To my children. If it suits you, to you as well.
There’s a lot of attention being given to bullies and bullying these days. I’m not going to throw my hat into that particular ring (right now) but I do want to say this: I am thankful for the bullies from my childhood. The ones that pushed and ridiculed, punched and spat. You formed me and my determination today. Without you and our intimate relationship, I would not be the unbelievable success that you see before you. Thank you for name calling and questioning both my sexuality and my manliness. You made me examine myself deeply, spiritually. You helped me cherish my uniqueness.
If you are suffering under a bully, no matter what your age and station in life, rejoice! Part of my deciding to pursue my current dream was because of working beneath a hateful, spiteful man. God Bless Him.
There was a teacher who should have known better. He once pointed me out in front of the entire
gym class as a ‘weak chinned Nancy’. He postulated that I would end up a ‘milquetoast homo’ living in San Fransisco. (Provide your own lisp here.) In the words of the poet: time is revenge.
Bullies grow weak. Through the miracle of Facebook one might find an old nemesis living alone – devoid of loved ones, bitter and remorseful. One might even strike up a conversation and inspire the old crusted enemy to look at the world with brighter eyes. There’s a story for another time.
I thank you, bullies of my past. This glorious week I’m flying to Vancouver to trade stories and inspiration with fellow artists. I’ll tell them about you.