Bullies and Babysitting
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Fiction
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Moral rights
S.E. Saunders asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
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Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.
While the assertion above states the stories found in this book are fictional, I will include notes where the stories aren't fiction. The following is based on events from my life.
I've lived in several places where I had to deal with bullies—girls in the schoolyard, then in frenemy groups. The first instance occurred in Grade Three in Sicamous, the same place where we lived in the tiny trailer at the outset of this piece of writing—as if I weren't already dealing with enough on the home front.
A girl decided she was going to tell me to stand still against the portable and punch me. I stood there, then moved out of the way when she threw the punch. She slammed her fist into the wall and asked me why I dared to move. Of course, she didn't use such sophisticated language, but I laughed at this years later. Why wouldn't I move?
Here, I lay on the ground and allowed a ton of kids to kick me for no reason. Ironically, my mother caught them doing it and ripped me off the floor, asking me why I'd let them do that. Then she turned on them. I recall telling her it didn't matter because it didn't hurt. Looking back, I probably did it because she allowed it to be done to her.
This time has a ton of other memories as well. Not only had Dad choked Mom out, but my cousin Corey and I built the mother of all forts from the windrows of snow leavings they'd cleared from the parking lot. Meanwhile, some other local yokel teen decided to jump his snowmobile from it. There Mom chased me around the yard with some Am-Medic spray after I came home howling with a leg entire of road rash, having shredded my thigh and butt cheek from roller skating in shorts. Corey had been pulling me on the back of the bike, and I was too stubborn to let go when he kept picking up speed.
Here, I had my first concussion, remarkably not related to roller skating. This memory is wild because it's not entirely my memory. Much is pieced together from snippets of info I recall and what others told me. On the day I got the concussion, Corey and I were tearing home from school. He was in a grade below me, but bullies often tormented him because he was chubby. He was a kind boy and sang beautifully, though no one ever heard his voice except on rare occasions. I recall being jealous of how good he was when he would sing Edelweiss from the Sound of Music. As an adult, I also remember telling him how wonderful of a singer I thought he was.
I know that I wanted to go back and confront them that day. I thought it would keep happening if we didn't stick up for ourselves. Yet, our parents wanted us home right after school, and they didn't care about the rampant bullying either of us faced because adults had other things more pressing to worry about, like a sadistic child snatcher going through BC kidnapping and killing kids.
I'd like to say our parents employed some perfect parenting skills here. Warn your kids, then do nothing to help them avoid being snatched. You know, like driving them to and from school? On this day, we rode as fast as we could, imagining our speed could help us avoid being murdered or attacked by the bullies who threatened Corey every day. It was that day my bike hit something. I crashed and bashed my head so badly that I forgot who and where I was, and then Corey left me.
I remember reaming him out for this years later until he told me a woman in a car had stopped and stayed with me. I don't recall the woman. I only remember I rode the rest of the way back to where I lived. The memory of it is like observing myself riding from a distant perspective, as though I am watching another child riding home. I can see myself turning the corner and riding into our general yard. I wouldn't stop yowling and asking for my mother. I didn't recognize my Mama (grandma), Cousin Corey or anything. I didn't recall that my mom worked in the car wash on the same property. I just kept crying until they brought her to me.
After a while, they made the call to load yours truly into our trusty old pickup truck and whisked me off to the hospital, as I couldn't seem to stop throwing up. I can still picture Mom by my side, with a black garbage bag on my lap as we raced to medical help. Upon reaching the hospital, a thorough examination led to my admission. The swelling on the brain raised some concerns, prompting them to keep a close eye on me. I do remember spending that night in the hospital, but the details after that are a bit hazy.
I sometimes think about the woman who sat with me. Wherever she is, I hope she's been blessed with a long life and the care and concern she gave me on that day. Thank you.