When I was 9 or 10 years old, I had my first – and only – major run in with a bully.  Another kid in the neighborhood, I’m going to call him “Tom,” (which isn’t his name), was the bully running around with his own “gang” for a while.  If you envision a younger, bicycle-riding version of “Bif” and his gang from the movie “Back to the Future,”  you will have a pretty good image.

“Tom” and his boys would ride around the Amity Gardens neighborhood and terrorize younger kids.  Most of us should have understood the pattern long before things hit “critical mass” but how often is this little fact missed by everyone?  As a general rule, bullies pick on those who are weaker, smaller, less powerful than themselves.  They seldom – if ever – actually show any willingness to engage in a “fair fight.”  This was certainly the case with these kids.

I don’t fully remember how I ended up in Tom’s crosshairs, but I’m pretty sure it began when I stopped him from beating up a younger kid in the road right outside his own home.  I was riding home from school, coming around the corner onto Tom’s street, which was up a pretty steep hill from my home.  (By the way, the steep hill comes into play and is important.)

Tom’s gang were astride their bikes in a kind of circle while Tom’s Raleigh Chopper was parked on it’s kickstand.  He was repeatedly head-slapping a young kid, maybe 3 or 4 years younger than the rest of us, when I rode up.  I yelled at him, LEAVE THAT KID ALONE!” and hopped off my own bike.  (The bikes are also important – we’d traded insults back and forth before.  Most of us thought a Raleigh Chopper like the one above was a really goofy looking bike.  Since we all road either Huffy’s like my lemon-lime “Slingshot Rail” on the left or Schwinn Stingrays like the rich kids could afford, we looked on Tom’s Chopper as a definite “2nd Rate Ride.”)

Tom kind of sneered at me and said, “Stay out of this or you’re next.”  His first mistake, since I was in the same grade he was in.  I had a flash of insight, walked over and grabbed his Chopper by the handlebars, put up the kickstand, and walked it across the road, calling to Tom; “You probably want to leave the kid alone, since you’re going to have to go get your piece of crap bike…”  All this as I was pushing his bike as hard as I could down the steep hill into the neighbor’s yard.  The bike had a great unmanned glide; it went down the first hill, across the yard, and then tumbled down the 2nd slope where it crashed in the gravel driveway.

Tom screamed, chased off after his bike, and I pulled the kid out of the gang’s circle and told him, “Go home now.  Run, don’t stop.”  Tom was picking up his bike down the hill, I shook my head “no” at his pals and walked over to my own bike.  As I got on, Tom was screaming, “You are DEAD!  I’m going to beat you to a pulp!!!”  I kind of waved and rode home, pretty much forgetting the incident.

Until Tom and his gang began targeting me every chance they had.  I had several back and forth verbal sparring matches with him, trying to convey to him that I really didn’t want to fight him, thought fighting was stupid and childish anyway, and he should really just let it go.  Of course, that lead to the taunts of “CHICKEN!”  (Among other things.)  Which went on – Oh, I don’t know – maybe 2 or 3 weeks?  One day, I rode around the corner to see Tom, his gang, and maybe 5 or 6 “extras” they had picked up, all waiting and ready.  They surrounded me with an opening for Tom to ride his bike through.  “You can’t get away this time Chicken.  You’re gonna get beat up just like I said you were.”  (I’ll give Tom some credit; he could be pretty dramatic when he wanted to.  He decidedly put on a good show for his boys, getting off his bike with kind of a swaggering air about him.)

So?  Long story short?  As much as I was opposed to fighting and detested the idiotic brawling some of the kids in my neighborhood seemed to think was a proof of their “toughness,” I didn’t see any way out of this.  So I hit him.  As hard as I could.  Right in the stomach with a full-blown hard-fisted, right cross.  No hand slapping here.  Put as much of my weight and power into that punch as I possibly could.

And Tom went down like a sack of potatoes.  Holding his stomach, wheezing, a kind of glassy-eyed look of disbelief on his face.  Then as he began to pull himself to his feet… he started crying!  Walked over to his Raleigh Chopper, put his forehead down on the seat… wheezing still… holding his stomach… and crying!

“Good Lord…” I said. (Or something to that effect.)  And that’s when it hit me:  Most bullies are just babies when it comes to a fair fight and they suddenly find themselves receiving what they so indiscriminately dish out to those smaller and weaker than they are.  I walked out of the circle of bikes, said something like “What a god-awful baby,” got on my Huffy and road home.  And never worried about Tom again.

Here’s the point:  This guy on the left?  He’s “Tom.”  He’s nothing but a bully.  (Well, not exactly; let’s not lose sight of the fact that he’s also a narcissistic sociopath whose mental illness should be obvious to even the casual observer.)  He’s really good at picking on those who are weaker, smaller, less-powerful than he is.  But far too many people are either afraid of him, or standing by watching the show he’s putting on for them.  And I expect that, much like my childhood nemesis Tom, it’ll only take one “punch” – right in the gut, hit him as hard as he brags he does to everyone who crosses him… And I’m betting that Trump will finally fold up crying like the baby he is.  He predicts “problems” if he’s indicted like this article points out?  Bring ’em on.  I for one am sick of this mentally ill asshole trying his damndest to destroy everything we were once proud to be.  I think it’s time to realize this is a “punch” that probably cannot be avoided, so let’s get it over with. Knock the shit outta him and then watch him cry like a baby.  And then never worry about him again.