Even When You Win, You Cry.
I grew up in a poor neighborhood. Most families were headed by parents who had minimal or even no education. We were no exception: My father attended three months of school, and my mother has no formal education. Before I was born, she could not even write her name.
When my parents were expecting my brother, their fourth child, they moved from a neighborhood known as the "Coolies' Quarters" to "Kwun Chung" which was known for its gangsters. If I am not mistaken, someone from the family living across the hallway from us was a gang member. The good thing is that gangs patrol their territory diligently and they recognize everybody who lives in the neighborhood. They don't usually bother the locals.
Neighborhood kids attend neighborhood public schools. Our school was filled with poor kids from working class families. Some parents, like mine, keep their kids very domesticated. Their hope is that we stay in school, get good grades, find a good job and get out of poverty. Other parents just let their kids run wild. Their kids hang out in the streets after school. When they are in school, they pick fights and bully others. I used to deal with them every day. To be exact, I fought with them every day.
Had I listened to my mom, I would have died long ago because she always said, "Do not hit people. Even if they come hit us, do not hit back. Just tough it out. Don't fight." Yeah, right. My father was more a realist. His teaching was: "Don't ever start a fight. However, if someone hits you, always hit back. Hit hard so that it stings. Teach them not to try again. Be careful not to injure them, but always hit back." I took my father's advice to heart. I started fighting boys since first grade.
At first, one boy came to snatch my eyeglasses and made fun of me. I was the first and only kid in school to wear eyeglasses. It was a big novelty. I chased the boy down, beat him and got my eyeglasses back. He was so astonished by how hard I fight that he brought another boy the next day. I fought them both. It hurt so much that they ran from me.
Soon, my reputation grew. It became a sport for the wild boys to challenge Meipo. My personal record was to fight five boys simultaneously during recess. I chased them into the little boys' room. They cowered behind the partition wall inside. Someone would peek out every once in a while only to find that I was still standing in a classic super-hero pose by the doorway. I stood there until the bell went off. When everybody was returning to class, I would go into the girls' room to the most remote stall. I would sit there to cry for a few minutes before I wipe my tears and return to class as if nothing happened.
The adults in my little world were no help to me. I could not tell my teachers about the fights. They were supposed to be monitoring recesses, but they were oblivious of our fights every day! I could not imagine what they would do if they found out I had been fighting. And I wouldn't tell my mother because she would probably punish me by hitting me, as if I had not been hit enough.
Not all girls fought like me. Some girls got bullied, but they could not fight. I took them under my wings and protected them. If need be, I fought for them, too. So, I really fought a lot.
Not long ago, I was invited by a charter school in Washington DC to teach Aikido to some middle schoolers. When I talked to the kids, they vented about how they were bullied by bigger kids in school and in the neighborhood. I saw the same familiar anger and frustration in their eyes. One kid even said, "If I had a gun, I would take them all down." I tried appealing to them that violence is not the solution. But, what is the solution?
Just the other day, a student asked me if I would teach self defense techniques to Syrian refugee children. Apparently, these children have assimilation problems in school. The other kids do not like them and give them a very hard time. Can we end the problem by teaching these kids self defense? We sure do not want them to be bullied and get hurt. What if they win and take down their opponents? Is the problem solved? Now they are responsible for hurting other kids. They are in a different kind of trouble. What should we do?
I really have no magic bullet for children who are bullied. I have first hand experience to know that fights only bring more fights. Losing hurts, but winning does not bring serenity either.
If I have to live my childhood again, I think what I would like is more guidance and counseling so that I learn not to be provoked so easily. I also would like the adults in my life to be more attentive and understanding. I really did not mean to fight. Yet, if I tell you what happened, you would use that against me and punish me, I would have to keep my life secret from you. You may never know what is going on with me until it is too late.
When my parents were expecting my brother, their fourth child, they moved from a neighborhood known as the "Coolies' Quarters" to "Kwun Chung" which was known for its gangsters. If I am not mistaken, someone from the family living across the hallway from us was a gang member. The good thing is that gangs patrol their territory diligently and they recognize everybody who lives in the neighborhood. They don't usually bother the locals.
Neighborhood kids attend neighborhood public schools. Our school was filled with poor kids from working class families. Some parents, like mine, keep their kids very domesticated. Their hope is that we stay in school, get good grades, find a good job and get out of poverty. Other parents just let their kids run wild. Their kids hang out in the streets after school. When they are in school, they pick fights and bully others. I used to deal with them every day. To be exact, I fought with them every day.
Had I listened to my mom, I would have died long ago because she always said, "Do not hit people. Even if they come hit us, do not hit back. Just tough it out. Don't fight." Yeah, right. My father was more a realist. His teaching was: "Don't ever start a fight. However, if someone hits you, always hit back. Hit hard so that it stings. Teach them not to try again. Be careful not to injure them, but always hit back." I took my father's advice to heart. I started fighting boys since first grade.
At first, one boy came to snatch my eyeglasses and made fun of me. I was the first and only kid in school to wear eyeglasses. It was a big novelty. I chased the boy down, beat him and got my eyeglasses back. He was so astonished by how hard I fight that he brought another boy the next day. I fought them both. It hurt so much that they ran from me.
Soon, my reputation grew. It became a sport for the wild boys to challenge Meipo. My personal record was to fight five boys simultaneously during recess. I chased them into the little boys' room. They cowered behind the partition wall inside. Someone would peek out every once in a while only to find that I was still standing in a classic super-hero pose by the doorway. I stood there until the bell went off. When everybody was returning to class, I would go into the girls' room to the most remote stall. I would sit there to cry for a few minutes before I wipe my tears and return to class as if nothing happened.
The adults in my little world were no help to me. I could not tell my teachers about the fights. They were supposed to be monitoring recesses, but they were oblivious of our fights every day! I could not imagine what they would do if they found out I had been fighting. And I wouldn't tell my mother because she would probably punish me by hitting me, as if I had not been hit enough.
Not all girls fought like me. Some girls got bullied, but they could not fight. I took them under my wings and protected them. If need be, I fought for them, too. So, I really fought a lot.
Not long ago, I was invited by a charter school in Washington DC to teach Aikido to some middle schoolers. When I talked to the kids, they vented about how they were bullied by bigger kids in school and in the neighborhood. I saw the same familiar anger and frustration in their eyes. One kid even said, "If I had a gun, I would take them all down." I tried appealing to them that violence is not the solution. But, what is the solution?
Just the other day, a student asked me if I would teach self defense techniques to Syrian refugee children. Apparently, these children have assimilation problems in school. The other kids do not like them and give them a very hard time. Can we end the problem by teaching these kids self defense? We sure do not want them to be bullied and get hurt. What if they win and take down their opponents? Is the problem solved? Now they are responsible for hurting other kids. They are in a different kind of trouble. What should we do?
I really have no magic bullet for children who are bullied. I have first hand experience to know that fights only bring more fights. Losing hurts, but winning does not bring serenity either.
If I have to live my childhood again, I think what I would like is more guidance and counseling so that I learn not to be provoked so easily. I also would like the adults in my life to be more attentive and understanding. I really did not mean to fight. Yet, if I tell you what happened, you would use that against me and punish me, I would have to keep my life secret from you. You may never know what is going on with me until it is too late.
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