need to recount details here. My two worst tormentors went on in later years to die in a motorcycle accident and a suicide. The End.
https://medium.com/mind-cafe/one-characteristic-predicts-who-will-complete-navy-seal-training-c2ee44f7f452
Karma is slow, but it grinds exceedingly small.
As usual for a Friday post John, once again hit out of the park.
And struggle is not just physical. I was painfully shy growing up (it has improved a little, so more a simply dull aching shy at the moment). Going into high school was hard as I came from a small single class per grade school to our local town high school, which seemed ginormous at the time. Still, I went into marching band, deathly afraid. After the first week of high discomfort, everything sorted itself out. From there, I met one of lifelong best friends and from there, he introduced me to my other lifelong best friend. And they convinced me to try drama, thus cementing the fact that not only did I lack instrumental talent, I lacked acting and vocal talent as well.
So I took up writing instead. Because that was my ticket to fame and fortune…
And sometimes the struggle makes you slower to the point you never feel like you are going to get there – but like, say, hiking up a mountain (like Mt. Whitney) and reaching the point where the last 300 yards to the summit is a long series of 6 foot mini-spurts followed by long periods of heavy breathing, you keep going.
And then, suddenly, you find yourself there – exhausted, feeling nauseous, already thinking you still have to hike 8 8 miles back, but there. And that is what really matters.
Indeed correct,
I had loads of adversity and boy am I glad for it.
Immigrant, poor, only child, took me forever to speak English,
but I learned to read/self taught, mostly. High school was wild.
Grades? Either an A or an F depending on if the teacher was
smart or drunk and stupid. College? I went to the dean’s office
(after a turn down letter) and declared I would not leave the office
until he allowed me in as a freshman. (Try that today/cops are called)
He did, and I paid my own way. Cleped credit in English and Biology.
Straight A/4 point for quite a while, until changed major to Nursing Science,
then B, B, B, as I had to teach myself higher math. The general math teacher
in HS was very fat and unpleasant/tuned her out. Eventually my HS requirements
(missing) were waived. Graduated 3.5 GDP. Darn.
25 years, one hospital, and I loved it. Then, I had to retire early, as the place was
so changed, with a new focus on “revenue building” and exploiting patients for $.
Had I been there with the during the C BS, I would have just walked then.
I know science, biology, chemistry, microbiology, systems integration, diet and physics,
those were my favorite studies. Vaccines are controversial, and my thinking is less
is more/or better. One cannot deny the harm is great, as with the medications forced
on children, which I believe to be horrible. The end.
Again, excellent story – adversity teaches us? Never give up.
Military brat, 7 High schools . My Dad told me never run always fight OR when I got home I’d fight Him .
Didn’t always win the fight but they knew they were in a fight Never had to fight more than twice before they left me alone.
Excellent. I only had to change schools once during “fight the new guy” years. It was only one fight, and then never again.
Remember the Johnny Cash classic “ A Boy Named Sue”.
Exactly!
Thank you once again for those thoughts! I think I may have known this all along, but you reinforced it for me: I’d clearly rather be the challenged than the Challenger.
I’d rather be challenged than not. Adventure is in our souls.
When I started hatching guinea eggs, I had to learn your “butterfly in the cocoon” lesson. Guinea eggs are thicker and harder than chicken eggs. The keets (guinea chicks) really struggle to break out of the shell. If you help them, they usually die.
Wow – didn’t know that, but it makes sense that nature would use that more than one time.
Chicken tendies with a tall frosty mug of PEZ goes down smooth.
Ha! Scotch works, too.
I wonder if economic failure of the social safety net will be enough trouble for all?
https://www.msn.com/en-us/money/retirement/the-government-may-stohome%20cleaning%20p-issuing-social-security-payments-after-the-debt-limit-is-hit-here-s-why/ar-AA18tC8j
Dems are already blaming Repugs but they are both part of the troubles and blame now is as foolish as blaming a fever for the rotting disease eating your body up.
Protect your families. Even the well employed will see trouble once the safety net is gone.
Wait until the reverb from the banks hits.
More important question:
When Steven Colbert is drunk…
how can anyone tell the difference?
Who could say when he’s using his mouth for Joe Biden’s . . .
Crispy Hawaiian LOL nose coffee!! You da man John
Kim writes those for me.
I can’t understand how I’ve managed to Not investigate this site. Well, I’ll be stopping in daily and hitting the sidebar,seeing what else I’ve been missing.
Yes,bullies need to understand pain. Life comes with challenges. Overcoming or not, your choice. I do wish I could see how things worked out for a few of those tormentors. I’ve looked up a Coupla names, and they are currently dead.
No Kleenex were injured.
Nolan! Welcome! Feel free to linger and mingle, the crowd is great. Also, I do take emails, and respond to, well, all of them. Again, welcome!