I wrote this a few days back and I read it, because, you see, I was unable to see it until it was written. This is an age-old writer's problem. (In fact, I am inserting this paragraph this morning just to notify you that I have read every word.) You write something and you just read it. And you say, Jeez did I really write that? Or worse. Do I really think that? An old editor once told me, you have to sit back and count the number of ways that your words can be misinterpreted, taken out of context, thrown right back in your face. You have to be careful of what you say.  You might be chased down like Frankenstein; find yourself dragging a lifeless plastic personal computer through the swamps, or worse, the heavier and more expensive Apple system.

So the subject is bullies. And we're going to get them. When we do, we are going to punish them in some way that can not be interpreted as bullying.This will have to be given much thought and maybe a Harvard student will be allowed a PhD and the city will hire some more shrinks for the school department and the drug companies will dance out onto center stage a new pill of some sort, a kind of anti-Viagra for bullies. Even the politicians who bullied their way into office will make long tiresome speeches about the terrible toll of bullies on our young people.

Isn't all of this what the truly paranoid would do?

Are their children really leaving the hospital in their cute little potato sack sized pastel jammies just itching to punch some non-confrontational kid in the head, or make fun of kids because they're not wearing the right designer labels? I even watched a car commercial last week where the manufacturer more than simply suggested that your child would be embarrassed if you kept picking him up at school in that funky station wagon when you could have a brand new something-or-other and then the other kids might even look up to your kid. We know the characters on this ladder of bullies, don't we?

As a former child I can tell you with certainty that I have never met a bully,  boy or girl who didn't have a bully father or mother waiting at home for them. Of course they don't have to take a bus to school every moring so they're not right out there where the public can see them. But sometimes you will catch a glimpse of the bully parent as he or she smacks a referee in the head for making a call against his or her child. Or worse, you watch as the adult bully descends from the stands and assaults a child from the other team.

Or the absolute worst. A parent murders another parent from the opposing team. This has really happened. And more than once.

I was never bullied when I was young because my big brother was the toughest human being in town and country and everyone knew it for miles around. So if a new kid should try and trip me as I passed him on my way out the school bus door, dozens of arms would garb him and say: "No you can't do that. That's so-and-so's brother." I could always tell though that the bullies really resented the clear fact that I was off-limits. I would offer myself up to them now, but it's probably too late. They're either in jail or their livers have failed. I don't know why the aging bully always turns to the hard stuff. Perhaps to lighten the guilt. Or, more likely, not.

They drink themselves to death most of the time, I believe, because they are alone and depressed, having beaten their wives, their children, their dogs, even. And really, what good is a bully at an AA meeting?

I first met adult bullies when I coached two soccer teams from St. Marks Parrish in Dorchester. This is going to take some trust on your part, but it's true. My assistant was a Parrish Priest named Father Divine. We had a girls team and a boy's team and they were probably in the 8 -10 year old range. This was back when soccer was just beginning to become popular as a youth sport in the U.S. I wasn't really a Catholic (I'm still not.) because it was just too much unprovable information for me to process, and frankly I had to laugh a few times when I was young as someone was trying to explain it to me. But this didn't bother Father Divine. He was a Jesuit, always convinced I'd come around.

Father Divine had just one very strict rule that he imposed on the boys. They could not use swear words while playing. My best players swore like longshoremen, so they were always on the bench. I took the Father aside one day and I said "Look, if they can't swear, I don't think we can win." He thought about it for a while, no doubt taking into consideration how disappointed the Monseigneur would be if we blew every game.

So he sat there and the team swore and the team won. Not big. But a few here and there. Enough to establish a soccer team for St. Marks School.

It was during these soccer games that I began to tell some parents not to come back. Their presence was bothering the boy, or they were threatening the refs. Pretty soon I had just a handful of parents with permission to attend the games.

But that didn't bother me too much. It was when I began to see bullies behind law enforcement badges, behind the counter at the store, wearing stethoscopes, ect. You name it. Bullying is a big part of our social interaction, and happens all the time. Just turn of your television and watch any sitcom. Bullying is funny, it's a way to get leg up on the competition, a way to assert yourself.

It is in the blood of our culture.

Is that what killed that little girl from Ireland? Did she come to the Land of Bullies? I have come to believe that she did. So who would like to be punished first?

Oh life.

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