Experiences that made things worse (possible triggers)
roadrunner
Registrant
Eddie (watstobe) has recently posted on the topic of his experience in gym class and how it hurt him as a boy. It really helped me to be reminded of that, so I thought perhaps a separate thread would be useful and perhaps others have will have something to say about their own experiences.
I was just talking with my mother back in the States last night. She calls frequently and has been such a source of support. Last night we were talking about friends I had when I was being abused, and she told me that while there were a lot of boys who would have liked to be my friend, I would usually clam up and shut them out. I hung out with maybe two other boys a lot, and that was it. Everyone else was just an acquaintance.
I can now look back and see that I really was doing that, and one reason was that abuse had taught me how worthless I was.
But it wasn't just that. In school I had the ultimate asshole gym teacher, Mr C. Then I was afraid of him, but now I recognize him as a swaggering, arrogant and shallow jock dickhead (is that descriptive enough?
). He never taught us a thing. He just took us out to play football in the fall, regardless of how cold or rainy it was, then basketball indoors in the winter, then gymnastics and wrestling, then baseball, spiced with episodes of dodgeball here and there.
The emphasis wasn't on team effort or sportsmanship or learning to enjoy sports, just winning and being the biggest jock. Kids who didn't know anything about a particular sport were picked last for teams and were ridiculed by the sporty guys AND by Mr C. I was terrible at baseball, for example, and when I was at bat he would motion the outfielders to take a break because he didn't see any way I would hit a ball that far. I would stand there dying, knowing it was true, while half the class and the teacher laughed.
One fall, when it was cold, windy, and rainy outside, he made us go out, split into "shirts" and "skins" teams, and play touch football. I liked football but I reminded him he had a note from my doctor saying because of my asthma I couldn't go outside shirtless in the rain in November. So he told me yes, he had better put me on the "shirts" team before I ran home to "cry to your Mommy".
In the locker room he would walk around growling at us to "get that kit off" and get into the showers, and one kid who was embarrassed because he was late maturing sexually got laughed at by him and was told, "Go ahead, get into that shower. Everyone already knows you got nothing to look at." If a kid got an erection in class or in the showers he would get snapped at and asked which other boy he had his eye on.
Sometimes when we had changed he would first make us all sit on the bleachers in the gymnasium for awhile at the beginning of class and listen to whatever garbage rant he had on offer. He humiliated me once for writing an essay in civics/world cultures about North Vietnam. He heard about it in the teachers' room from my civics teacher (who liked the essay), so in front of the whole gym class he asks if my parents are commies and no wonder I'm not a "real man".
I liked English class a lot, did well in it, and absolutely loved poetry. When Robert Frost died I was devastated and cried a lot about it, and my English teacher suggested I write a poem in memory of him. I did, and I thought it was a cool poem. I wrote about how I wanted to follow him down the "road not taken" and he would always be my inspiration. It got posted on a bulletin board with other things about Frost and I was really happy. The gym teacher's reaction? Everyone knows that poets are mostly "queers" and only other queers write poems about queers.
Another time, after my debate team won our regional championship tournament, he lectured my gym class about how some boys are such "pussies" they think talking and arguing are more important than sports. But he would set things right of course. The so-called leader of those "pussies" wasn't getting more than a C this marking period in gym. Then he looked right at me and said if I cried right now, in front of everyone, he would give me a B out of pity. So am I going to cry for my B?, he asked.
When I was trying to get all the merit badges I needed for my Eagle Scout award, one that was difficult for me was the "Physical Fitness" badge, which was required. The problem was that you have to run a certain distance in a certain time, and that was rough for me because I was asthmatic. But finally I beat the time, and in fact I got into running laps as a way of keeping fit. I was so proud of myself, and I went to my gym teacher during our class for him to time me and certify that I had met the requirement. At last he would see I could do something! How could he humiliate me this time? I should have known better. I asked him to time me for the run, and instead he just signed the form, threw it back at me, and said - in front of everyone in the class - that "even a girl" could beat the time I needed to get.
My parents knew about a few of these episodes, mainly the times when I would come home wheezing and struggling to breathe because he had made me play football shirtless in the rain while he stood on the sidelines bundled up in several layers. He got called into the principal's office more than once, but that just made things worse.
Looking back I can see the devastating effects this was having on me. Abuse had made me timid and afraid to relate to other boys, and all the signs signalled to this teacher not a kid who needed help and support, but a target for mockery and humiliation. Mr C never raped me, but what he did to me wasn't much better.
Man, did I ever need to say that!!!!!!!!!
But how does saying it help me now? It helps me because it shows me that I need to look at the whole picture of what was happening. There are good reasons why I was falling apart, and this example just emphasizes to me even more how NONE of what was happening was my fault.
It also helps me because I know in my heart that other brothers here will find that they had experiences that were similar. I hope you too can see how the blame for what happened to us ALWAYS falls elsewhere. Toxic people seem to have a radar for kids who are vulnerable and hurting.
Much love,
Larry
I was just talking with my mother back in the States last night. She calls frequently and has been such a source of support. Last night we were talking about friends I had when I was being abused, and she told me that while there were a lot of boys who would have liked to be my friend, I would usually clam up and shut them out. I hung out with maybe two other boys a lot, and that was it. Everyone else was just an acquaintance.
I can now look back and see that I really was doing that, and one reason was that abuse had taught me how worthless I was.
But it wasn't just that. In school I had the ultimate asshole gym teacher, Mr C. Then I was afraid of him, but now I recognize him as a swaggering, arrogant and shallow jock dickhead (is that descriptive enough?
). He never taught us a thing. He just took us out to play football in the fall, regardless of how cold or rainy it was, then basketball indoors in the winter, then gymnastics and wrestling, then baseball, spiced with episodes of dodgeball here and there.The emphasis wasn't on team effort or sportsmanship or learning to enjoy sports, just winning and being the biggest jock. Kids who didn't know anything about a particular sport were picked last for teams and were ridiculed by the sporty guys AND by Mr C. I was terrible at baseball, for example, and when I was at bat he would motion the outfielders to take a break because he didn't see any way I would hit a ball that far. I would stand there dying, knowing it was true, while half the class and the teacher laughed.
One fall, when it was cold, windy, and rainy outside, he made us go out, split into "shirts" and "skins" teams, and play touch football. I liked football but I reminded him he had a note from my doctor saying because of my asthma I couldn't go outside shirtless in the rain in November. So he told me yes, he had better put me on the "shirts" team before I ran home to "cry to your Mommy".
In the locker room he would walk around growling at us to "get that kit off" and get into the showers, and one kid who was embarrassed because he was late maturing sexually got laughed at by him and was told, "Go ahead, get into that shower. Everyone already knows you got nothing to look at." If a kid got an erection in class or in the showers he would get snapped at and asked which other boy he had his eye on.
Sometimes when we had changed he would first make us all sit on the bleachers in the gymnasium for awhile at the beginning of class and listen to whatever garbage rant he had on offer. He humiliated me once for writing an essay in civics/world cultures about North Vietnam. He heard about it in the teachers' room from my civics teacher (who liked the essay), so in front of the whole gym class he asks if my parents are commies and no wonder I'm not a "real man".
I liked English class a lot, did well in it, and absolutely loved poetry. When Robert Frost died I was devastated and cried a lot about it, and my English teacher suggested I write a poem in memory of him. I did, and I thought it was a cool poem. I wrote about how I wanted to follow him down the "road not taken" and he would always be my inspiration. It got posted on a bulletin board with other things about Frost and I was really happy. The gym teacher's reaction? Everyone knows that poets are mostly "queers" and only other queers write poems about queers.
Another time, after my debate team won our regional championship tournament, he lectured my gym class about how some boys are such "pussies" they think talking and arguing are more important than sports. But he would set things right of course. The so-called leader of those "pussies" wasn't getting more than a C this marking period in gym. Then he looked right at me and said if I cried right now, in front of everyone, he would give me a B out of pity. So am I going to cry for my B?, he asked.
When I was trying to get all the merit badges I needed for my Eagle Scout award, one that was difficult for me was the "Physical Fitness" badge, which was required. The problem was that you have to run a certain distance in a certain time, and that was rough for me because I was asthmatic. But finally I beat the time, and in fact I got into running laps as a way of keeping fit. I was so proud of myself, and I went to my gym teacher during our class for him to time me and certify that I had met the requirement. At last he would see I could do something! How could he humiliate me this time? I should have known better. I asked him to time me for the run, and instead he just signed the form, threw it back at me, and said - in front of everyone in the class - that "even a girl" could beat the time I needed to get.
My parents knew about a few of these episodes, mainly the times when I would come home wheezing and struggling to breathe because he had made me play football shirtless in the rain while he stood on the sidelines bundled up in several layers. He got called into the principal's office more than once, but that just made things worse.
Looking back I can see the devastating effects this was having on me. Abuse had made me timid and afraid to relate to other boys, and all the signs signalled to this teacher not a kid who needed help and support, but a target for mockery and humiliation. Mr C never raped me, but what he did to me wasn't much better.
Man, did I ever need to say that!!!!!!!!!
But how does saying it help me now? It helps me because it shows me that I need to look at the whole picture of what was happening. There are good reasons why I was falling apart, and this example just emphasizes to me even more how NONE of what was happening was my fault.
It also helps me because I know in my heart that other brothers here will find that they had experiences that were similar. I hope you too can see how the blame for what happened to us ALWAYS falls elsewhere. Toxic people seem to have a radar for kids who are vulnerable and hurting.
Much love,
Larry
