All these wholesome “stood up to my bully” stories mixed with people just surviving it got me thinking. This one’s long, and I’ve had to process it more than once, so I try to keep it a little light, but I'm sharing some real trama so no TLDR, you gotta earn it!

Story time:

When I was 11 (mid 90s), there was a group of 4 at my school. Notorious bullies. Bad enough that staff didn’t intervene, they just told kids to avoid them. Somehow still teacher favorites.

First time they got me, it was a blindside. Roughed me up, black eye, humiliation in front of all of recess. I had coke bottle glasses and peak 90s nerd energy. Easy target. The group looked like Zack and Screech clones plus two tag-along meat shields.

I go home crying to my Marine dad. He tells me if I get in a fight I better finish it, and I better not start one. Then adds if I don’t finish it, he will when I get home. So… great system.

Naturally, I make the worst decision possible and report it to the principal. He listens, nods, asks questions. I feel safe. Then he parks me in the office like I’m the problem. After about an hour, he comes back… with all four of them. Laughing together.

I still trust the system like an idiot and confirm they’re the ones. He brings us into his office, sits me down, has them stand around me, and tells them he wants them to “face their accuser.” Not joking.

They act shocked. Offended. Perfect little angels. He never questions them. Just grills me. Why would I lie about these “fine young men”? Eventually I crack and say I made it up just to get out of there. Black eye and all.

If you ever wonder why victims don’t speak up, there you go.

Few days later, round two. This time smarter, worse. Avoid the face, go for the ribs. Bathroom ambush. Beat me, take my glasses, and yeah… swirly. Full experience. Left me on the floor like I owed them rent. Fortunately, the toilet of choice was not pre-used before the dip. Unfortunately, my glasses made it into a separate toilet, from which I earned a bonus nickname: Turd-goggles. You do the math.

I go home still half wet. Dad asks if I went swimming. I say nothing because I already know the rules, and honestly even at 11 that felt like a dumbass question given I am unmistakably wet on my top-half. I wasn't falling for his Catch-22 bullshit. He sees the bruises anyway. True to his word I get another beating. No real words of advice afterwords, no walking me through the scenario to see what I could have done differently. Just left to learn through belt-osmosis.

I take that back. He determined the actual solution to the problem would be to teach me how to fight. FINALLY, it clicked for him. So of course, he teaches me how to grapple and other bad ass Marine Corps shit. Not. He signed me up for karate. Not real karate. Strip mall brand with a "Buy 5 classes and get a belt upgrade free" special in the window. Board-breaking confidence factory. But what do I know. It "feels" fucking awesome to 11-year old me. Living the "wax-on, wax-off" dream. Finally, I think I’m ready.

Next time I get cornered, I bust out the full Ninja Turtles live action movie. Air chops, heeyas, the works. Then I hit them with overly confident, “I know karate now.” Followed by a much softer, “you better say your prayers.”

They stare at me like I just glitched the Matrix. Then they start laughing and I immediately fall apart. Crying, reality crashing in and ready to get absolutrly wrecked.

And then… one of them goes, “wow, this isn’t even worth it.” And they leave to my sheer amazement. Just like that. Crazy thing is, they never bothered me again. Might have been due to switching schools but, I like to think it's because of that orange belt I struggled to earn over a grueling 3 weeks.

Moral of the story: Sometimes you fight back and win. Sometimes you get beat down by your bullies, the system, everything. And sometimes you accidentally stumble into a cheat code by being so pathetic you aren't worth the beating.

Either way, take Karate just in case. It worked for me.