Dmitry A. (SLE) - On manners and unfair ban on standing up for oneself

In our family, you were supposed to be proper. Proper meant: always wash your hands before eating; don’t clink your spoon against the plate; when you bring a spoonful of soup to your mouth, make sure it doesn’t tap against your teeth; when you stir tea, nothing should jingle. We were from a respectable family. Some unsightly village folk might allow themselves such things because they were ill-mannered, but we were the well-mannered bunch.

<...> Memories of childhood completely threw me off balance: I realized just how much injustice there was in childhood. SLEs always track whether they are being treated fairly or unfairly.

I’ll tell you how I punched Rusha in the face. Rusha was my second cousin. My mom and I came to Moscow to visit relatives. I must have been about five years old, though I analyzed the situation when I was seven or eight. There was this Moscow second cousin, Rusha — his real name was Dima Fedotov; I don’t know why Rusha. His mom called him that, and I liked it because you could humiliate him with that word — Rusha. “Ugh, Rusha!” But he was older than me. And for a little SLE-child, any older being is automatically an authority.

Apparently, he didn’t like me very much. We were staying at their dacha near Moscow. Rusha was hanging out with a friend who was even older than him. Since Rusha couldn’t show direct aggression toward me, he egged his friend on to mock me. It was very unpleasant. I internally understood that I just didn’t fit into their comfortable vacation — some kid from some “Sour City” had shown up. They asked me: “Where are you from?” I said: “From Gorky.” They replied: “From Sour? Ha-ha.” It irritated me so much — what do you mean, Sour, I’ll smash your face in right now! But I couldn’t hit him — he was a relative, and I was a proper boy. I thought: Sour, fine, Sour then.

They kept provoking me, provoking me, the two of them, quietly and persistently. Then the friend left somewhere, and we were about to leave too. And on the last day I beat up Rusha. I dumped everything on him. I allowed myself everything. I broke his nose. I remember grandma and his mom leading Rusha away, blood running from his nose, and I felt so proud, so relieved — like I’d finally punched him in the face for all my grievances.

Analyzing my childhood shows that I was raised very properly — and that interfered with me greatly. That very “properness” led to me punching Rusha, because when aggression was directed at me, I had to suppress my outrage. I was a guest, I was proper, I was supposed to behave properly. I bottled up my dissatisfaction — which could have easily turned into a punch between the eyes.

If I had simply allowed myself to be myself and say: “Guys, one more word and I’ll knock all your front teeth out,” there would have been no need for a fight at all. Why? Because I would have sounded different. They would have understood that their teeth were already wrapped around my fists, and that it was better not to mess with me. But why did they mess with me? Because I was “sour,” because I was a wimp.

And why was I a wimp? Because I was proper. They understood I wouldn’t punch them.

I really liked that I wasn’t punished for breaking Rusha’s nose. They just took me to another room. We were separated, and no one scolded me at all. They simply said: “Well yes, he broke Rusha’s nose… oh well.” There was no aggression, not a single word against me. That made me happy.