The Bully and The Camera

I remember the day the Juniors got their class ring in high school.  It was around this time of the year.  I was a 14-year-old freshman and watched as upperclassmen showed their rings to each other. It was like a right-of-passage that I would one day experience.

That morning we had gym class and were told to walk down to the football field. I think we were going to play soccer, a game I had never played before. 

I put on my shorts and a red shirt provided by the school. The shirt was pretty old and worn out, probably worn by kids over the past ten years or so, but had the emblem of our school on it.

I remember walking to the football field, being nervous and intimidated about being in gym class with juniors and seniors who were so much bigger and stronger than me. How could I compete against these older guys?

As I walked down the hill, out of no where I felt an incredible sharp pain to the top of my head. Then I heard a laugh. Then I saw a student jumping up and down in front of me, proudly showing me the class ring which he as just slammed into the top of my head. (We’ll call him Jim. Jim is not his real name.)

I was on the ground, dazed, seeing stars. I was in pain. My head had an indentation where he hit me with his ring. 

Jim was one of the bullies. He was a skinny kid. Dark black hair. For a few seconds he jeered at me, telling me that I was a “loser Freshman” and things like that.

I sat on the ground stunned and hurting. I was already intimidated about being around upperclassmen and now my worries grew bigger.

And then something happened which I could not have predicted.

A group of 3 or 4 senior football players grabbed Jim and started to beat him up. They punched him and threw him to the ground.

They told him that I was their friend. 

They told Jim if he ever tried to hurt me again, they would beat the crap out of him.

Jim crawled away, no longer laughing. He limped down to the football field.

One of the football players put out his hand to help me up. He said, “If Jim ever touches you again, you let me know. We will deal with him.”

I was stunned at the generosity of the football players.

I thanked them.

As I stood up, one of the football players ask, “Hey, you are the school photographer, right? You will be shooting pictures for the school year book and the newspaper, right?”

“Yes,” I replied. “I’m one of the school photographers.”

THEN he said, “Well, you make sure to take lots of good photos of us and get us in the newspaper, okay?”

It was at that moment I saw that me and my camera held a position in life I didn’t know existed before.

I nodded my hurt head and told them, “Yeah, I’ll make sure to take lots of photos of you guys. Thank you so much!”

“You get our photos in the newspaper. Don’t worry about Jim. He’ll never touch you again. And if he does, you just tell us.”

And we all proceeded to walk down to the football field together, my small 14-year-old self and my new big football friends. 

I was no longer intimidated to go to gym class.

And I took loads of photos of these guys and made sure they had pictures in the year book and local newspaper. 

Jim never did hit me again. He would say stuff to me to annoy me, but he never dared to touch me again. Over the next few years I observed Jim making fun of and pestering just about every one in his path. He was the kid who would make fun of kids in the hallway for what they wore or what their hair looked like. He sat on the bus alone, yelling and making fun of anyone he could. He was so mean and seemed to derive immense pleasure from his insults.

He had no friends that I could see.

Not long ago, I got a “friend request” from Jim on FaceBook. I was surprised to see he would want to be friends. After all, he made fun of me throughout high school. I looked at his FaceBook to see what kind of man he turned out to be.

I looked at his profile and read post after post of him ridiculing this person and that person. There was nothing but bitterness and anger in his posts.

He was still the same person.

He was still a bully.

I did not accept his friendship request.

I can almost still feel the lump on my head from that day walking to gym class. But I look back at all the thousands of photos I took and have so many amazing memories.

I was shy guy behind the camera.

I would shoot all the games, go back to my darkroom and work for hours developing film and photographs for the school year book and local newspaper.

I got to see every football game standing with the players on the field or sitting on the edge of the basketball court or softball dug-out. I could go wherever I wanted, as long as I had my camera.

My camera got me in to every event for free.

And I made sure those big upperclassmen got in the paper and yearbook.