Steven and the Bully: A Tale of Cowardice.

I will be thirty-five years old in May.  I have a hard time remembering important dates or things that may have occurred the previous day.  Yet it is easy for me to recall the torment delivered through the mouths and fists of my middle (and high school) peers.  I remember it all in graphic detail, like a movie in my head.  It was as brutal as the newsman says it is.

My entrance into the eighth grade can only be compared to a bad underwear dream.  You know, that dream where you’re hanging out in class wearing nothing but your smugglers?  I thought everything would be fine.  Mom and I went shopping at Target and bought a fresh stack of clothes and some school supplies.  I remember wearing a purple Gecko shirt, some party-popper designed Hammer pants, and double-lace L.A. Gear shoes when I boarded the bus on my first day.  Let me tell you how that went over.

It was 1991.  Hammer pants had been out of style for a few years.  I didn’t know this because I had attended private school from the 4^th grade until this very moment.  The private schools, at the time, tend to be a little behind in fashion.  When I stepped foot off the bus, I knew something was wrong.  Everyone was wearing denim jeans and black hooded sweatshirts.  I looked like a multi-colored piece of confetti walking around the campus.  Saying that the kids noticed me instantly would be an understatement.  

8th Grade - Me and my Gecko

I did my best to fit in and tried to divert the negative attention I was receiving for my terrible taste in fashion.  As my peers adapted to my personality, they warmed up to the idea that I was an easy receptacle for jokes and abuse.  Most of the insults revolved around my clothing and it was merciless.  This was doubly hurtful because I know how hard mom and dad worked to provide those clothes for me.  So in my mind, they were also insulting my mom and dad who I love more than anything else.

I didn’t get it.  I was a happy kid and was a great baseball player.  I thought I had forged enough friendships on the field to sustain me through school.  As my popularity took a nosedive, these friends avoided me as if I had never existed.  I don’t know if I can really explain what it is like to hear someone I thought was a friend participate in the verbal abuse submitted by others who I hardly knew.

I conformed with the crowd and adopted the fashion.  My personality missed the memo.  By this time, some had taken it a step further and felt that dead arms were funny especially when they were imposed on me.  I was deemed weak because I refused to fight those who assaulted me.  I was scared to throw a punch.  I had never been in a fight before.  It felt as though I was still in a state of shock from those opening moments in my public school “career.”  Instead of fighting, I accepted the blows and laughed them off hoping that I would fit in by positively acknowledging the abuse. 

Half way through the year I was nominated the “biggest loser in school.”  There were two of us, me and one other guy who had held the title before I arrived.  The popular kids were so sinister that they set up a “battle of the losers” to determine who would retain the title.  Half the school showed up to watch the fight.  I was terrified.  I told my mom the night before and she called the principal.  I don’t recall exactly how it happened but the fight never occurred.  In the end, I was deemed a snitch which resulted in other merciless punishments.  

Outwardly, I encouraged my abusers in an attempt to fit in.  Inwardly, I was huddled up in the fetal position in the corner of a very dark room.  It felt as though a crowd had gathered around me with the intent of laying waste to everything that might have been good inside me.  They were ripping me apart with their words, pummeling me with their fists, and laughing at the bloody mess that lay in their wake.  I kept it all inside.  I didn’t want to tell anyone. 

Every punch annihilated my self-esteem which by the end of the year had been obliterated.  Every drop of saliva (hurled by tormentors) falling from my face during the bus ride to school puddled on the ground in front of the girl who I had a crush on at the beginning of the year.  By the end of the year, my  memories could have been summarized perfectly through the volley of explicit notes written within the pages of my yearbook; “wishing you a shitty summer, loser.”

All I really wanted was for someone to write “it was nice getting to know you.”  I probably would have dropped to me knees in tears.  No one wrote it.  

Mom and I - 8th Grade (1991)

I was bullied over the next couple of years and eventually found my place and my own style.  Thankfully, I was surrounded by small handful of amazing friends (The Fallbrook Calvary Chapel Crew – you know who you are) who kept me balanced and sane.  I don’t know what I would have done without their support and the support from my family.  I have never put those early years into words.  It is hard for me to do so now.  I just want to say that I love the people who carried me through those times.  Your friendship is priceless to me.

Thank You,

Steven 

I was inspired to tell this story after I saw the documentary entitled "Bully."  This issue demands attention from parents around the world.   

Coming Soon: (Bullying) and (The Story of These Tattoos - split into several posts)

I'd like to write about some other topics that are very near and dear to me.

Writing is how I deal.  It is my therapy.  Thank You for taking the time to read.

Stay tuned...

Steven

Redemption Story: Easter 2013 (See-Saw Battle)

Hi, my name is Steven Press and I have accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior over a dozen times.

My relationship with Christ has been nothing short of a swinging pendulum.  I was reared under legalistic and moralistic guidance which caused me to exhibit the same mannerisms toward future friends, colleagues, and even complete strangers.  My early relationship with God was rooted and driven by fear.  In my mind, God was an angry father waiting at the doorstep with a menacing disposition in full readiness to deliver the most severe beating for a day’s worth of unforgivable transgressions.  It is true that I worked as hard as humanly possible to avoid the thought of a rage filled God who seemed to derive pleasure from punishing Christians for a myriad of sins.  At the end of the day I felt fatigued, inadequate, and undeserving of any warm salutation from God.  I found that I could never please Him, and it was one of the worst feelings I can remember crossing my mind.  

I abandoned God when I was twenty and struck out on a series of adventures for a period of close to seven years. I was afforded the opportunity to join a band which quickly became successful.  This allowed me to indulge in every single sin that I had fully condemned in the past.  I quickly became enamored with women, popularity, success, and offset everything else with bottles of tequila.  There is no question that this new found freedom led me into some of the best, most unforgettable times of my life.  

As the years wore on, I found that no amount of success or recognition could touch my yearning for being truly known or unconditionally loved.  By this time, I had toured a good portion of the world on numerous occasions and our music was on the radio.  People would recognize me as I walked through Melbourne, London, New York City, and Nashville.  Yet as I talked to all of these people, I couldn’t help but realize that their love for me would only be temporary.  I started to compare my current life to my earlier life as a practicing Christian.  What I discovered was quite unsettling.  As a matter of fact, my observations were consistent with many of us who were in the music industry at the time.  

My relationships were hollow.  People sought my friendship because they felt as though there was something they could gain.  Perhaps an opening slot on a tour or a good word to the label along with a personally delivered demo.  My relationships with women were mutual dead ends which tend to get old pretty quickly.  My drinking started to take a toll on my body and didn’t numb the hurt for as long as I would have liked it to.  Furthermore, I was meeting a lot of guys in bands that I grew up listening to who were completely burned out on the music scene.  This discovery crushed me.  From my past teenage vantage point in the crowd, these bands were larger than life.  From my current view in the backstage area, they were falling apart with the help of narcotics and depression.  This wasn’t what I signed up for.

I left the music industry in 2003 in search of that “happiness” everyone always seems to be searching for.  The ensuing years would bring a profusion of the worst mistakes I have ever made to include adultery, an addiction to pornography, a repugnant self-righteousness regarding Biblical application to cultural issues, and a fortuitous tendency to hurt other people with words based purely in selfishness.  All of these things took place as I struggled to find a new identity in Christ.  Essentially, God and I were on a see-saw which I tended to weigh down in my favor.  As in the past, my shoulders buckled under the pressure of my own self-effort and I ended up right back at square one.

As I have read through my transgressions, I would hope that my problem has become obvious to the listener.  As a former fundamentalist Christian, I would place each sin in a category of its own.  This means that sins such as adultery and fornication far outweighed gossip or slander.  It took four years filled with strong Christian mentors, books authored by brilliant theologians, and late nights buried in scripture to rid myself of the twisted view I had on what it takes to be a follower of Christ.

Today, we celebrate Easter, the very cornerstone of our faith, and the answer to all of the questions and doubts I had as a young Christian.  Jesus was torn to shreds and killed in a manner which suited those who committed the most heinous of crimes.  The blood that poured from His body soaked the earth with beautiful purpose.  Every sin, from murder, to a road rage induced middle-finger, was bought and paid for at the very moment He breathed His last.  In all of my years as a Christian I downplayed the importance of this single act and placed myself in Christ’s place.   How pathetic of an act is this on my part?  

Romans 10 v. 9-10 says, “If you confess with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved.  For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you confess and are saved.” Additionally, Romans 8 v. 38-39 says, “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,  neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

These verses were paramount in my recovery as a Christian.  The only thing that stood between God and I, was me. Nothing can separate us.  Nothing!  Do you remember that scene in A Good Will Hunting where Dr. McGuire has to tell Will that “it isn’t your fault” over and over again?  That scene describes my inability to comprehend what God has accomplished for anyone who would choose to believe.  God’s grace and forgiveness is beyond human comprehension.

Sean Norris writes, “We are reconciled to God by faith through grace alone. As a result, we believe that the gospel is the same for all people, Christian and non alike. Only God’s grace unleashes freedom—the kind of freedom to accept, to forgive, to walk in love, to live boldly. Galatians 5 v. 1 says ‘It is for freedom Christ has set us free’.  God’s forgiveness means that we are motivated by love instead of fear. The fruit of that freedom of the Gospel is a spontaneous, creative, and compassionate life.”

Today, Christ defeated death and He did so in my stead.  The words I have written here today do little to scratch the surface of my appreciation.

My prayer is that we continue to grow in areas that we do not understand.  Thank You, Jesus, for defeating death on this day. Amen.