CHILDHOOD
How I Became a Terror of the Second Grade Playground
Don’t mess with Tony
Kids can be cruel. Socialization tames most of us eventually, but at my elementary school playground of the early nineteen fifties, only the presence of teachers prevented us from devolving into savagery, and the teachers couldn’t watch everyone at once.
I am and was a wise ass. To be more precise, a sarcastic wise ass, with a keen ear for stupidity and a quick tongue to comment on it. In my later years, I learned to temper those biting words. They still jumped to my lips, but I suppressed them. I might not be today alive if I did not.
But I did not have these filters back then. I spoke impudently with no thought of consequence.
Perhaps worse, I’m a bit of a goof. I’m astigmatic, near-sighted, and a little bug-eyed. I never liked sports as much as I liked to read. I’m not a large person, and I was quite skinny then.
In simple words, I was obvious bully bait.
And yet, I was not a target. Other kids who were much like me were targets, but I was immune. I could even intervene when others were bullied and make the tormentors slink away. I had, you see, a reputation.
