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The first time I ever confronted a bully, I was a fifth grader at a Catholic school in Columbus, Ohio, an age when crushes felt like destiny and schoolyard politics rivaled those of medieval courts.
My heart had been conquered by a girl named Tina Hairston—chocolate brown skin, dimples that could disarm the hardest soul, and a ponytail that swayed like a metronome when she walked.
To my young heart, she was the Mona Lisa of our school, and in my mind, our union was written in the stars.
The problem? Kenny Jones, a boy with a chip on his shoulder and, apparently, a claim on Tina.
Kenny was bigger, meaner, and had an overinflated sense of ownership when it came to Tina. The moment he caught wind of my puppy-eyed admiration for her, the torment began—shoves in the hallway, whispered threats during math, and an ongoing campaign of public humiliation that only a schoolyard despot could perfect.
I endured it at first, as my mild-mannered nature told me that peace was always the best path. But wisdom, even in the Taoist sense, acknowledges limits. There comes a time when the universe nudges you to push back.
That time arrived one fateful afternoon in the back coatroom.
Kenny had cornered me, eyes full of that smug assurance bullies always wear like armor. He shoved me, expecting me to fold as I always did. But something inside me snapped—not in anger, but in clarity.
Sun Tzu, had I known of him then, would have nodded in approval. The greatest victory, he wrote, is to subdue the enemy without fighting, but when you must fight, strike with precision and decisiveness.
So I did.
I swung my book bag, weighted down with the sum total of my education—math, science, English, and a dictionary thick enough to dent steel. It connected cleanly with Kenny’s head, sending him sprawling to the floor, his glasses flung halfway across the room.
The silence that followed was electric. The teacher, drawn by the disturbance, surveyed the scene, then, to my great relief, handed Kenny detention while sparing me entirely. Justice had never felt so sweet.
But the real reward?
Tina Hairston declared me her new boyfriend among our classmates. I had gone from invisible to invincible in the span of a single, well-timed swing.
The Art of War and the Science of Bullies
Decades later, I would come to realize that my schoolboy skirmish had echoes in one of history’s greatest treatises on strategy: The Art of War by Sun Tzu.
Bullies, whether they roam political circles, schoolyards, boardrooms, or social media feeds, operate on the same fundamental principle—intimidation. They thrive not on actual power, but on the perception of it. The moment that perception is shattered, their grip weakens.
Sun Tzu teaches us that the true warrior does not seek battle but understands the necessity of positioning. He advises:
💥 Know Your Enemy and Yourself – Bullies function on fear. They rely on the assumption that their target will cower, comply, or avoid conflict. When they meet resistance—especially unexpected resistance—their entire strategy unravels. My young self had always seen Kenny as an unbeatable force, but at the moment when I swung that book bag, I saw him for what he was — human, fallible, and stunned into submission by a kid who had had enough.
💥 Control the Battlefield – Sun Tzu emphasizes the importance of choosing where and when to fight. Sometimes, direct confrontation is foolish, but at other times, a well-timed strike changes everything. My back was to the wall in that coatroom; there was no retreat, only a single path forward. Bullies are unprepared for resistance from those they assume will submit. That’s why a well-placed countermeasure—whether physical, verbal, or strategic—can leave them reeling.
💥 Victory Through Minimum Effort – Sun Tzu states, The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting. In an ideal world, confrontation wouldn’t be necessary. But when it is, the most efficient victory is one that ensures you’ll never have to fight the same battle twice. After that day, Kenny never messed with me again. His reign over my life ended the moment he hit the floor.
💥 Appear Weak When You Are Strong – In the eyes of Kenny Jones, I was an easy target. He assumed his intimidation was working, that I would never resist. But the greatest victories often come from deception—letting the enemy believe in their own superiority until it is too late for them to react. My swing wasn’t premeditated, but it followed a fundamental truth: when the moment to act arrives, do so with complete conviction.
A Modern Battlefield
Today, bullying takes on subtler, more insidious forms. It might be a boss who thrives on manipulation, a toxic relationship that drains you, or the ceaseless digital warriors who throw stones from behind their keyboards. The lesson remains the same: choosing your battles wisely is an art, but refusing to engage in unnecessary wars is wisdom.
Had I known The Art of War at ten years old, I might have seen that my book bag wasn’t just a book bag—it was strategy, surprise, and a lesson in standing one’s ground. Sun Tzu would have approved. So would Tina Hairston, wherever she is now, still remembering the kid who took down Kenny Jones and, for a brief, glorious moment, became the unofficial king of the fifth grade.
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Lots of important lessons here!
When I read about bullying and how that sometimes leads to the victim ending their life, you have to wonder what's going on in that bully's home. I experienced racism for the first time in 6th grade when Damon (although in my mind it was "Demon") used the N-word when my sister came to drop off an umbrella for me. We ignored him, but as I think back on it now, I have to wonder what his home life was like. He wouldn't have known to use that word unless he'd heard it from an adult, y'know? Which, in turn, makes me wonder what Kenny Jones' home life was like that made him a bully.