It was a distressing fact,
that during my adolescent years wherever I went, hostility and aggression
seemed to follow me around like a dark cloud hanging over my head.
Even during my early years
at school I was constantly bullied and beaten by the older boys. Name-calling
and being pushed around was part of my usual routine and I learned to live with
the constant barrage of physical and mental abuse that continuously flowed my
way.
By the time I had reached
my late-teens, I'd been on the receiving end of quite a few beatings. These
altercations generally came about from certain individuals at school, street
brawls with gangs from other neighbouring towns, or while visiting clubs, pubs
or dance halls.
I specifically recall one
particular incident that happened after I’d travelled to a nearby town for a
night out. I was in the dance-hall with a couple of mates. We were just
minding our-own-business when suddenly thing’s started to turn
nasty. My two friends started getting harassed by a group of
thugs. Like a good pal I stepped in to assist my friends. All of a sudden
the hostile gang focused their attention on me, leaving a small window of
opportunity for my friends to get away, which they rapidly did. The next thing
I knew after a few punches had been exchanged I was knocked to the ground and I
was constantly being kicked and punched in the head. After trying to fight-back
as best I could, I then experienced a massive kick to the face. Everything after that just seemed like a complete haze as I lay motionless on the floor. The next thing I knew
- the dance-hall lights had been switched on and Stewards had thankfully come
to my rescue.
As you can imagine this
was quite a traumatic experience for a sixteen-year-old-boy to endure. The only
positive thing to come out of all this was that I realised that at least I had
the courage to protect my friends and try stand my ground.
Gradually with the passing
of time, I became more and more street-wise to the many physical encounters
that were increasingly coming my way.
I am now thankful, looking
back to those days, that there weren’t any guns, knives or other offensive
weapons to deal with. By-and-large there were just lots of fists and feet flying
about, as well as the odd chair being slung or a bottle being waved in your
face.
Lucky for me, apart from
suffering with a broken nose and few cracked ribs, the only other injuries that
I received during my teenage years were just minor cuts and bruises. Somehow I
managed to stay away from any serious physical harm, psychologically however
the constant barrage of violence was beginning to take its toll.
You can read all about it
in my next post called "The Final Straw."
It was a distressing fact,
that during my adolescent years wherever I went, hostility and aggression
seemed to follow me around like a dark cloud hanging over my head.
Even during my early years
at school I was constantly bullied and beaten by the older boys. Name-calling
and being pushed around was part of my usual routine and I learned to live with
the constant barrage of physical and mental abuse that continuously flowed my
way.
By the time I had reached
my late-teens, I'd been on the receiving end of quite a few beatings. These
altercations generally came about from certain individuals at school, street
brawls with gangs from other neighbouring towns, or while visiting clubs, pubs
or dance halls.
I specifically recall one
particular incident that happened after I’d travelled to a nearby town for a
night out. I was in the dance-hall with a couple of mates. We were just
minding our-own-business when suddenly thing’s started to turn
nasty. My two friends started getting harassed by a group of
thugs. Like a good pal I stepped in to assist my friends. All of a sudden
the hostile gang focused their attention on me, leaving a small window of
opportunity for my friends to get away, which they rapidly did. The next thing
I knew after a few punches had been exchanged I was knocked to the ground and I
was constantly being kicked and punched in the head. After trying to fight-back
as best I could, I then experienced a massive kick to the face. Everything after that just seemed like a complete haze as I lay motionless on the floor. The next thing I knew
- the dance-hall lights had been switched on and Stewards had thankfully come
to my rescue.
As you can imagine this
was quite a traumatic experience for a sixteen-year-old-boy to endure. The only
positive thing to come out of all this was that I realised that at least I had
the courage to protect my friends and try stand my ground.
Gradually with the passing
of time, I became more and more street-wise to the many physical encounters
that were increasingly coming my way.
I am now thankful, looking
back to those days, that there weren’t any guns, knives or other offensive
weapons to deal with. By-and-large there were just lots of fists and feet flying
about, as well as the odd chair being slung or a bottle being waved in your
face.
Lucky for me, apart from
suffering with a broken nose and few cracked ribs, the only other injuries that
I received during my teenage years were just minor cuts and bruises. Somehow I
managed to stay away from any serious physical harm, psychologically however
the constant barrage of violence was beginning to take its toll.
In due course there was
one further scenario that would literally change my whole outlook on life.
You can read all about it
in my next post called "The Final Straw."
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