TC the Terrible

Another problem with our schools today is how they deal with bullies; because they essentially don’t deal with it. The standard response to school these days is go tell a teacher. In fact at my son’s school they are teaching kids to “Stop, Walk, Talk”.  The plan is tell the bully to stop being mean to you, walk away from the bully, and then go tell a teacher. The school is asking the kids to buy/wear pink t-shirts to show their support of not being screwed with.

Good luck with that. I know my guy’s not going to wear a pink shirt around his buddies. That’s his choice by the way, not mine.

Before you can deal with bullies you have to understand who they are. Bullies are weak kids/people that know they are weak. Shoving people around is the only way they can feel good about themselves. Here’s the downside to that. If your kid is being picked on it’s because they are even weaker than the bully. A bully won’t pick on someone that’s their equal or someone that’s better than they are. So if your kid is being fucked with, you raised a weak kid.

You need to work on your own kid to give them some back bone. How you do that is your deal to figure out. A lot of parents get the kids involved in martial arts. That’s a good start. Team contact sports like football, hockey, lacrosse, etc are a good way to build up a young boy’s self esteem. If you choose team sports make sure to NOT pick the one that gives every kid that signs up a trophy for showing up. That just teaches your kid that it’s okay to be a loser. Not exactly the kind of life lesson that gets your kid out of the basement before he turns 30.

And if your kid is getting touched by the bully – for God’s sake tell your kid to hit them back. And tell your kid to not stop hitting the bully until the teacher shows up and pulls them off the bully. Even if your kid gets his ass handed back to him, the bully will know your kid is no wimp. As I said above, bullies are weak kids that can’t stand a fair fight. If you kid puts up a decent fight, and doesn’t back down, the bully will move on to another weak kid.

It’s a hard line approach, but it’s one that works. It worked for me when I was the kid getting picked on back in middle school. Yeah, I got knocked on my ass a few times. Even had a bloody nose at recess. At the end of the day the bullies (and there were quite a few) left me alone.

The schools today talk about empowering your kids, but they are doing the opposite. They are teaching our kids the best way to handle a problem is to get someone else to fix it. Running to tattle will only cause more problems for the kid being picked on. The bulling will get worse. Their current friends will begin to be less involved as they realize they are being dragged into more bullying themselves because of their choice of friends. This is not a good cycle for your son to be in. It will only make him weaker.

Does the weak guy in your office ever get promoted? Does the weak guy ever get paired with the quality women? Does the weak guy ever have anything go right for him? Of course not – to all three questions. The weak guy gets stepped on, abused and forgotten about throughout his adult life. He never seems to get ahead in life no matter how many people say they like him. Do you want that for your son?

Then why are we letting schools teach our kids to be weak?

I gotta admit it.  Rachel Ray really grinds my gears, and not at all in a good way.  That whiny little girl voice and perky energy while pretending to cook 18 course meals in 30 minutes with out fucking up her kitchen.  It’s too much to deal with.  And just once can’t she cook something that I might accidentally have all the ingredients  for, without having to scour every foodie dive in DC to find?

But it looks like Karma is starting to catch up to her ass.  Literally.  A quick gander to the right and you can see the proof for yourself.  Her backside is getting it’s own zip code in the next census.

Which is all good and fine cause there are plenty of guys out there that are into bimbos with a trunk full of junk.  Or a mini-van with the back seats thrown down for the extra weight.  Your call.

Still, she can’t be totally evil. After all, chickie seems to really be into peeling back the banana skin.  And you know she’s gotta be all gung ho over the real thing if a banana can make her drop her jaw like that.  I’m just saying.

Turns out that’s a pretty good excuse for acting like an asshole.  You’d be surprised at the amount of space people I get when one of my buddies drops that phrase about me.   Civilians don’t know shit from shit so I can probably use it until I’m 100 years old.  The Soldiers I work with tell me to go fuck myself, and frankly that’s the better approach.  Brutal honesty – the world needs more of it.

I’m not the easiest of guys to hang out with to start, but the past few months have really been tough on my family and both of my friends.  So I cut them a foot of slack and turn most of it inward.  And I grab a third shot of Turkey 101 to sand the corners smooth.

Since I’ve come home the asshole is always floating right under the surface.  Even on good days I’m never more than a syllable from snapping like a Macho Man Slim Jim.  It’s not so much anger, as it is a lust for primacy.    Or maybe it’s a blast of superiority that comes across me.  One of those “I’m better than you so why are you fucking looking at me?” kind of vibes.   I’ll say this much, it keeps the Jehovah Witnesses off my front porch.  Got to learn how to turn it on and off, cause pissed off mode is powerful stuff in a world filled with the weak minded.

A moment of honesty here.  I wasn’t in any firefights; no rag head came charging over my foxhole screaming to Allah, none of that John Wayne shit happened, I was never in that kind of danger – and yeah I regret it.  In my old age when I bounce my grandchildren on my knee I’ll have to tell them that I got to the war long after it quit being fun.  I took a few helicopter rides, had some meals with the Iraqi populace and spent an afternoon crawling around Chemical Ali’s offices – but that’s it.  And someday I’ll hang the pictures of that joint on here for the rest of you to see.   He was a brutal mother fucker.

So no, I don’t have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  The doctor I talked to on the phone a few weeks ago said so.  He’s got PTSD, so he should know.

Still, I can seem to get myself in check.  There are days when wake up and I’m ready for the day to be over before my feet hit the floor.  Other days I’ve got more energy that the God Damned Energizer Bunny.  The scary days, I feel like a wolf in winter.  The enamel stretches tight across my teeth and I can hear/smell/see everything.   The world moves around me in slow motion and my heart pounds so hard it could break my ribs.

Feral is the only word for it.  And damn it feels good.