Minichan

Driving, that is what I do. A truck, I drive a truck. This is what I do, this is my profession.

Some people may consider being a truck driver to be a low class career, but I personally enjoy it regardless of the naysayers.

I was never good at very much else. I was terrible at sports regardless of my physical fit body. I was never really a creative type either. I never had any trade skills that allowed me a more mobile life.

This could be the reason why I looked up to truck drivers whenever my mother and I were driving in our car on a freeway. My imagination took over about where their destination and their departure were. My mother told me that they would go far away, further than where we would usually be heading at the time.

I never really wanted to stay static my own life. This is what what got me to consider a career as a truck driver. Being able to go to and from places where my mother and I could only dream about, seeing places we may have never got to see before.

My mother seemed worried about my interest in big rigs and always wanted me to do something more successful, to be known. This was most likely due to us not having a lot, where Christmas wasn’t a big day for tons of gifts, this made us somewhat materialistic in that we often dream of becoming rich and affording anything we wanted. She wanted me to converse my brain power for a career as a doctor, scientist, or even a coach of a sports time. This also applied to my physical condition as well so I could become an athlete.

I never had any real interest in sports other than what my father was watching at the time. Like any other American he would often become obsessed with Football scores and had friends over for big games like the Superbowl. I remember him sitting me on his lap to watch the game from a young age. It was an exciting time, but that was due to the quality time spent with my dad. Over the course of my teenage years my interest in Football and sports in general dwindled. It started to feel boring and meaningless yet I still respect the athletes for what they do.

My lack of interest in sports made me eligible for bullying by the various jocks and popular kids during my teenage years, because God forbid a boy can’t like sports. I was called all of the routine names like “faggot”, “sissy”, “girly man”, and whatever effeminate name another boy can call a fellow boy. This made me realize that I needed to get in more physical shape so they would never mess with me. I started working out regularly mostly consisting of weightlifting and I also took several classes in mixed martial arts. This was back during a time when the sport wasn’t as popular as it was today.

During the course of my educational career the bullying ceased when my peers noticed my bigger physique. Seems nobody wants to trouble you when you look like you can beat their ass in a fight. I never had to worry about physical confrontation or petty insults for almost my entire school career. That was until my senior year of high school when I came across a young man being bullied by his locker by two thugs who probably have a rough home life. I apologize for sounding like an armchair psychiatrist, but from what I know this is the truth. The young man was apparently being teased for being too interested in “girly” things. The inside of his locker looked like most of the lockers owned by the female students who attended our fine educational facility.

Usually I’d keep to myself and let things sort themselves out. It was part of the reason why I never had any conflicts during any school day, but something that day forced me to intervene. Maybe it was because I knew what it was like to be called such hurtful names and seeing how this kid lack the ability to deal with it in a positive way or perhaps it was just my own tiredness of seeing such arrogant punks try to own a place meant for education while the facility did absolutely nothing about their bullying problem. So I approach the bullies and ask, “What is going on here?”

Well, they told me to get lost and that this issue doesn’t concern me, but this wasn’t enough to get me to bugger off. So I asked them again, “What is going on here and what is your issue with this kid?”

This triggered one of the pricks to issue a threat to me that if I didn’t beat it then I will get hurt along with the kid. This didn’t phase me, of course, since I know for a fact that I could kick their ass in a matter of minutes. I detest violence so naturally I continued to find a peaceful resolution to this conflict. I tried to convince them to just call it in for a day and go home. Maybe play some music and let off some steam or even write a novel where they can express their anger in a healthy fashion. Figures they had no interest in this as one of the cunts tried to throw a punch at me which I blocked with my forearm.

“I guess you cunts want to do it the hard way,” I said to them as I made a fist, raised it, and hit a direct hook on the jerk’s jaw. It came one after another. First was the jawline, next was the ribs, and finally the stomach to knock the wind out of the man. The others surrendered, told me they never wanted any trouble, and ran for the hills. The ass laid on the floor gasping for breath. I was frighten that I might have just committed a murder and I was watching a fellow student die on the floor of a place meant for expanding one’s knowledge and not as a fight club. Fortunately, the kid was fine, but he never dared messed with me or that “girly boy” again.

The young man was nice though he was terribly shy. He rarely spoke unless I asked him a direct question, but after this transpired he did say, “Thank you.”

Being friendly I asked him what grade he was in and he told me that he was a junior. This somewhat was concerning knowing that he had one more year of school left and I was on my last. There was a good chance of the bullies coming back when I left this accursed place and feeling upset by this I made a promise to the boy that if those bullies or any new ones gave rise then he could always give me a call and I’ll be there to set things right.
I handed him my phone number and we went our separate ways.

Soon my senior year came to a close and I was excited to leave that poor excuse for a high school. What kind of school has accreditation problems and allows for their own students to be bullied by their peers? Sure, bullying was a problem that got swept under the rug back in my day and while it seems fruitless to even try to resolve such issues. I do believe the schools themselves have an obligation to take care of such situations. If there was one good thing about these anti-bully campaigns nowadays it’s that it should be putting pressure on the schools to actually do something about it. Regardless of how I’ve felt about school management, graduation was a joyous time for me, but I still didn’t have the foggiest clue as to what I wanted to do from that point onward. I was never the type of student who prepared from elementary school to get into a prestigious university like Harvard so I ended up living with my mother for years afterward.

Things were good during my post school years when I lived with my mother. She was working making a decent pay. We could afford some luxury items like video game consoles and television sets. I never had a job because she provided for both of us. While she often felt disappointed in me for not wanting to move out on my own and providing for myself. She knew that eventually everyone had to grow up and enter adulthood. I spent my days playing video games and making up stories with my action figures. The typical play that boys usually engage in. I remember playing Super Mario Bros. for the Nintendo Entertainment System and even discovering shortcuts to the end of the game level. Life was finally good for us until one fateful day.