Just for Kicks

It smelled like a triple dose of peppermint down the entire hallway. His eyes were red and puffy with tears. Ryan was the fattest kid in Junior High, which meant that he was one of the loneliest. This time a couple bullies had emptied an entire tube of Icy Hot into his underwear while he was in the shower after gym.

I admit with shame that I’ve shared that story since and laughed at the thought of it. Ryan wasn’t laughing that day. The burn of that medicated cream would have made anyone cry. There was far more than that behind his tears.

It‘s horrible how our emotional scars cripple us. One day after that, Ryan started trying to kick me in the shins, laughing as I told him angrily to stop. I was his friend, or the closest thing he had to one, which might be why he felt safe enough to act out his frustrations. He must have known I would stick by him.

We need that safety--when we’re so desperate for affection and can’t figure out how to get it. Any attention will do so that even the anger of a friend feels like love. It’s better than nothing. At least someone responds to us.

The guys who did that to Ryan have probably forgotten all about it. Just another prank pulled on a dare. I’ll bet Ryan remembers though, along with countless other rejections and abuses. Only this time I’m not there to take the kicks. Maybe it’s his dog, or his wife, or his kid, or himself.

Hurting people hurt people. The bullies hurt Ryan. He tries to hurt me. Maybe someone hurts the bullies to begin with and that’s what makes them what they are. The cycle passes on.

Where does it stop? When healing removes the hurt.