VOLUME VI / ISSUE IV / APRIL 2022
LIFE COACHING AND EXPERT
WELLNESS EXERCISES
THE ANGRY CRY BECAUSE "BIG BOYS DON'T CRY" JUSTIN "GOLIATH" JOHNSON @goliathcoaches WELLNESS CONTRIBUTOR
“G
ET
AWAY FROM ME!” I YELLED, TEARS STREAMING DOWN MY FACE. LOOKING UP, I PUSHED SOMEONE TO THE GROUND IN A FIT OF RAGE, REALIZING ONLY HAS THE BODY FELL IN SLOW MOTION THAT I HAD PUSHED A GIRL. It was the 8th grade lunch break and we were all on the basketball court. I attended a few different elementary schools, but I spent all of my middle school years at one school. Between elementary and middle school, we moved to a new, much more diverse area. It was my first time attending a school where more than one or two other black students were in my class. page 178
In addition to the cultural adjustment, at nearly 6-feet tall, I was also noticeably bigger than almost everyone else at an age when you’d really like to fit in. My continued growth spurts resulted in general lack of coordination. Athletics were difficult as a child, but at least I could dance; if I couldn’t do anything else, I could dance my a** off. Somehow, I became entangled in a oneon-one basketball game with a fellow 8th grader on this particular day. I had gotten pretty good at telling jokes, but my desire to fit in got me into a pickle and I found myself competing with someone clearly better than me. I took a shot and must have looked extremely goofy. On top of that, I was already losing. The goofy mistake was the icing on the cake and our fellow classmates ensured I knew how extremely goofy I looked. I heard every voice individually: calling me a name, making fun of me, laughing and mocking me. My anger built to a level and I started to boil over, losing the ability to control my emotions. I lost the game and a crowd surrounded me, increasing the mockery and jokes when they saw me
become emotional. I lost it and pushed the closest body to me. Unbeknownst to me, I pushed a girl; not just any girl, but Kenya. Kenya was always nice to me, and like me, Kenya was a subject of teasing and mockery quite often. So not only did I do the only thing my parents told me never to do, but I did it to someone who was like me. As soon as she fell, I realized what I did and reached to help her up. I never had the opportunity for repentance; another kid stepped between her and I and put up his hands to fight. One look at his jeering, smug face and my emotional rage returned. I raised my left arm to swing, but a kid grabbed that arm from behind me. I raised my right, and another kid grabbed that arm. A third kid grabbed me by the waist and pulled me against the basketball pole, holding me while I yelled and screamed like an animal. I wanted to hurt someone because I was hurt. I was enraged, with no way of coping with the trauma of experiencing continued rejection.