Other essays on this theme
by Jackie SollarsBeating Down Mister Goodman
From time antiquity in my own youth, my mother preached the virtues of being nice, gentle, kind, and compassionate. This indoctrination began years before my so-called father abandoned us. She had good reason to desire a hopeful change. My father was abusive. In fact, it is a struggle to recall any memory of him which he seemed human. He was the perfect example of what a "bully" is. Webster could've easily put my father's photo in the dictionary with this definition below it. "Bullie, noun, a short-fused, Blackfoot/Irish man under the influence of hundred-proof whiskey." Most of my memories bare witness to this man screaming death threats and obscenities at me while trying to beat my mother down to get at me.
The years passed after he left. Mother preached virtuous dialogue, citing the good book's ethics of rewarding all evil with good. In short, the perfect man could take a beating and keep on blessing without lifting so much as a finger to protect or defend himself. While this righteous indoctrination seemed proper, in reality, it was very dysfunctional. For anyone born and raised in America, America is the land of abuse and the abusive. I wasn't allowed to fight, period, no matter who started it or for what purpose. Violence was unacceptable. I never questioned this doctrine or her teachings, despite the continuing infliction of pain.
If my father was the first bully I encountered in my life, then my eldest sister had to be the second. Unlike my father, whom I seldom if ever was left alone with, my sister received complete dominion over me. To this day, I recall the beatings, so bad were they that often I struggled to regain the ability to breathe. That heifer could hit, bite, and kick like a mule. To escape the Wrath of Dianne, I often resorted to playing possum in a dire attempt to sleep through the many hours of her charge. Even then, I didn't always avoid her temper.
My first real bully appeared in the third grade, my mother's doctrine of passive suffering was fast losing its justification. In the third grade, a real bully several years older than myself recognized me to be the coward I had been raised as. Daily, during school and after, I faced this tall, thin boy who had to have learned his tactics from my sister as they shared so many similarities. Fortunately, this bully didn't bite. However, he did have a peculiar desire to try and pound holes in the concrete asphalt or earth with my head. One day, after a rather exceptionally cruel encounter, I wiped the blood from my nose and the tears from my eyes. I had had enough. When that fool turned to walk away, I armed myself with the one weapon I had learned to wield with superb precision, the rock. It smacked that kid square in the back of the head. He ducked, grabbed his bloody wound and started screaming, but I didn't stop. I nailed him twice before he outran my ballistic assault. Later that evening, I received a thorough whooping after the bully's mother came complaining.
I've encountered dozens of bullies through the years. Most of the time, I allowed or tolerated their abuse until I snapped. But the one thing I have come to realize is, everyone, (including myself) is a bully to some degree. About the only defining difference between us all is the form of bullying we choose to inflict; physical or mental. People of a higher class bully the lower class. The authoritative powers bully those without authority. A perfect example is the modern day cop, protected by their badge, they can inflict pain either mentally, physically, socially, but never respectfully. But, to bully someone for political gain is just part of the American Dream, after all, without convictions a cop can't succeed. Who cares about the facts, it's a matter of public opinion. Cops are just the first line of Big Brother who is bent on conquering, controlling, and destroying all.
Don't get me wrong, I became a self-inflicting bully whose hatred spilled over to affect those closest to me. I even know what the catalyst was to my bullish attitude; I had just suffered a devastating loss in business and in a relationship. A fool and his money are soon to part, and there is always a woman ready to bust the naïve bastard down. This nervous breakdown knocked a hell of a hole in the wall of the credo: love peacefully, the kind indoctrination I had been led to believe. After waking up in a hospital bed, I began to see the many errors in that doctrine. But, in order to escape a Texas hospital, I took a long walk,(literally) to the Sunshine coast of California. In that beautiful California dream, I chose to give that silly, naïve little bastard mister Goodman one more chance at proving his mother's doctrine right.
That was twenty five years ago and like a gambler betting on a bad horse, I lost my ass. Man is a procreated creature, a creature of habit, a creature subject to the laws of evolution. We are born flawed into a world that is supposed to refine us into a better being(unfortunately, man can't grasp the Divine Design). It is safe to say that when any authoritative power is granted entry into anything pertaining to the human condition, abuse becomes automatic. Thus, in order to truly destroy someone, one needs only to invite our law enforcement in, and all truths, facts, circumstances and realities get screwed up.
After California, I met a second woman of a godly nature. It's ironic how one godly woman can so easily destroy the doctrines of the other end of the world. My ex-wife helped me finally dispel the "gentleness indoctrination". Everyone is a bully to some degree, I had hurt people, so it only stands in the great cycle of natural justice that I should receive the same pain. The good news is, my ex-wife helped me see the truth; being righteous is just a game. Being lovable, kind, gentle, and easy-going isn't what this world wants of you. If a man displays these weaknesses, he is automatically subject to the abuse (physical or mental) of bullies, be they masculine man or a so-called, virtuous, gold-digging, hussie holding a Bible in one hand.
I will be the last bully to strike at mister Goodman. After seventeen years of continually beating his little weak ass down, I can now look around, hold my head up and let everyone know that this coward will never stand up again. And if he does, rest assured I'm still beating him down. The bullies rule this world, both in and out of prison, no matter if they're male or female, young or old, public or private.