When you’re always the smallest or seemingly always among the smallest, you understand one reality: whenever bullies’ lives intersect with yours, they will make a target of you. Few arenas exist in childhood where is this more true than in a swimming pool. I’m not saying there aren’t better examples, but the pool has the added element of death as an endgame merely for the amusement of the insecure (albeit physically strong).
Insecurity is at the heart of a bully’s psyche. Do they take on someone they perceive to be a real threat? No. In fact, when someone answers the challenge, more often than not, they are prone to wilt; to falter. If they are so confident, they wouldn’t be following what they perceive to be the path of least resistance by targeting someone half their size.
When you’re small, you endure abuse from all sides. Rarely do we have the advantage. Because of this reality, you develop a knack for sizing things up and maximizing your opportunities. Those who never had to develop this ability out of pure necessity may marvel at such quick thinking, but in reality, there’s not much to tell. We have one, perhaps two advantages of ten possibilities and are hoping to be close enough to even to make it count in another, while falling well short elsewhere.
At first, you are easily cornered, unsure of what is coming, yet certain it’s bad because the fear is crippling. Whether the bully is drunk and irrationally angry, or merely another victim perpetuating the cycle, the first time never goes well for us. We are the victim. And as a society, we sure love to blame the victim. Grilled over the lack of any meaningful action to change our circumstances, we are made to feel shame for such inadequacies.
Then there’s the swimming pool. In the shallow end, most of you is under water, whereas most of them isn’t. It didn’t take long to figure out with whom to always maintain a safe distance unless you wanted to puke water. Any proximity had to be in deep water, and always with an eye out, and only if you’re a strong swimmer. You also learn the cardinal rules of splash fights: never start them (because that only invites challenges and you’re still small), always finish strong (even in a losing effort; regardless of how one-sided), and never engage in the shallow end unless you have the always-advantageous high ground.
The problem with splashing are the laws of physics. The bigger you are, the bigger you splash with ease, and the easier you consistently splash big. But there’s a price to pay to move that mass: big guys tire. Why do featherweights throw more punches per round than heavyweights? Because they can ... and more importantly, the heavyweights cannot.
When you’re the wiry, country strong kid that I was, endurance is your ally. I learned that while I couldn’t match one of their single splashes with one or two (or even five) of my biggest splashes, I could match them 20-1 and overwhelm them with volume. In the deep end, I could easily stay afloat and out of reach and splash back with seemingly limitless volume while they struggled with fatigue. And if I had high ground in shallow water, I could win convincingly. I’d be lying if that didn’t inflate the ego at least temporarily, but the reality is if I showed I had enjoyed it at all, or gloated even a bit, I’d be inviting more trouble — which I wanted no part of.
I’m reminded of an epiphany I had when I was a teenager. My eighty-five pound hound dog was after the cat. I’d seen it so often before that I wasn’t paying it much mind. Dogs (especially hunting dogs) chase cats and this cat had a knack for reaching trees — except he didn’t this time. I saw the cat size up his options and make a split-second decision: he couldn’t reach the tree in time so why waste the energy? There’s no need to waste anything on acts of futility. Instead, he stood his ground, drew his claws and made a stand. Thankfully, I was there and was able to spare the cat from a terrible fate, but I couldn’t help but admire his courage.
I’ve always been more of a dog person than a cat person myself, but in that moment, I could identify with the cat much more than the dog. Despite his 8-1 size deficit, he was willing to suppress his fears and charge forward, face first.
Much like the Slytherins in the Harry Potter series, cats are often given a bad rap. “Scaredy cat” belies the reality the same way the Slytherins are dismissed as cowards: they size up their options and press their best advantages, regardless if that means running. Much like cats, the best of the Slytherins run when they’re overmatched and think they can get away. When they know they can’t get away, they stand their ground, and you should expect their best shots.
There’s an undeniable nobility in facing such circumstances with unyielding tenacity. And yet there’s the reality of it: do nothing and you end up a victim again, or do something and perhaps get lucky. I’ve done something and gotten lucky. Unfortunately, getting lucky never seemed to be the norm, but the mere opportunity to change my fate beat the hell out of being a victim every time.
