LUKY;
WHEN I WAS ABOUT EIGHT, ALL THE GIRLS IN MY CLASS AT SCHOOL USED TO QUARREL WITH ME.
You know how it goes. One very popular girl has a clash with you, her friends join in, and soon you find yourself put in Coventry by girls you hardly know.
I used to wander into my father's bakery early in the morning before school and tell him my problems. Now a bakery is one of the most disciplined places in the world, since it depends on accurate timing. If the bread is in a minute too short, it is under baked; if it is in too long, it is burnt.
Technique
If I remember correctly, my father would put the bread in the oven, then prepare the trays for the following load, after which he'd go out into the silent street, light himself a cigarette, and reflect on life until it was time to take the bread out of the oven.
Then the world's most easygoing, phlegmatic man would become a dynamo for the space of time it took to get the next load prepared.
As a very young man he was once taking his breather on the street when a royal carriage clattered by, containing Queen Wilhelmina and Crown Princess Juliana - probably on their way to a church service, since it was Sunday. He said he bowed almost to the ground, as they smiled and waved.
Flycatchers
Usually, however, he had the street to himself. That is, until I started having problems.
My father stocked sweets in the shop, so he gave me a big bag of them to take to school. They were big red round sweets. If you only suck them they can last up to an hour.
"You catch more flies with a spoonful of honey than with a barrelful of vinegar", he said. "Never be nasty to the girls when they're unkind to you: always return a kind answer for a gibe. Give one of these to every child in your class. Then you'll find that they'll leave you alone."
Galling
My poor father really believed this. So did I, until I had shared out my sweets. You cannot imagine how galling it is to be jeered at by girls whose mouths are full of one's sweets.
So it came to pass that I found out that it is impossible to make people like one at a very early age, no matter how much one craves their approval.
But if my father's advice about the sweets missed its mark, his quotation about the honey and vinegar - culled, I subsequently learned, from St Francis de Sales - has always remained firm part of my outlook.
My mother, and later my husband, always sent me to shops with messages which they felt unable to deliver. My husband used to pretend he didn't belong with me when I returned empties to the bottle store, or overdue books to the library.
I just cannot see why such actions should be embarrassing. I have friends in most of the shops, apart from the department store counter whose attendant had annoyed me.
Since it was my money which was passing over the counter, I felt free to comment adversely.
My father's warning came true in a different way that time. I didn't catch that fly with my barrelful of vinegar.
Lead
Generally, however, I try to be pleasant to people, even when they're being nasty. It's become such a habit by now that even when someone attacks me and I want to reply in kind, my tongue seems to turn to lead and refuses to co-operate.
That spoonful of honey, I think; and can one minute's satisfaction at successfully countering a verbal attack ensure me a lasting victory? Is it worth it?
By that time my foe has already turned away, bearing the honours of war.
Merely polite
Afraid lest my silence betokened cowardice, I spoke to the late Fr Norbert Jansen about it one day. He was not only brilliant, but simple too, so that no problem ever seemed small to him.
"Cowardly?" he said, "On the contrary, when you return a pleasant answer for a gibe, you are being polite."
Catherine Nicolette
I went through my fair share of difficulties at school, too. Looking back, I realise that I experienced bullying.
From what I glean from conversations and the media, bullying seems to be a universal experience. Many suffer from this misery in their formative years, and it generally leaves a deep impression - if not scarring.
I dealt with the bullying as best I could. It was when the bullying turned to violence I used to find it hard to cope with.
I had heard the teaching of Jesus in Matthew 5;39; "But I say to you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also."
I decided to follow this teaching; so the next time I was bullied I refused to fight back. Puzzled, my antagonist slapped me on my cheek. The tears sprang to my eyes, but I clenched my fists and quavered, "I want to be like Jesus. If you slap me on my right cheek, I'll offer you my left cheek." Bravely I proffered my little face, thinking that the other would leave me alone. In answer I got a fist to the face that left me, for the first time in my life, understanding what it meant to literally see stars.
My lip started bleeding, and one of my teeth felt loose. This was not good. I turned to flee, and, as I did so, the other child jeered, "Want to be like Jesus, do you? Well, let me help you!" And as the child's friends laughed, a kick landed on my posterior, and sent me flying into the dust. I scrabbled away before any more happened.
I sat for a long time after I had cleaned off the blood, dirt and tears. Poking an exploratory tongue around the by now decidedly wobbly tooth, I sighed. Being a Christian was promising to be no walk in the park. I wasn't sure how to deal with the issue, but one thing was certain; I wasn't going back to be pounded again.
For two months I tried to sit as little as possible. It was painful sitting through classes, but as I was too shy and scared to show the bruising on my lower spine, I did the best I could.
Thereafter I used to hide behind the bushes, and leg it home only after I had safely seen my tormenters long go by.
I don't have any easy answers to the conundrum of bullying; all I know is, I have always tried not to use bullying behaviour myself.
I would not want anyone to ever feel the way I did.
As an adult, you thankfully heal - but as a child, you are so very vulnerable . . .
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