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Michael G Kimber
Michael G Kimber
The Nightwriter
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David And Goliath
Everyone knows the story of the boy David; how he had slain the giant Goliath, and saved his village people from tyranny.
For me the story has a particular poignancy, for I was once forced to face up to my Goliath.
It is not a tale I tell with pride, but perhaps with gratitude for it taught me at an early age that we are responsible for our own actions. It was a lesson I will admit, which required much time before I really understood its meaning. While I do not believe that the experience had any lasting or damaging effects on me, it was one of the difficult times of my ‘growing up’; but maybe some good came out of it.
You see, the name of my Goliath was David, and he was the school bully.
I think I must have been about ten years old when I discovered that I had become one of David’s victims. Why, I don’t know. I seldom had any money so it wasn’t that. Most likely it was the fact that he saw me as a pushover; someone who he could easily dominate.
I think I was pretty normal and would get into and out of scrapes like other boys of that age. I certainly was mischievous at times, but I was mostly a quiet non-aggressive lad, who would avoid confrontation if possible. Not a coward for I was quite adventurous, and would often take silly risks at play; but by no means an angel. I was a boy with the same interests as his school friends, who would join in whatever was going on, and one that could get into trouble at the drop of a hat.
But I didn’t like fighting. Not because I might get hurt, though naturally I would try to avoid that. Also, I had no more wish to inflict pain and injury than to receive it. No, it was the anger and the emotional disturbance that came with fighting which bothered me.
But the David’s of this world are quick to identify their targets, and like a hunting animal will seek out the old or the lame as likely prey. So I must have seemed like a good bet to him, and his reward was perhaps nothing more than domination.
I was not, as I have said, meek and mild. I joined in all the playground games, loved to climb, and could stand my ground when the play turned to mock fighting; wrestling, tangling and tussling. I loved those ‘King of the castle’ games that kids liked to play. For though these activities were physical, even aggressive sometimes, there was no anger involved. Only the desire to win.
But in his eyes my unwillingness to fight back set me apart from most of the others, and like most of his kind, David looked only for easy victories.
I’m not sure just how it started but I remember being confronted one day by him and a friend. It was the day I paid for my school dinners; one of the few days in the week when I had some money with me, and of course he knew that. He demanded his cut, and when I refused the two of them set about me, leaving me hurt and shocked; and relieved of my dinner money.
For a while I was in a daze, not knowing what to do, and who to tell. Most of all I felt ashamed, because I had put up so little resistance, my reluctance to fight overcoming the need to do so. It was probably the first time I had experienced shame, and was conscious of its emotional power, albeit in an immature and naive way.
I guess its hard to imagine what a boy of that age can feel ashamed of. It was much later that I came to realise it was the fear that I was ashamed of, irrational and cowardly, but fear just the same. I don’t think I quite understood the feeling. But what I did understand was that it was compounded each day when I went hungry, for I had been too scared to tell my mother what had happened.
Of course I was shocked to find myself in this position. Until his recent interest in me I had hardly considered David; never thought of him as a threat, and certainly never as a possible friend.
Looking back I have to wonder how it came about. He was not a big boy, even though he was two years older than me. In fact he was somewhat shorter, and less well built, so it was quite a comic situation. But he was very aggressive, and displayed no sense of remorse about the regime of fear he had created, and would move in with fists flying at the slightest show of resistance by any of his victims.
So, like a number of others before me I began to dread going to school, and avoidance became the name of the game. After what seemed like months, but was probably weeks, the inevitable showdown took place.
It was not of my choosing, for I had been quite successful in keeping out of David’s way, and would have continued to do so, hoping that he might find a more available target. For a while I made sure to be with a group whenever possible. This seemed to work, though occasionally he would shout at me when he passed me even if I was with other people. And a couple of times I had to run for it when I was on my own and saw him coming.
But one day my luck ran out and there we were face to face.
He was more than usually bellicose on this occasion, refusing to accept my explanations for my non-appearance, and was, I had no doubt, preparing to teach me a lesson.
Without any warning I turned and fled. Unfortunately he had anticipated that move, and he sped after me, only a split second separating us. Running as fast as I could, frightened as never before, and aggravated by the knowledge that my longer legs were no more efficient than his shorter ones. For though I was running as fast as I could, he was still there just behind me.
Finally gaining the sanctuary of my back yard, and thinking I was safe - if only for now - I stopped, leaning heavily on the back door to my house. Only then did I realise that in my panic and fear I had lost control of my bladder, my trouser fronts now wet and uncomfortable. Worse of all my adversary did not seem at all disadvantaged that this was my home territory. He was coming through the gate. I was trapped now and aware that wetting myself might not be the full extent of my problems.
I started to shout at him. Words that I seldom used streamed from my mouth; everything I could think of, and words which I would never let my mother hear me use. I was shouting as loud as I could, as if my words might create some kind of barrier to his progress.
He stopped when my mother opened the door behind me, then he turned and walked away.
My mother was a gentle lady, but capable if necessary, of great strength, especially if called on to defend one of her own. David instinctively knew he was no match for her and turned his back without a murmur
What happened next is perhaps the crux of this story, for my mother, disappointed of course to hear me using such language, was not angry with me. She was however angry to discover that I was being bullied, and the subject became the main topic of conversation within the family. My brothers, all older than me, and even my sisters, wanted to go out and teach this boy a lesson, but my parents, experts by now in the art of raising children, knew that a response of that kind would not do. They did not believe in an eye for an eye, but they knew that something would have to be done.
They also knew that if I were to gain any lasting benefit, somehow the solution had to stem from me.
It was a time of mixed emotions, agitation and unhappiness. I could not rid myself of that feeling of shame, but I misunderstood my motives. At the time I thought it was because I had been caught using bad language, but it was a long time before I realised what I was really ashamed about. Not standing up for myself.
In the days that followed I received lots of advise from family and friends, much of it conflicting, and most of it confusing. Some favoured direct action, others diplomacy, while a mix of both was also suggested. Getting it right was just as hard for a ten year old to cope with, as for any warring nations.
A week or so went by before we saw each other again, and David immediately made his way towards me, determined to confront me, and maybe to administer the beating I had narrowly escaped at our last meeting.
Some of the advice I had been swamped with from all sides during the past days must have lodged at the front of my brain, for without any plan, or conscious decision, as soon as we were close enough I hit him. No delay, I hit him as hard as I could on the side of the face. He looked at me for what seemed like an eternity, while I stood there in apparent defiance, though actually quite scared. Suddenly he put his hand to his face, and grimaced in pain, as though he had only just realised what had happened. Neither of us had spoken, and then he shouted out a stream of abuse, before walking off.
It was a euphoric moment. I remember feeling on top of the world, and for the first time I could remember, excited because of an aggressive act. I was sure that David would not trouble me again, but there was something else; a new sensation for me. For in that moment I had been dominant.
In that brief moment I had become Goliath, and roles had been reversed.
Goliath had slain David
The feeling didn’t last too long, and soon I was just me again, but I think I was different somehow, a touch more sure of myself, and maybe just an inch taller.
It was quite a while before the real significance of that encounter was clear to me, and that it had probably been a crossroad for me, one of those defining moments in life.
What a pity it is, that special moments like these seem to be so much clearer when seen in retrospect, than at the time.