On being a bully...

First things first… I’m a bully, always have been and always will be.

As a child I was horrible. Well, I can be pretty horrible now given the wrong circumstances and enough pushing. But as a child I was a nasty piece of work. Looking back I realise that I bullied anybody weaker or younger than myself, forcing them to do what I wanted regardless of what they thought of it. I once made my sister stand with a dart board propped against her leg while I threw darts at it. I missed and one of the darts stuck into her leg which, unsurprisingly, made her bleed and cry.

Yes, I was always into malicious mischief, ‘A little sod’ as my Gran often called me. And I was; I played some horrible tricks on my Gran – not impish naughtiness, vindictive, nasty, and trouble-making. Of course there were reasons for this behaviour, which I won’t go into just now, but however you look at it I was plain bad.

Of course these were the days of ‘a good smack’ and the cane was still around. Yes, bullying was rife throughout my childhood, at school and at home. It didn’t take much for one of the bigger boys to set on you, or for you to get a slap for not understanding your homework on a Sunday evening. I once had my hand blistered when it was held against a boiling school radiator for ten minutes by two other boys in gloves (Luke Doyle and Stephen Castle if you are reading this be ashamed). And of course patience was in short supply at home. If a sneer or bellow didn’t get you moving, then a slap around the head would spur you into action.

As I grew older I hid my bullying behind a joke, a jolly jape to make others laugh. But whichever way you looked at it, it was bullying pure and simple. I’d even join in with other bullies sometimes – well, there’s strength in numbers and better to be ‘in’ than ‘out’. At least that’s how it seemed at the time.

In my early twenties I was still bullying. Not physically, but with clever words and actions. By this time I was a big boy myself but I still only picked on people I knew wouldn’t retaliate. They didn’t have to be smaller than me, just more tolerant or weaker or just plain nicer; although I bullied the small as well - just how my two step daughters put up with me at times I’ll never know.

Yes getting my own way was very important to me and sometimes I really didn’t care how I did it, or what I put others through to get it.

I don’t remember having a Damascus moment. But gradually as I got older, gained experience managing people, I began to realise that pushing doesn’t ever get the best results. Oh, it gets you to where you are going to, but there are casualties along the way - far better to travel with people than to drive the train too hard and derail it.

Even so, I’m still a bully inside and sometimes I feel him trying to get out. Occasionally he escapes and I struggle to force him back in. Sometimes though, when the need arises, I let him out on purpose.

They say it takes one to know one and I agree. I can spot a bully at a hundred yards and I’ve spotted plenty in my time. These days, rather than avoid or ignore them like I used to try to do, I always try to stand up to them. Luckily I’ve not yet met a bully holding a knife, but I’ve had some hairy moments. It’s got me into some very hot water at times with bullying bosses, and recently I found myself being poked in the head by a very angry man half my age and twice my strength. I just looked him in the eye until he stopped. He knew I could see the bully in him and he could see the bully in me I think. Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not brave and I hate pain just as much as the next person, but bullies make me see red because I know their pathetic games so well. After all I play them too. So now, rather than back down, I’ll play a bully at his own game.

You see the only upside of being a bully is that you know how to bully the bullies back until they stop or just go away. Not a very forgiving, turn the other cheek, attitude I grant you - but I’d rather get burnt fighting fire with fire than let a bully get away with it.