Greater Freedom, Greater Risk, Greater Danger

      At St. Francis, the likelihood for violence by other kids was minimal. Except for the strangling that I had meted out and the beating that I had experienced the previous year, it was rare to see violence in the schoolyard. The nuns patrolled the schoolyard as effectively as any Marine drill instructor. Their constant and intimidating presence made the likelihood of violence at St Francis slim; the nuns were there to meet that violence tenfold with violence of their own. At Penn Square, the schoolyard was rarely monitored. This lack of adult presence left the kids to act in the manner that they were most inclined. Since I was the new kid on the block, I was approached and tested. I was measured, weighed, and evaluated. And, apparently, I was found lacking.

      The kids at this school quickly found that I was reluctant to participate in any sort of verbal or physical confrontation. The bullies were able to smell fear, insecurity, and any reluctance towards conflict as effectively as pigs smell truffles. This reticence made me prime game, not only for the bullies, but for the other kids as well. Even the kids, who were considered lowest in the pecking order, felt empowered and gleeful when they pushed their weight around with me.

      There wasn't a week that went by that I was not forced into at least one type of conflict or confrontation.

Now I am not trying to infer that every week I was forced into a fight or on the receiving end of a beating;

But the threat of violence was always there and the incidents where kids would try to provoke me or insult me was common and for the most part the kids were content for me to back down from their invitation to fight.

Despite these new conflicts, if given the choice to stay at Penn Square or go back to the oppressiveness, but relative safety of St. Francis, I would not have hesitated to remain at my new school.

      Some weeks, there was at least one conflict per day or more. It was during recess that the kids took many opportunities to get their power fix. The pecking order in which I had found myself was disconcerting. I was pretty much at the bottom. Even the kids on the bottom of the pecking order, especially those who were victimized the most…felt the need to push their weight around. Looking back, it is apparent that my reticence to engage in verbal and physical conflict was mistaken for weakness, and perhaps in a sense it was. 

      The majority of these kids were chomping at the bit to take advantage of this perceived weakness. Only a very small percentage of the boys refused to take advantage of my reluctance towards violence.

What is interesting is that, on occasion, I had the opportunity to show that I could out wrestle or physically dominate most of my classmates. I think it was this fact, coupled with my reticence to mix it up, which seemed to give them the greatest pleasure. I was to find out, later in life, that many people, and perhaps the majority, have such tendencies all the way through adulthood. The song that would best describe many of my encounters would be Kenny Roger's song "Coward of the County". My classmate’s favorite term for me was "sissy." Some of the real rough necks used the naughty and exciting word "pussy," when they felt the urge to insult me or other kids.

      My place on the pecking order and the violent encounters troubled and humiliated me to no end. At that age, I could not understand why any of this had to happen and each time my feelings would be hurt terribly.

At school I never showed my hurt. I kept a meek and stoic front. But, at home, my mother would be on the receiving end of my frustration and tears. My angst upset my mother immensely.

      However, she knew that she could not fight all of my battles in life. It frustrated her to the point of tears and made her angry with me for not standing up for myself.

      Looking back, the reason I had problems defending myself was because of my early social contagion programs that my parents and the Catholic school had installed in me that kept me from responding to the taunts and abuse. The imprinting I received had taught me to avoid violence at all cost. Fear or cowardice was not the only reason I didn’t fight back. No, I would often back down from kids that I did not fear.

The most crippling program was the “Jesus’: Turn the other cheek because the meek shall inherit the Earth 4.0 program” that inhibited any retaliation, even if the need for survival presented itself.

      My mind was not reactive enough to attack when being attacked, nor was I sophisticated enough to understand that most kids or people would best respond to unadulterated strength. I reasoned that if I could not overcome my fear and my anger and keep my patience and compassion, how else was I going to become a priest?