Leopoldo

(When 7th Graders Take the High Road)

Photo courtesy of www.artwithjennyk.com

It was just another afternoon in 7^th grade art class, until I looked across the table and noticed the shyest boy in our grade sitting quietly in front of his painting project, crying. The rivulet of a tear silently rolling down one cheek was the only evidence of his pain that wouldn’t keep itself hidden. Paul barely spoke as it was, and during the times he was on the ropes, he went further within – a common defense mechanism of the social outcasts and the bullied with which I was well-practiced.

Paul’s social circle was the geek squad: the boys with an inordinate gifting of brains but very little brawn. Most of the time, things were harmonious amongst the group of them. But on that afternoon, they suddenly turned on Paul and made him their sport. Even the scrawniest of the scrawny feel the need to flex and posture like Johnny Weissmuller, I reckon.

I hadn’t been privy to the entire scenario from my vantage point at the 50-foot stretch of communal table, but they were standing over Paul, leering while they took turns landing verbal punches. Paul sat there in absorption mode, helpless, humiliated and outnumbered.

That is until Leopoldo did something about it. He materialized without any of them noticing, standing in the fray nonchalantly to ask what was going on. The geeks were suddenly speechless, freezing in their tracks with mouths agape.

“You picking on this guy?” he inquired evenly to one of them, staring him square in the eye. Wide-eyed, he could only respond with a faint shaking of his head.

“Yes, you are. I saw it,” said Leopoldo, folding his arms.

Leopoldo was new to the scene in our tiny upstate school district, and he stuck out like a sore thumb…in a way that fascinated teachers and students alike. He possessed a confidence and outgoing personality not usually associated with new-kid syndrome. Leopoldo’s outer-borough city accent only added to the intrigue. And when he talked tough, all of us knew it wasn’t mere posturing – even the older guys gave Leopoldo a wide berth in the hallway. But the most interesting thing about him was, Leopoldo never abused his cache of streetwise power; he seemed utterly uninterested in getting his jollies through random bullying and intimidation.

Which only proves the immutable truths of two of the most well-known of the personality archetypes: bullies are the insecure cowards, choosing without fail a softer, weaker target in order to fabricate the power they wish they had. Those with genuine strength, on the other hand, don’t have any psychological axes to grind; and Leopoldo was Exhibit A for the fortuitous, at-ease-in-his-skin sort of human.

About as rough as Leopoldo got was the occasional laceration-by-sarcasm to put conceited cheerleader in her place, but only if she’d worn down his patience with the repetition of her “I’m better than everyone,” façade that she was accustomed to performing without blowback.

My own history with bullying and being catnip for posturing weaklings is well documented, and yet, Leopoldo never laid a glove on me. That says it all.

I continued to watch the drama unfold across the table, fascinated by the wondrous combination of attention-commanding machismo woven with diplomacy that Leopoldo was wielding without even raising his voice. He continued talking to the boys in measured tones about how what they were doing to Paul was wrong, and would they want it done to them.

Gently but firmly, Leopoldo pressed on with his negotiations and gave the boys a suggestion they decided not to refuse - apologize on the spot to Paul. They did so, contritely, one at a time, heads hanging in shame. Paul continued to sit in his chair staring at his unfinished art project, mortified by both his friends’ sudden cruelty plus the realization that the entire room was now watching the drama as it unfolded.

“You OK?” Leopoldo asked, bending down to look at Paul, who nodded silently. Satisfied, Leopoldo gave him a double-pat on the back and strode back to the other end of the table.

I’ve thought of this incident that took place almost a half-century ago from time to time over the years, and it always astounds me in its grace. I never witnessed anything like it before or since. It was a measured and merciful intervention when a tortured and abused kid needed it the most, and it stuck. The geeks never reverted to their old ways, and I’m sure that made Paul’s not-so-great social life at school that much easier.

Leopoldo went on to do various things with his life: a turn as an MMA fighter, running his own construction business, and even some alleged drug dealing. People from school loved to focus on the latter and malign him for that. I don’t condone drug dealing, but will forever be in admiration of Leopoldo for his kindness that day.

Several years ago, our paths crossed at an area restaurant. I recognized his exuberant confidence immediately and when he and his family walked by my table on their way out, I couldn’t resist a re-introduction. I reminded Leopoldo about that day, and although he had no memory of the incident, it brought a smile to not only his face, but his wife’s, who turned to Leopoldo, beaming, to declare, “I never knew that about you!”

I do a lot of (justified) railing against bullies in my autobiographical writings, but I love nothing more than to uphold the people who lead with their hearts - the helpers - as Mr. Rogers once described. They who take the sting out of life’s considerable underbelly are what make it all bearable in the long run. Leopoldo was definitely a helper, showing me and the rest of the 7^th grade class that day that, even on the cusp of adolescence, when we’re at our most lost and confused, there is always the option of taking a higher road.

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