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Punch Me

 

 

In the afternoon, John waited for her in the school courtyard. Just for that day, he repeated. He saw her pale and unhappy face. He took her by the hand and led her away speaking about the weather.

When they entered home, he he made some tea and took the girl into the garden.

“Not an easy day?”

“It was bad.”

“What exactly was bad?”

“They hated me,” said Lara in a choking voice.

“Who hated you?”

“The pupils.”

“How did you know that they hated you?”

“When I entered the classroom, they looked at me and they hated me.”

“How exactly did they look at you so that you felt that they hated you?”

“They looked at me coldly, like someone punched me in the belly.”

“Did everyone punch you in the belly?”

“I don’t know, I couldn’t see everybody.”

“So, there might have been children who did not hate you?”

“I guess so,” Lara reluctantly accepted.

John noticed her stiffness melt and one leg started swaying. “When you felt a punch in the belly, what was that punch like – like a ball, like thunder, like what?”

“Well, like a black ball right here,” Lara closed her eyes and placed a hand on her stomach.

“And what happened with that black ball after it hit you? Did it bounce back, did it disappear or you kept it?”

“Nothing. I kept it…” Lara obviously did not say everything, but John continued.

“And what happened next?”

“I sat down in the bench. The children in front turn around to see me. They made faces. Then, the lesson started and they left me alone.”

“I see. And the black ball stayed in your belly all that time, right?”

Lara touched her stomach again and quietly replied: “Yes, untl the break…”

“What happened during the break?” he mildly asked her.

The girl was reluctant to speak. She blushed and muttered something.

“Did someone do something to you?” asked her John more gently. “Or, did you do something you disliked later on? Or perhaps nothing happened…”

“The girl sitting next to me asked me what my name was, and I told her to get lost!” cried Lara.

John kept his gentle tone. “And what happened then with the black ball?”

“It flew right into her!”

“How are you feeling now, as you are thinking about this?”

“Angry, mad!” said Lara with tears in her voice.

“And what are the tears for?” asked John gently.

“I never cry!” the girl obstinately confronted him.

“But perhaps you would if you could, and you can cry, if you want to…” – the old man’s voice sounded soothing.

“No! I’m only… only.. I’m angry,” uttered Lara and burst into tears.

John took her in her arms, caressing her hair. “Now, now, you dear thing, cry your heart out. It hurt, didn’t it?”

“It hurt,” the girl’s voice came from the hiding face, subdued by tears. “They are mean.”

“Some of them were with mean intention perhaps, the ones that threw the black ball at you and punched you in the stomach. But was the girl next to you mean too?”

“No, she was not mean. She tried to be nice, but I was mean to her,” admitted Lara through tears. “If I didn’t hurt her, we would have talked, and I wouldn’t be so… so alone,” the last words were muffled by another burst of tears.

“But you were hurt by the black ball and felt sick, so you wanted to get that ball out of your stomach, right?”

“Yes,” sniffed Lara.

“And you were entirely right to get rid of that ball, it was not yours anyhow. But what would you have done differently with the ball now?”

“I should have thrown it right back into the kids who hit me!” The anger dried the tears immediately and Lara straightened up in John’s lap, looking at him with resolve.

“What would you have done differently with the girl sitting next to you, if you had a second chance?”

“I would have told her my name,” now the anger was gone, and Lara calmed down. Her face expressed gentle sadness. She cared, John realised.

“Can you ask her about her name tomorrow?”

“I think so. If she lets me.”

“She may not like you at first because you hurt her today, but … you can always apologize. And wait. And try again.”

Lara was quietly sniffing now, nodding her head at John. He let her go from his lap and led her into a chair. He sat down himself, looking at her curiously.

“Lara, tell me one thing: when you were in the orphanage and on the street, did the children punch you?”

“Yeah,” answered Lara.

“Did the ones who punch you make you feel sick, like black balls in the stomach?”

“At first, but then I learnt to be mad at them and… be mean to them, so they left me alone.”

“When you were mean to them, did you feel sick?”

 “No, it was like something would jump out of my stomach and punch them, more like a lighning, not a ball really,” she recalled.

“So, you know how to punch and be punched. Did you do it often?”

“Every day, I think.”

“Were you good at punching?”

“Yes, why!?”

“Why didn’t you punch back today at school?”

“I thought it’d be different. I thought I’m no longer in the orphanage, or on the street, and you said that these kids are different, kinder. I thought I can be with them like with my mates from the gym. I didn’t think that they would punch me at once!”

“So you put your defences down, and some of them punched you. Lara, this is how many human beings are, children and grown-ups, from the orphanage or not: many of them know only to punch and be punched. These punchers - but not all, mind that please - will punch anyone without defences. Without thinking, instinctively. They wouldn’t evne know that they’ve delivered a blow. You are new in the class, so these children-punchers are interested if you are a puncher or a punch-bag. They will treat you as you behave. If you behave like a puncher, they will test your strength or act as punch-bags. If you behave like a punch-bag, they will behave like punchers. Some may even compete with you who a better punch-bag is. People will tend to treat you the way you treat yourself.How did you treat yourself today?”

“I was afraid and not sure whether to punch or not…”

“Or something else,” finished her sentence John. “As you carry traces of punching from your past, they tried their best on you – punching you. One girl did not; she treated you neither as a punch-bag nor as a puncher.”

Lara looked puzzled, but John went on.

“As habitual punching is, not all people have only these two ways in their minds. There are many who do not want to punch or be punched. They are interested in other things, like the friends you have in the gym. You have a common goal with them, and you compete with each other who is better for that common goal, not against each other. At least, Ralph, the master trainer, teaches you to do so. What did the girl next to you do when you … punched her?”

“She turned paler, and she looked into her book.”

“Did you punch her again?”

“No, she did not speak to me again.”

“So she spared herself and you from further hurt by not hurting you back. She withdrew from the mutual punching exercise,” smiled John. “You see, she decided not to play, she did something different – focused on her book - and threw you out of your game: afterwards you could neither punch her nor make her punch you. She did not allow you the alternative.”

Lara gazed at him.

“You can thank her, because she showed you another possibility how to respond when punched: not to respond and to concentrate on your self. This girl, as you ‘advised’ her did get lost from your horizon and returned to her own.”

“Yes, but… She was weak, she did defend herself,” Lara tested the old man’s arguments.

“You may call her weak, but perhaps she has a different strength from your own. Perhaps her strength lies in her controlling her hurt in the stomach… Or, perhaps you are right and she is just weak. Perhaps she is just a punch-bag and you should punch her again tomorrow.” John said the last words with strange calm, without a trace of anger or irony, so that Lara was not sure whether he was serious or not.

“But…”

“But what?” John calmly provoked her.

“I thought things would be different!... What did you say about different ways to react?”

“You don’t want to punch her then tomorrow?”

“No,” said Lara humbly.

 “If I may guess, your real question is what you can do with people who throw black balls at you, right?”

The girl nodded.

“Can you think of the worst person who threw the biggest, the blackest ball at you in your life?”

“There was this big boy in the orphanage; he beat and insulted everyone, for no reason at all. And no-on could do anything…”

“Great! Imagine that boy standing right here in the garden. Close your eyes.”

Lara closed her eyes and frowned. She pointed to where she imagined the boy standing, “And now what?”

“When you look at him, how old do you feel? Nine, or younger?”

“More like three.”

“What does the three year old Lara feel when she looks at this boy?”

“Fear. I’m scared…”

“Are you, the nine-year old scared, or is she, the three-year old scared?”

“The three-year old,” Lara reluctantly smiled.

“Great, now imagine you can see the scared, three-year old Lara in front of you, see how she is scared from the big boy.” Lara nodded. “Now take that little girl in your lap and embrace her. Cover her belly with your strong nine-year old hands, so that no balls can hit her.”

Lara made a movement with her hands as if taking a little child in her lap, embracing it around the shoulders with the left hand and covering the imagined belly with her right hand.

“Good. Ask little Lara what she can do when the big boy throws balls at her?”

“She says, fight or be beaten.”

“Nine-year old Lara, have you done that all your life, either fighting or being beaten?”

“Yes,” the girl answered with trembling lips.

“Look at little Lara’s forehead: if she had something written there, what sentence would she have?”

“’Punch me!’” Lara gasped, with eyes full of tears.

“So, until now you’ve been walking around with ‘Punch me!’ written on your forehead. People did not have many alternatives how to react to you, did they? And you’ve had only two ways of response to people who punched you: either to fight or to be beaten. I’ll ask you now to carefully erase that sentence from little Lara’s forehead and write…” John thought a bit, “’Walk in peace now!’ Would you like such a sentence, or would you prefer another one?”

Lara decisively made a movement as if deleting something and then writing the new sentence in the air. John did not wait for other response. “Now, with the new sentence on the forehead, ‘Walk in peace now!’”

Lara was writing on the imaginary forehead of little Lara with a concerned look.

The old man continued: “And with the mind of a nine-year old Lara, remembering the experience you’ve had with the naewas, can you think of other ways to respond to this boy? Can you advise little Lara what else she can do with the black balls?”

The girl seriously addressed the imaginary child in her arms: “Little Lara, you do not have to take the ball at all. You can put your hands on your belly and the ball will scatter in pieces, or you can hit the ball back, straight into the face of that boy over there… You can made a side-step and let the ball pass by. Or you can circle around the boy so that he never sees you, but you see him and you’ll be safe…”

“Wonderful, how does little Lara respond to all these new ways?”

“She looks at me with open eyes, she likes it.”

“Let’s test what you’ve just said, let’s show little Lara if this really works. Imagine that there is a slow black ball slowly coming from the boy. What would you, the nine-year old, do?”

“Me? I’ll just slap it away!”

“Than wait until the ball comes close and just slap it away.”

Lara made a short wrist-movement with the hand. “Hey, little Lara’s happy!”

“Good, now imagine a slow ball coming onto the two of you again, but now help little Lara slap it away by herself.”

“Alright, I’ll hold her hands and show her how to slap the ball!” exclaimed Lara.

John watched Lara teaching the imaginary child how to slap the ball away. “Well, you can show little Lara all other ways to respond which you named a minute ago, all she can do with the black ball: try with a quick ball afterwards and then with many balls at one.”

Lara just laughed, her forehead beaming.

The old man waited until she opened her eyes and he added quietly, “To punch back is one possible response out of many. In the orphanage, punching was useful. It helped you survive and I respect you for that. However, now you are learning more ways to act and respond. You said you thought that things would be different in the new school. And yet, you must be and behave differently if you want things and people around you to be different. It’s in vain to want others to change. An old saying goes: Change yourself, and the world will follow you in your change.” John waited for the sentence to ring in the air. “For example, you may try kindness. Kindness is an act of magic.”

 

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