Doesn’t understand gender politics

I was a pretty big kid in elementary school and junior high when I was living with my mother in Washington state. Add the fact that I was scared to get in trouble at school because my parents were pretty strict, I was easy prey for a little group of bullies who lived down the road. One of the leaders of the group was a short kid named Erik who looked like a real-life version of the comic-strip character Dondi, only not nearly as nice.

I spent my sixth-grade year with my Dad in Wasilla. One of the things I looked forward to most that year was escaping the Washington bully pack. But I found bullies are the same everywhere — once they find out you’re a big kid who won’t fight back you’re doomed.

When I returned to Washington for school the following year, I remember distinctly the looks on the kids’ faces I hadn’t seen since fifth grade. Dad had me chopping and stacking wood the whole year I had been in Alaska and now, in addition to my height, I was sporting some pretty serious biceps for a young man.

“Good. I’m glad you’re all noticing that I’m even bigger now. Perhaps you’ll leave me alone,” I thought.

Nope. They knew I was still scared of getting in trouble at home for fighting at school, so they picked up bullying me right where they left off — especially Erik.

One day between classes, Erik was taunting me and I suddenly stopped in my tracks. Something inside me snapped. I slowly set my books down, turned around and quietly said, “OK Erik. You want to fight?”

Erik looked up at me and, after a crowd began to circle us, replied that he didn’t want to fight in school. He suggested we meet that evening at the water tower in our neighborhood.

That evening I told my parents what had happened, and much to my shock, my mother was supportive.

“It’s about time you stood up for yourself,” she said.

I couldn’t believe my ears. So off I went and waited, and waited. While I waited, other kids who had heard about the fight showed up and waited with me. Several of them were members of Erik’s gang, but they weren’t bothering me that night.

Finally, somebody went and got Erik. Looking back on it, he was obviously terrified, but wouldn’t apologize or back down in front of his entourage. So after he threw a swing, I knocked him around until he decided to stay down. I then asked the rest of his group if any of them wished to step forward, but none did.

At home, my mom tempered my pride with a word of caution. “OK, Ben. You’ve proven your point, but make sure this doesn’t go to your head and you don’t end up becoming a bully yourself.”

I assured her I wouldn’t and lived up to my promise. What happened to that group of bullies? Never had a problem again. In fact, within days they suddenly wanted to be my friends, and most of them turned out to be fairly decent kids by the time we graduated high school.

In addition to the lessons I learned about the nature of bullies (cowards), I learned a life-long lesson about the difference between how boys and girls (men and women) deal with conflict.

In the male-dominated jobs I’ve had, there has been the unpleasant occasion now and then when guys get into it. And when it does happen, it’s like a line of gunpowder that’s been ignited; it burns extremely hot and fast and is quickly over.

Not so in the female-dominated jobs I’ve worked. I once had a job where I was the only male employee in a company’s Pacific Northwest division, and boy-oh-boy did I get a crash course in female workplace politics. This gal doesn’t like that one, but they are pseudo-polite to each other as they throw roundabout barbs at each other through gritted-teeth smiles.

“Why Lisa, you look good in that! Are you buying new clothes because you outgrew your old ones?”

Finally, the false graciousness can’t hold up anymore and out it comes — the red-faced yelling, name-calling, accusations and a fountain of tears. This is then followed by endless apologies, hugs, more tears and then more hugs and apologies until the storm subsides. I wasn’t wired for these types of conflicts and it took me awhile to learn to hide, pray and wait for it to blow over.

I think we can all recall seeing these dynamics developing when we were back in junior high. But now I’m noticing the same dynamic developing in elementary school girls. I’ve now had two different elementary school teachers tell me that they have watched this behavior steadily march backward through the grades over the past few years and they say it is being seen as early as third grade.

I have no idea what the cause is. Reality television? Risqué shows and dolls aimed at young girls? All I can say for sure is thank God I only have one daughter.

Ben Compton is a Palmer resident and publishes his column as “Compton’s Corner,” the same title used by his grandmother, Phyllis Compton, a longtime Frontiersman columnist.