Why I was a childhood bully.
I can’t blog about this as I’m sure I never was a bully. Far from it. I was a happy-go-lucky life-loving little kid and became very shy and timid just around puberty. I remember being aware that there were kids who were bullied and I remember feeling bad for them and sometimes befriending them. I was a little afraid of a couple of girls who were loud and tough – I was afraid of them saying things I didn’t understand and embarrassing me. One of them wrote, “You are bitchen,” in my end-of-year autograph book and I hid it from my parents because I was embarrassed that someone had written a bad word in my book. This was in 1963 and I was 11 years old. I wasn’t sure if it meant something good or bad.
There were LOTS of things I wasn’t sure about, lots of times people talked about things and I nodded and smiled and pretended to understand. I most often felt bewildered and confused and short of information. I almost always felt like other kids had some insider’s knowledge that I wasn’t privy to.
Teachers and other adults seemed to think I knew everything and that I was competent and capable, but I lived in fear that they’d discover how wrong they were.
I didn’t feel bullied and I think I was actually pretty well-liked by most kids and adults. I certainly didn’t bully anybody.