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earleofsteve · 4 years ago

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The "Cliff Notes" version of my bullying story written on December 10, 2019

Once upon a time, there was a young man with certain physical features that made him stick out from his classmates. We shall call this young man SJ to protect his anonymity. Every day that SJ went to school, he was mercilessly mocked for these physical features. Even after school, in the neighborhood where he lived, certain neighborhood kids would mock him as well. SJ couldn't escape the mocking except for inside his own home or the homes of relatives. Needless to say, the day after day bullying abuse really wore him down and eventually took his voice away. Towards the end of the eighth grade when his hair grew to a length sufficient to cover his ears, the mocking finally stopped; but, the damage had been done. SJ was nearly non-verbal.

The high school years were not too bad for SJ. He got good grades. He was on the basketball team. He discovered the wonders of beer. He didn't date though. Not that he didn't want to. He just was unable to communicate with the fairer sex. You see, largely due to the bullying, SJ developed this thing; where, when a young woman would approach him and try to engage him in conversation his anxiety level would go through the roof and he would be unable to say anything. This inability to talk on SJ's part was often mistaken for disinterest or perhaps that SJ was just stuck-up or that he had no interest in women. None of which was true.

After high school, SJ worked in his Dad's car business for three years before deciding it wasn't really for him. Those three years were also SJ's party years before he left the car business and went off to college. In college, a couple of very nice young women tried to engage SJ in conversation; but, alas, his stupid anxiety and inability to speak got in the way again. It looked at this point like SJ was destined to be a single man for the rest of his life.

Fast forward to July of 2000 when SJ meets Al & Millie Castor at a music festival in Evart, Michigan. He then gets invited to their home in the U. P. for a Labor Day Weekend jam and SJ has the time of his life strumming along with these fabulous musicians; and, due to their encouragement, SJ even sings his very first song in front of others. Do you know how hard it is to muster the strength to sing in front of others when a person has been unable to talk for a significant portion of their life? That my friends was when the first crack was put in the shell that SJ had longed to break out all of his life.

But the story doesn't end there. On October 17, 2000 a miracle happens. God himself steps in and gives SJ his voice back. God himself helps SJ start to deal for the first time in his life with all the pain that the bullying inflicted on him. Good news isn't it? Not so fast SJ. You need to be hospitalized. God doesn't directly help people. Never has. Never will. You need to be medicated. Thus begins a very difficult, prolonged chapter of SJ's life. Some that know this story will remember SJ saying way back in October of 2000, "I don't need those doctors. I need God, my family and my friends." Those words were true then and they are still true today. Do you know what the problem is with those pills that SJ was force fed? They don't get to the root of the problem. Trauma due to bullying, loneliness, isolation. How do you fix those with a pill? Can you get Jesus in a pill? Do good friends come in a pill? Do family members that believe your October 2000 story come in a pill?

Fast forward to October 2011. SJ meets a beautiful, blue-eyed, bluegrass loving, bass playing, 'Till The End of the World Rolls Around kind of woman at the Branch St Retreat. SJ courts this lovely woman. She says she has never been courted before. Is courting old-fashioned or something? The following September, Labor Day Weekend 2012, SJ gets down on one knee and asks this wonderful woman if she would be his wife. She says yes. They get married and live happily ever after in a cabin in the pines in the hills of ... Well, actually, the cabin in the pines part of the story has not happened yet; but, hopefully soon it will.

THE END

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earleofsteve · 4 years ago

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"Hey Dumbo" story, update #1. Written by Steve Jacobs on December 2, 2000 at 8:18 pm.

Do you ever get the feeling that no one in the world understands you? Well I get that feeling everyday of my life. My family understands me on some levels, my friends on other levels, but nobody really understands who I am. Well I intend to change that. My hope is that after reading this you will understand me as well as I do. I've gone on a journey of self-discovery over the past month that I’m only beginning to understand.

I met a woman a month ago. She was the first person I tried to tell this story to. Since then I've lost count of how many people I have told this story to. Each time I have told this story it has made me feel a little better. The story has come out in bits and pieces over the last month and at times it didn't make a lot of sense. I’m still struggling to make sense out of it myself. I've always been better at expressing my thoughts by writing them down rather than by speaking them. This is my first attempt at writing down my story. It’s a good story. It’s the story of my life. Telling it has helped me and I think it may even be able to help you.

Why did I start telling this story? I am 37 years old and I am the quietest person I know. I have spent 95 percent of my life listening and 5 percent talking. Prior to a month ago I couldn't string three sentences together without having to be resuscitated. You ask the people who know me. They will tell you how quiet I am. Why am I so quiet? There are reasons why I’m quiet and I’ll tell you what they are as best I can. Don’t get me wrong, I've had a great life in so many ways and I have many things to be thankful for. But there have been some hard times too. When I speak of the hard times I don’t want people to take pity on me or feel sorry for me. It’s part of who I am and you need to know these things if you are to understand me. Here’s my story. I hope you like it.

May 24, 1963 I was born a poor black child. If that offends you that’s too bad. It’s from the movie “The Jerk” with Steve Martin. It’s a funny movie. You should watch it. I’m going to throw a bunch of names at you. I don’t expect you to remember them all; they’re just characters in my story. My Dad’s name is Walter and my mother’s name is Kathy. I’m the oldest of three children. My sister Sharon was born in 1964 and my sister Janice in 1966.

My Mom is from Delaware and most of her family still lives there. My Dad met my Mom while he was in the Air Force stationed in Dover, Delaware. I was born in Neenah, Wisconsin at Theda Clark hospital and grew up in Menasha, Wisconsin. My Dad’s parent’s names are Al and Millie Jacobs. They had four children. Annette is the oldest followed by my Dad and twin girls Ruth and Rhoda.

There were six adults that were a major influence on me while I was growing up. They were my Mom and Dad, my grandparents Al and Millie, and my Aunt Rhoda and her husband Roy. My Aunt Rhoda and Uncle Roy had four children. Allen was a year older than me. Sue is my age. Dawn is my sister Sharon’s age and Karen is the same age as my sister Janice. My aunts Annette and Ruth lived in other parts of the country while I grew up. I don’t mean to slight them in any way because they are wonderful people. But since they lived far away they were less of an influence on me as I grew up.

My grandmother Millie was a wonderful person. She had the kind of love that could light up a room. You could be across the room from her and you felt loved. She was an outgoing talkative person. My grandfather Al was a little more quiet and reserved than my grandmother but he also was a warm loving person. My grandfather was the musician of the family. He played music all the time. I can’t remember a time that our family got together that he didn't play music. He played by himself, sometimes with friends, sometimes when it seems no one was listening. What my grandfather couldn't say with words he said with his music. His music came from his heart.

Our family was a little more on the quiet side while my Aunt Rhoda’s family was always more outgoing and talkative. I always enjoyed going to my Aunt Rhoda and Uncle Roy’s house because they were fun people to be around and they always made you feel welcome. I still enjoy going to my cousins Sue, Dawn, and Karen’s houses for much the same reason. The point I want to make is that I was born into a warm loving family. I don’t just mean my immediate family but my extended family as well. They’re all wonderful people that have helped me in so many ways over the years. If I didn't have a warm loving family I would have self-destructed years ago.

When I was young we used to have a cottage in northern Wisconsin. It was a small cottage on Pier Lake. There was an entryway, one main room, a room in the back with two queen size bunkbeds, and that was it. Some of the fondest memories of my childhood were at that cottage. Our family, Rhoda and Roy’s, and my grandparents grew close by spending time together in that little cottage. We laughed together and we played together. Grandpa played his music. Sometimes he had guests over to play music. There was love in that cottage. I’m so thankful for that love. It’s what’s kept me going for so many years.

I was loved and I was very happy the first five years of my life. Things started to change once I started going to school. There was something about me that made me different from the other kids. I was born with large ears that stuck out like you wouldn't believe. If a stiff wind would kick up I would take off like a helicopter. I’m exaggerating but you get the idea. If you’re different from other kids they let you know about it. Kids can be cruel. I was teased about my ears every day I went to school up until about the ninth grade when I grew my hair over my ears. Kids weren't that original. It was the same names year after year. Dumbo, elephant ears, big ears, or just ears.

The first five years of my life I never knew I had big ears. Nobody told me I had big ears. My ears weren't an issue. I was loved and that’s all that mattered. The first memory I have of being called a name was at St. Mary’s grade school in Menasha. There was a courtyard that separated the grade school from the gym where lunch was served. I was in the courtyard with a hundred or so other students waiting to get into the gym for lunch. There was a young girl standing on the steps above me and that name came. Hey Dumbo! All of the other students turned around to look at me. That’s when I knew for the first time that I was different than the other kids.

I got teased every single day I went to school. It never stopped. I would come home from school crying and tell my Mom that kids were calling me names. Her advice was to ignore them so that’s what I did. I stood there and took it. I took it everyday from the first grade up until about the ninth grade. I never stood up for myself. There was only about five or six kids that would call me names but nobody ever helped me stand up to those kids. The other kids, my friends, teachers, principals, coaches, nobody stepped in to help me. I was quiet so I didn't ask for help but no one ever tried to put a stop to it. Why? I get angry when I think about it.

Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me. I always hated that expression. Names hurt more than a lot of people realize. I tried to ignore the names but when you hear them every single day of your life it starts to become a part of you. I remember seeing the movie “Frankenstein” when I was a kid. That movie made me cry. Do you know why it made me cry? Frankenstein is this monster with green skin and bolts coming out of his neck. The people in the village are terrified of him. Underneath Frankenstein is a really gentle creature. The people in the village don’t see that. All they can see is what’s on the outside. Frankenstein goes to a blind man’s home. The blind man welcomes Frankenstein into his home and feeds him. I remember thinking is that all people see when they look at me, a monster with 2 big ears? Why can’t they look beyond my ears and see all the good underneath?

End of December 2, 2000 update to "My Dumbo" story. Just so you know, I offered to share my writing with my psychiatrist, shortly after I had been locked up in the "cuckoo's nest" for a week. My doctor told me he didn't want to read my "manic ramblings." Apparently, one does not need to get to know a patient in order to treat them. If there are "magic potions from Mordor" what else do you need? Why attack the root of a problem when you can sprinkle "magic dust" on it?

#Dumbo #Ears #Jeers #Bullying

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earleofsteve · 4 years ago

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"Hey Dumbo" story, update #2. Written by Steve Jacobs, on October 7, 2002.

Hand me down my walking cane, hand me down my walking cane, hand me down my walking cane I’m gonna leave on the morning train my sins they have over taken me. Where are those words from? They’re from a song that was written before I was born. A man I know named Virgil sang that song for me in Winfield, Kansas. Who is Virgil? Virgil is a nice old man and a heck of a guitar player and a storyteller. How old is Virgil? I don’t know. Does it matter? I don’t think so. He’s older than me that’s all I know. How old am I? I’m not going to tell you just yet. It’s kind of like this little story this nice man named Harold brought to bible study the other night. You had to guess the age of a woman from the facts presented in the story. We’ll do something similar here. I’ll give you some facts along the way and you tell me who I am at the end of the story. Here’s my story. I hope you like it.

Why am I telling this story? One reason is I’d like for people to understand me better. My family understands me on some levels, my friends on other levels, but in general I think I’m somewhat of a mystery to most people. The main reason for that is I’m pretty quiet so people have a hard time figuring me out. A second reason for telling this story is to help make sense out of the things that have been happening to me over the last couple of years. Hopefully by telling my story people will get a better sense of who I am and at the same time I’ll gain a better understanding of myself . I tried telling this story to a woman I met a couple of years ago and it didn't come out the way I intended it to. I actually tried to tell it to a lot of people including my family but no one seemed to want to listen. I've always been a better writer than a speaker so I’m going to try to tell this story one more time and hopefully this time I’ll get it right. I think the best place to start my story is in the summer of 2000. Here’s my story. I hope you like it.

In July of 2000 my nephew Scott and I traveled to a music festival called the Dulcimer Funfest in Evart, MI. I was first introduced to that festival when my cousin Dawn and I went there with my grandfather in 1992 and then again in 1993. My grandfather died in October of 1993 and I hadn't been back to Evart since that time. I was glad to have my nephew Scott along this time and expose him to some of the traditional string type music my grandfather loved so much. I had recently bought this mini-disc recorder and heard some music I really liked coming from the people camped next to us. So I brought my recorder over and started recording them play and sing. One lady in particular was kind of curious about my recorder and began talking to me. She took a liking to me and told me later that I reminded her of her grandson.

I had brought along a dulcimer, two guitars, and a mandolin and Scott and I would play music by our camper, walk around, attend workshops, or just listen. And every time the group camped next to us would play I’d bring my little recorder over and tape them. I just loved their playing and singing. One day the nice lady that asked me about my recorder introduced me to her husband and I found out that their names were Al and Millie. What a coincidence I told them. My grandparents were named Al and Millie too. The strange thing was that even their personalities were similar to my grandparents. Millie was very outgoing and talkative while Al was a little more reserved.

One day I was playing the guitar by myself outside my camper and one of the neighbors named Jim invited me to play with the group next door. I was a little shy about it at first but they made me feel welcome and before long I was having the time of my life. They were all excellent musicians, really nice people, and fun to play with. I was so pumped up by the experience I could hardly sleep that night and got up around 5:00 the next morning ready to do it all over again. That was really unusual for me because I am not an early riser. For the rest of the week I played with the group next door every chance I could get. I couldn't get enough of it and was sad to see the week come to an end. Before we left Millie invited us to their home for Labor Day Weekend to play music with many of the people we had just met.

So I headed back home for a few weeks and when Labor Day Weekend came around I packed up my camper again and headed north to Upper Michigan which is where Al & Millie live. My nephew Scott didn’t come along with me this time. I arrived there around 11:00 at night and Millie greeted me in her bathrobe and gave me a big hug and said she was getting worried about me since I was so late. I went into their house and there were a few people playing in Millie’s loom room so I sat in there for a little bit and listened. Then I went into the kitchen and was greeted by a lot of the player’s wives. I immediately felt welcome. None of them knew me very well but they treated me like they had known me for years. I think Millie might have given me a piece of pie. She is just as warm and generous of a person as you’d ever want to meet.

Al & Millie have around 15-20 campers set up at their place for the Labor Day Weekend. The whole weekend is filled with nothing but music, friendship and laughter. Outside of my family I have never met a group of people that have treated me as nice as these people do. I've been there three times now and to me I feel like part of a family when I’m there. They have a barn where people gather and play music. They also play music in the loom room, out on the porch, or by their campers. Some local people from town come to play and to listen. They’re all fantastic musicians and I’ve learned so much by getting a chance to play with them. On Saturday night they have a big cookout and on Sunday morning they have a gospel sing and Millie and her helpers make homemade pasties. By the time Monday rolls around you can hardly get me to leave I’m having so much fun.

You might ask what kind of music they play. I try not to get too hung up on labels. I just call it good music. As far as instruments go they are all acoustic type instruments like the guitar, mandolin, fiddle, dobro, banjo, and bass. People play all hours of the day and late into the night. I usually stay up until the last tune is played. I can’t get enough of it. I’m kind of like a musical sponge, trying to soak up as much good music as I can. How it normally works is people gather in a circle of about five to ten people, sometimes more of sometimes less. Each person has a chance to play or sing a song and then you move on to the next person. The singer kind of leads the song and the group plays along. Sometimes the singer will give a nod to one of the players and they’ll take an instrumental break. I play mostly rhythm or accompaniment and try to play whatever best matches the song. I’m not really much of a lead player but that doesn't bother me. I like providing the harmony and rhythm. There are a lot of really good players there that can take the lead and it’s fun to play along with them.

I started playing the guitar about 1990 and for the most part have played alone. I got a chance to play with my grandfather a little bit before he died. Sometimes I get a chance to play with my cousins but that’s pretty rare. Mostly I’m self-taught. I sing when I play but am very shy about singing in front of other people. I sing too quietly and sometimes have a hard time hearing myself over my guitar. I've tried singing a couple of times with my cousin’s husband Chris. He has a nice voice and is a good singer so I usually let him do the singing. One time I remember being at a party trying to sing a song and someone laughed at me. I don’t like being laughed at. I’m just trying to get comfortable singing in front of other people so encourage me, please don’t laugh at me. Everybody has to start somewhere. Anyway I think I have a decent voice and sometimes at home I’ll be singing and think to myself wow that really sounded good. The sad thing is that no one was there to hear it but me. Anyway I guess I have a self-confidence problem about singing in front of other people.

So back to Al and Millie’s, Labor Day Weekend 2000. I think it was Sunday night. I had been there since Friday night and had been playing music pretty much nonstop since I got there. Whenever my turn to play or sing would come up I would always pass. I just wasn't comfortable enough to sing in front of a group of people. Anyway my turn came up again sometime late on Sunday night and they kept on encouraging me to sing a song. There was one song I had just learned that had been going through my head for the last couple of weeks. To tell the truth I couldn't get it out of my head I liked it so much. I had just heard it a couple of weeks before and when I heard the words to the song they hit me pretty hard. It made me cry the first time I heard it. I’m an emotional kind of guy and some songs just touch me somewhere deep inside. This was one of those songs. Here’s the words for you. It’s a song called “Thy Burdens are Greater than Mine.

Traveling down a lonely highway I knew not where the road would end Not a penny in my pocket All alone without a friend

In a little country village I met a man and he was blind As I helped him across the highway I cried thy burdens are greater than mine

I can see the light of day and I need not feel my way Yes thy burdens are greater than mine

Saw a lad while on his travels Trying hard to play the game Though his legs were very crippled And he could not speak his name

Still he smiled in understanding Though life to him had been unkind And as I watched I cried in sorrow Son thy burdens are greater than mine

I can speak my name aloud and make my way among the crowd Yes thy burdens are greater than mine

Just by chance I passed a graveyard Saw a young man kneeling there In his hand there were some roses On his lips there was a prayer

On a stone these words were written Your soul is God’s your memory mine And as I watched I cried in sorrow Friend thy burdens are greater than mine

Just a drifter on the road I got no friends I got no home Yes thy burdens are greater than mine Yes thy burden are greater than mine

That song was written before I was born too. Why don’t people write songs like that anymore? So I sang that song in that little barn at Al & Millie’s. It was the first time in my life except maybe a couple times with family and that one party that I sang in front of other people. I was so nervous my hands were shaking and I couldn't hold the guitar pick so I strummed the strings with my fingers. Luckily they had a microphone or they never would of heard me I sing so quietly. So I fumbled my way through the song singing the best I could for how nervous I was. All the time I was singing people were giving me words of encouragement. Come on Steve you can do it. Sounds good. Keep it up. Stuff like that. After the second verse someone asked about taking a break and I told them I was just about done. I thought they were asking me if I needed a break. I didn't realize it at the time but that person wanted to take an instrumental break. So I just went ahead and finished the song. Nobody laughed at me, told me how much I sucked. One girl there told me I had a nice voice. Somebody else told me it sounded good I just needed to sing louder. The point I want to make is those people built me up, they didn't try to tear me down. They encouraged me like I have never been encouraged before.

Shortly thereafter the music wound down for the night and I went back to my camper. I was filled with a sense of joy and elation like I had never felt before in my life. A few people passed by my camper and wished me good night. I was on top of the world and wished I could go through the rest of my life feeling as happy as I did then. I put my guitar away and crawled into my sleeping bag for the night. As I lay there and reflected on the evening I felt very happy inside with one exception. It seemed like everyone gathered there had a husband or a wife except for me. I felt lonely and wished I had someone special in my life to share this experience with. So I said a prayer that night to God to help me find someone to love. The next day I packed up my stuff and said my good-byes to my new friends. Millie gave me an ice cream pail full of peanut butter cookies and I was on my way. It was Labor Day 2000 and my next destination was another music festival in Winfield, Kansas.

Before I get too far along in my story I’d like to take you back in time for a while. So climb aboard my time machine and I’ll take you back to my humble beginnings. I was born a poor black child. If that offends you that’s too bad. It’s from the movie “The Jerk” with Steve Martin. It’s a funny movie. You should watch it. I’m going to throw some names at you. I don’t expect you to remember them all; they’re just characters in my story. My Dad’s name is Walter and my mother’s name is Kathy. I’m the oldest of three children. I have one sister named Janice and another sister named Sharon. Sharon is the older of the two.

There were six adults that were a major influence on me while I was growing up. They were my Mom and Dad, my grandparents Al and Millie, and my Aunt Rhoda and Uncle Roy. My Aunt Rhoda and Uncle Roy had four children. Allen was a year older than me. Sue is my age. Dawn is my sister Sharon’s age and Karen is the same age as my sister Janice. My aunts Annette and Ruth lived in other parts of the country while I grew up. I don’t mean to slight them in any way because they are wonderful people. But since they lived farther away they were less of an influence on me as I grew up.

My grandmother Millie was a wonderful person. She had the kind of love that could light up a room. You could be across the room from her and you felt loved. She was an outgoing talkative person. My grandfather Al was a little more quiet and reserved than my grandmother but he also was a warm loving person. My grandfather was the musician of the family. He played music all the time. I can’t remember a time that our family got together that he didn't play music. He played by himself, sometimes with friends, sometimes when it seemed no one was listening. What my grandfather couldn't say with words he said with his music. His music came from his heart.

I got teased every single day I went to school. It never stopped. I would come home from school crying and tell my Mom that kids were calling me names. Her advice was to ignore them so that’s what I did. I stood there and took it. I took it every day from the first grade up until about the ninth grade. I never stood up for myself. There was only about five or six kids that would call me names but nobody ever helped me stand up to those kids. The other kids, my friends, teachers, principals, coaches, nobody stepped in to help me. I was quiet so I didn't ask for help but no one ever tried to put a stop to it. Why? I get angry when I think about it.

Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me. I always hated that expression. Names hurt more than a lot of people realize. I tried to ignore the names but when you hear them every single day of your life it starts to become a part of you. I remember seeing the movie “Frankenstein” when I was a kid. That movie made me cry. Do you know why it made me cry? Frankenstein is this monster with green skin and bolts coming out of his neck. The people in the village are terrified of him. Underneath Frankenstein is a really gentle creature. The people in the village didn't see that. All they can see is what’s on the outside. Frankenstein goes to a blind man’s home. The blind man welcomes Frankenstein into his home and feeds him. I remember thinking is that all people see when they look at me, a monster with 2 big ears? Why can’t they look beyond my ears and see all the good underneath?

So why did I tell you the story about my ears? Because I have been held down all my life because of those names I was called as a child. Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me. Well those names hurt me in more ways than I even realize and still affect me until this very day. How have the names affected me? I've watched my sisters, cousins, and friends get married and raise children. I’m a lonely man who has never had a serious relationship with a woman in his life. I can barely string three sentences together without having to be resuscitated. I can write my ass off but can’t talk my way out of a wet paper bag. I’m a smart man but very few people realize it because I never say anything. I’m an outgoing person trapped in a quiet person’s body. I have come nowhere near to realizing my full potential. I've been tied down for far too long and now I want to fly.

Yes, I have shared this story before. Do you understand why I keep on telling it over and over again? Have you ever thrown a stone into a pond or lake and seen the ripples going out from it? I'm just trying to send out some positive ripples into this world. God knows we need them.

#Bullying

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