I found the best article that I have ever read on school social politics. “Why Nerds are Unpopular,” by Paul Graham delves into not only the reasons behind being a nerd, the consequences of being a nerd, the social system that punishes them, but offers possible solutions to the problem. As I have been away from the school social system for nearly 12 years, he brought back points that are not only accurate, but had been pushed out of my brain either intentionally or unintentionally over time. I found myself saying “Oh, yea” and “wow” a lot as not only memories, but social regulations came dripping and then flooding back.

Some of his points:

• “Nerds serve two masters. They want to be popular, certainly, but they want even more to be smart.”
• “Public school teachers are in much the same position as prison wardens. Wardens’ main concern is to keep the prisoners on the premises. They also need to keep them fed, and as far as possible prevent them from killing one another. Beyond that, they want to have as little to do with the prisoners as possible, so they leave them to create whatever social organization they want. From what I’ve read, the society that the prisoners create is warped, savage, and pervasive, and it is no fun to be at the bottom of it.”
• Freaks and nerds were allies, and there was a good deal of overlap between them. Freaks were on the whole smarter than other kids, though never studying, or at least never appearing to, was an important tribal value.
• “I didn’t realize that the reason we nerds didn’t fit in was that we were a step ahead. We were already thinking about the kind of things that matter…”

When I showed up to school in my thick brown glasses, plaid pants, and a part that started just slightly above my ear (example), I had no idea that the next decade would not only penalize me for being who I was, but force me to survive in a system in which I did not belong by forcing me to become a part of it.

Having people pick on you all the time is damaging. My mother related a story to me a few months ago in which an older kid was chasing me home from grade school every day. One time, he pushed me out into traffic. As this was over 20 years ago, I had completely forgotten about it. I vaguely remembered the incident, but what came flooding back was the complete fucking terror that only comes with being persecuted constantly, and not being able to do anything about it. Not knowing who was around what corner, and whether they were going to knock the books out of your hands, trip you, or just push you around creates the attitude of a beaten dog. You skulk, you avoid, and you learn to growl because you know that next beating is just around the corner. Even when it’s not, you train yourself to think it is, because the minute you let your guard down and they catch you unaware, it’s going to hurt a lot worse.

So, you become paranoid. Really paranoid. And eventually that paranoia is going to break you.

When I was maybe 6, I remember the confusion and the helplessness of watching my best friend’s brother kicking his ass worse than usual. He terrorized us constantly, and there was nothing that I could do. I was helpless. Then the wisdom passed on by every male over 50 took hold, and I punched his brother square in the nose. I remember the moment of silence where everything was in slow motion. You can observe the same thing when a baby falls. The shock hits, and then behind it comes a wave of confusion where they are deciding whether to cry or not. I can remember the shocked look on his face, and then the blood. I can remember him running into the house screaming, and then my friend getting up and looking at me with an expression that showed almost as much shock and fear as his brother. I can still remember running up the stairs tearing open the screen door and apologizing to everyone in sight, and then Mrs. Chin sending me home with a stern but sympathetic look saying, “It’ll be ok. Come back later. You just have to go home now. Go.”

I was crushed. I didn’t know what else I could’ve done. My friend was screaming in pain, and I tried to help. That was a defining moment for me. It was then that I realized that violence was a powerful tool.

Soon after, when one of the top bullies in my school was doing his usual routine of picking on me, I decided I wasn’t going to take it. I had a new tool in my arsenal, and I was going to test it out. When he tried to push me out of line, I stood up to him and we ended up fighting right there 5 feet from the front door, not a warden in sight. No one won, but more importantly, I didn’t lose. I can remember the kid standing up and saying “Kid, you got guts.” From an 8 year old, this doesn’t seem like much, but for someone at the bottom of the shit pile, this is like a blessing. From there, I started a rep. I was a nerd, there was no question about that, but I was the nerd that might just kick your ass if you fucked with him.

Both the nerds and the tough kids looked at me differently. I was putting a foot in two very different social circles. Because there was no real way to ignore a possible tough kid, there was a respectful tie created, and eventually I had a very solid footing in their crowd. I became the only nerd in the tough crowd. Not only did this give me a free pass from ass kickings, but it put me in a sort of “made” status in the school. I sat with the nerdy kids at lunch, but I could call on the tough kids to make trouble for any popular asshole who tried use me as a wrung on the ladder of popularity. Popularity is fragile in the school system, and nothing will ruin it for you faster than getting your ass kicked by a nerd. And there is something truly beautiful about taking someone from the top of the social food chain and putting him on the bottom for fucking with the wrong nerd. This happened a number of times, and although I hate to admit it, it was immensely satisfying.

This new position gave me the ability to give people free passes from getting their asses kicked by putting a word in the ears of the 4 other tough kids. I could use these structures to either directly ward off a threat, or put the word out on someone that they were under my protection. Simply saying, “If you want a piece of him, you’re going to have to go through me,” can indefinitely ward off terror from someone. I did this as much as I could, but as I said, popularity is a fragile thing. You can’t put in passes for everyone, and you unfortunately have to stand by and watch some people get their ass kicked. If I put in too many passes, I risked falling out of that group. If I fell out of the group, I would lose the ability to give anyone a pass.

As my socialization progressed, I can remember coordinating fights with rival schools, coordinating “official” versions of events for other kids to pass on to school officials, and thumbing my nose at the wardens. It seems pretty cool looking back, but this all takes its toll. You think like an animal. Violence is the answer, and the threat of violence is the means of control. You get not only used to the power structure, but the power structure becomes a part of you. You actually believe that the world operates based on violence, and that there is someone waiting around every corner to kick your ass. You know that you can beat the system, because you have become the worst kind of punk: you’re not a dumb kid bullying because you feel bad about how completely fucking stupid you are. You’re a nerd in punk’s clothing. You are using violence as a means of control, you get the other tough kids to vote your way, and you are building constituencies. The warden watches you and tries to bust you, but no matter how hard they try, you’ll always get the “I’m watchin’ you” speech, because they could never pin anything on you.

You are a mini mobster.

At 14, I really didn’t think I’d make 21, and I really didn’t care. Some kids want to be doctors and lawyers. I really just wanted to grow up to be a mobster. I knew the way power structures worked, had developed an unhealthy and complete disrespect for authority, and was familiar with the power structure of a prison: Go in and kick someone’s ass the first day, or be someone’s bitch. Be number one, but make someone else look like number one, so that you can dodge the bullet when someone guns for number one. Develop alliances, and use them. Sell who you have to sell, and preserve who you can.

I was fucking fourteen.

Posted in Anger