What is the sound of one hand slapping a Trump? In a strange sort of Zen way, it is possible that we will find out during the presidential elections. In this irreverent rant #2, I reflect upon how a childhood bully changed my life, and what might be the best response to Donald Trump’s insults.
Donald Trump’s arrogant bullying nature appalls me, as it does millions of other people across America. I’m reminded of a personal coming-of-age event in my youth involving a similar narcissistic bully.
Here’s how I had to do deal with it, Hillary Clinton.
In 8th grade there was a kid who was a bully. Among us normals, Karl was a mutant: tall, handsome, dark wavy hair, baritone voice, brawny and was a star athlete. Karl, however, was academically stupid (everybody knew it), BUT bully-smart. He coolly manipulated us by setting up a so-called friendship — kind and considerate at first, winning our trust (we’d think, “Hey, I’m cool, because Karl is nice to me”) until he could use us for his gain (“I’ll make sure you get picked first on my team at recess if you give me the answers to the test”).
My 8th grade nemesis, as I believe is the case with Trump, knew that he lacked something up there, especially growing up in a family with a father demanding excellence at every move. For this reason Karl (like Trump) had to overpraise and exaggerate himself, manipulate and/or ridicule others for gain, have emotional outbursts to get attention, and love and lie himself to death — all this to make up for that “something up there” he just didn’t have.
I both feared and loathed Karl, like I do Trump today. The reason is because my father lacked that something too, and so was a tyrannical, racist, fanatically religious, physically and verbally abusive alcoholic vulgar man-demon who bullied his children, friends, relatives and authority figures until the day he died. My formative years living under the rule of a narcissist engrained me with emotional scar tissue that has never quite healed even today at 68 years. That is why I loathe Donald Trump.
One particular day, my turn arrived to be manipulated by Karl. As it turned out, the event that rocketed my personal self-esteem as a young teen was unplanned. I would never have tried to pick a fight with Karl in the first place, only because the likelihood of me surviving his onslaught was pretty slim. I simply kept my distance, ignoring him.
But in 4th period, I had to excuse myself to go to the bathroom down the hall. Standing at the urinal, I was jolted by the sudden banging open of the bathroom door and a heavy-footed shadow breathing across the floor. Karl the Dragon had arrived and he meant trouble.
From a couple feet behind me, Karl rudely insulted my name. Suddenly he was my father in my adolescent mind — and unknown to Karl, I’d been through this scenario many times before, receiving my father’s unwarranted, spontaneous physical and verbal wrath. But this time I was not going to take it. Karl became my father, and my father became Karl. In a weird sort of way, I had been training for this fight for years, imagining knocking the crap out of my old man made me sort of a “world class athlete training for no event.” But the event had finally arrived.
Zipping up my pants, and before Karl could ever hope to react, I spun around like a fiend with clenched fist and hit him square in the face as hard as I could. Blood spurted everywhere as he howled in writhing pain holding his hands to his broken nose, busted lips and teeth.
For a brief moment I felt victorious; I had dethroned the tyrant in of all places a bathroom. How embarrassing for him when this David versus Goliath story gets out! But my mood quickly soured when I saw this fallen bully crying there on the tile floor. Suddenly I felt compassion, even remorse for what I had done to this stupid giant of a little boy who, stripped of his pride, now writhed like any normal hurt human being.
That’s the thing you must know about Trump. On one hand, you would like to simply punch the guy in the face. However, behind all that bully and bluster is just another insecure human being, in some ways like you and me, but certainly more excessive. That plays on you, demanding pity for the poor bastard.
So, I want to put out a challenge to you, Hillary Clinton, when you publicly debate Donald Trump on stage before millions of Americans in the Presidential elections:
Hillary, if Trump begins bullying you, diminishing your character, and even hints at playing the gender card, I would hope that you could leave your podium, walk up to him, quietly look him straight in the eyes, and then slap him good and hard in the face before marching off stage.
What is the sound of one hand slapping an insecure Little Donald Trump? The world waits with baited breath.