s.a.c.j.

by Andy Oliver

I was going to my optometrist’s office when it happened. The day was dark and it

started to rain. I tripped and fell forward onto my extended right arm. Bam! I instantly felt both

the shock and numbness in my right arm and felt my face smashing unto the cold pavement.

My left hand immediately clutched onto my right hand. I sat on the curb and cried from the

pain and uncertainty. I felt very vulnerable and disappointed as the sky got darker. I thought

about why it happened. The obvious is the street crossing had been dug up and had shoddy

repairs done on it. I then heard my grandmother’s voice.

When in 3rd grade, I was harassed and picked on by a bully named Wayne. By today’s

standards, he was a special needs child. Back then, there was no such thing as special

education, and Wayne used to get spanked in front of his whole class. Swatting problem

children was common and accepted. He was also THE school bully.

He didn’t like me or many other children. To get me riled up, he would fart behind me in

the lunchroom while I was eating. He also got in my face for him to make distorted faces at me.

He called me “sissy” several times.

Fourth grade started and I went to first day of school with waist length hair, wore denim

pants with long red, fringed moccasins. I also wore love beads that my aunt had given me. One

of the students named Joseph told me I looked like a sheepherder. I wasn’t expecting

comments but felt happy because someone noticed. The harassment continued for a month

and it was constant to the point where I wished he wasn’t there. If he wasn’t there, it would all

be okay.

Students were allowed go outside to recess after lunchtime. One day I was sitting on the

curb of the service road to the kitchen and gym. Wayne came out and immediately went up to

my face, calling me “sissy, sissy” and making faces. After a few minutes, he would not leave.

When I got up to leave, he pushed me and threw dirt at me. The harassment turned ugly when

I responded by pushing back. A fight started in the dirt. We struggled and wrestled each other.

We were on the ground when I twisted and pushed his arm behind him.

Snap! I felt his arm weaken and loosen its grip. He immediately started crying and

screaming, holding his right arm. I got up and dusted myself of him and the dirt. I just looked

into his mouth while the recess bell rang. I couldn’t believe I stood up for myself and felt like I

had won something--a wrestling match. Reality came over me and I became frightened. The

curious group of students broke up and went to their classes.

I got to my classroom before everyone else. I felt like I was on the run and filled with

anxiety and uncertainness. My stomach tightened and turned into a knot. I could physically feel

my muscle flex in my stomach. After a few minutes into the beginning of class, there was a loud

knock on the door. I heard voices talking in the hallway. I then heard “Andy Oliver, can you

come with us?” It was the principal, Mr. Pierce, and the PE teacher, Mr. Larsen. Mrs. Briggs, my

teacher, helped me to the door and class resumed. The hallway was empty and got to the

office where I was given a short lecture on human anatomy. Mr. Larsen told me about the

limitations of the human arm. “You should not push a person’s arm higher than it naturally

reaches.” Then they asked me, “what happened?”

I told them my side of the story and said I was “defending myself.” There was no

spanking. I got sick as I left the principal’s office and vomited in the hallway and on myself. The

nurse cleaned me up and drove me home to my grandma’s, because of acute illness. My

grandma then talked to me after I told her what happened. That’s when she warned me and

said, “you must not do that. It can come back on you when you get older,” in our Navajo

language.

There were a lot of snotty, obnoxious students at school and among them was Alvis. We

were both in 4th grade. He approached me and asked me if I wanted to join his after school

club. Wow! Me? Getting invited to join a club. Alvis gave me the directions to his home, where

the club meeting was held. I was happy and became friends with Alvis, or so I thought. The club

was actually along a walking route that my brother and I used to walk home after school. One

day, I decided to stop by and check it out. I knocked on the front screen door and Alvis’ mom’s

voice said “Alvis is in the garage.”

I went around the house and came to a back door to the garage. I slowly approached

and I was greeted by Alvis. We went inside the garage. When I entered, I noticed there were

other students, sitting on a small section of chairs facing a main table. The main table had 4

stations set. There were paper name plates with names and title carefully written across the

front. There was Alvis as president, Nelson as vice president, Thomas as secretary, and Joseph

as the treasurer. I recognized some of the students through the somewhat dark makeshift

clubhouse. However, there were no girls.

At this meeting, Alvis told us the reason for the club is to start a war against “Cookie

Jar,” who was the latest bully. Cookie Jar got his name because of his pudgy body and sugar

bowl shaped ears.

We were told to never, ever, reveal what “s.a.c.j.,” the group’s name stood for. Only

members were told the name and knew the meaning and purpose of the club. We each wrote

“s.a.c.j.” on our bookcovers. The” s.a.c.j.” stood for Sissies Against Cookie Jar. We met several

times and sometimes Alvis’ brother would try to enter the closed meeting. Alvis said “Melvin is

not a sissy and has no business here.” He just wanted some of our snacks and refreshments,

which were always available thanks to our $1 club dues.

The agenda usually consisted of how Cookie Jar had behaved badly. He bullied by

pushing the students, calling them names, pulling other children’s hair. The plan was to end the

bullying at school. A plan we devised was to treat Cookie Jar badly and call him “Cookie Jar!”

One of us would accidently keep bumping into him, while the others would hit his back while he

was hunched over at the water fountain. Another person would knock his books and belongings

off his desk.

After a few accidents and incidents, Cookie Jar stopped. He reported our private little

club to his mother then the principal. We thought all was okay because Cookie Jar stopped his

bullying. However, after a few days we all got called into the principal’s office. We got called in

to his office by rank: president, vice president, secretary, and treasurer. I was last and I realized

I was the enforcer. I was glad I was last because I thought he would be tired of spanking the

others before he got to me. Mr. Pierce had one arm. Instead, we just got a good talking to.

He said we deserved swats but instead, told us to disband our club and to not associate

with each other after school. Cookie Jar and his mom were sitting in the front office and he was

peeking from behind his mother. He looked defeated and looked like the little chubby boy that

he was. I then saw myself in the reflection on the glass door. I realized and felt shameful that I

had become the bully myself. With that, the club was gone. No one got bullied after that.

Karma? I thought, “perhaps,” as I was sitting there on the curb. I got paid back,

although I thought I escaped the 54 year old curse.