Hello Life!

by Marcus Butler

MOM: The library. To get there, I used to walk six miles in my sneakers, which had holes in them.

  ME: Ouchhhh. And what if that book wasn’t there?

  MOM: I’d have to wait a week for it to come back in. . . .

  So there you have it: seven days of research versus ten seconds on Google. A no-brainer in other words. Just don’t tell them you’re copying and pasting all your essay answers in one blow, though. I’m sure that might cause a few issues.

  5 “CAN WE BE FACEBOOK FRIENDS?”

  The question nobody wants to hear from a parent. Of course they want to check up on you and make sure you’re safe. Of course they want to find out if you’ve gotten drunk or skipped school. And of course you would be within your rights to say “No,” and point them toward Twitter instead.

  “Mom, Dad,” I told my parents when they asked me, “why don’t you follow me on Twitter? I’m always tweeting, and you’ll know where I am and what I’m doing. It’ll tell you that I’m all right.”

  Much better they see my posts of no more than 140 characters than Facebook, where a naked holiday photograph, taken while drunk in Ibiza and covered in sunscreen, might surface at the worst possible moment.II

  Halloween in Sydney. Yes, that is me in a garbage bag.

  IMPORTANT!

  It goes without saying that you should be clued in on internet safety. Never give your bank details to strange people claiming they want you to inherit their millions. Also, be aware that people you meet online are not always who they say they are, and in extreme cases, social media relationships can be very dangerous. If you’re under the age of sixteen, never meet up with a stranger. Even when you’re a bit older, still be careful—if it’s a date, meet in a very public place and let someone know your plans. Always be cautious when accepting e-mails, or opening attachments—they may carry viruses. And if anyone ever asks you to do something that makes you feel uncomfortable or worried, tell a parent or teacher.

  CONQUERING TROLLS AND BULLIES

  One of the biggest regrets I have is that on the one occasion I was bullied, I gave in to the people who were tormenting me.

  I was still at school, a teenager, and all my life I’d been pretty athletic. I was in the school soccer team and I ended up playing for Seagulls, the academy side for the professional team, Brighton & Hove Albion. I was good at basketball, too; I played for the county and seriously considered trying to get a college scholarship in America. Judo, rugby, tennis: you name it, I’d try to get involved with it.

  Gymnastics was my biggest talent, though. I got into it when I was young and by the time I was fourteen I’d been crowned Sussex champion three times. Floor and vault were my specialties and nobody came close to me at school. At county level I was ahead of most people, too. I loved team sports as a kid, but I really loved winning, and at gymnastics I was a serious performer.

  Maybe that was my biggest problem: I was a champ in a solo sport, and one that I guess could be considered a little unusual. Kids at school started teasing me for giving up my time to compete in a sport that wasn’t considered cool, like soccer. I would get mocked every day for being a gymnast, and for wearing Lycra (which every gymnast has to wear, and most athletes, too). They called me “gay” on the playing field (there’s nothing wrong with that), and a “girl” (there’s nothing wrong with that either, by the way), and though neither of those things bothered me individually, the combined stress got to me.

  Competing for Brighton and Hove gymnastics at the Sussex county championships. I came in first :D

  The name-calling was happening every day and it brought with it a pressure I’d never experienced before. I hated knowing that no matter what I did, a certain group of kids were going to give me crap for being good at a sport I loved doing. Sure, it was a little bit unusual, but I never understood how people could be so disrespectful, hurtful, and horrible to another person, another human, just for fun. It really sucked.

  I know it could have been a lot worse—especially today. I went to school at a time when online bullying didn’t really exist. Looking at the abuse I hear some of my viewers have gone through, I’m shocked at the level of meanness.

  It’s as if people change their persona online. They become someone different. They can act so cruelly, probably because there’s no barrier. They can say whatever they want through a keyboard or a phone and there’s no emotional comeback. They don’t see the pain in the other person’s face; they won’t see them crying over their laptop. Often they won’t get told off for doing it, because people in schools, colleges, and workplaces haven’t taken it that seriously. Not until now anyway.

  Though their methods of bullying were different, the kids who were making my life hell had the same intentions as any online bully. They couldn’t understand what I was doing and why I liked it. They were also probably a bit jealous of the fact I was winning county championships. I could do backflips at parties, where people would tell me what I was doing was “really cool.” But this one group reacted like certain people do when they experience jealousy: they turned on me.

  It wasn’t so bad at first; their insults just bounced off me. But after a while of having horrible words thrown at me, I gave them what they wanted: a victory. I quit gymnastics. I told Mom, Dad, and my coach I didn’t want to carry on and I turned my back on the sport I loved.

  It’s easy to say it now, but I should have gone to my parents for help. They would have known how best to handle the situation, but I was worried about how they were going to react. I didn’t want them to call the school or, worse, the other kids’ parents. And I really didn’t want to be called into a meeting where all the bullies would be told by the teachers that they had to leave me alone. After that, people would have thought of me as being a snitch, which wouldn’t have helped at all. In my mind, the issue was only going to get worse unless I caved in.

  Giving up was the worst thing I could have done. What I’ve learned since is that bending to their will is exactly what the bully wants. It fuels their ego. Whereas had I stuck to my guns, I would have infuriated them initially and then, when it was clear they couldn’t influence me, they’d have got bored and moved on. Had I ignored them or gone for help, they would have left me alone eventually.

  Mom and Dad would have told me that, had I found the courage to explain my problem to them. Mom would have said, “Marcus, they’re jealous of you. You can do all this stuff that they can’t. You’re winning competitions, you’re having fun, you’re a champion. Don’t let it get to you.” Instead I became scared of opening up. I bottled it up when it came to asking for help. Potentially I could have gone far with gymnastics. But at the crunch moment I gave in to bullies and I massively regret that decision now.

  You can be stronger than me. You don’t have to cave in to the people who are mocking you for doing something you truly love, and I feel really passionate about that. When someone has a unique talent, they shouldn’t have to worry about other kids, or adults, bringing them down. Especially if it’s something quirky, like origami, chess, or even gymnastics. Learn from my mistakes. Don’t let the pressure get in your way. Try to keep an end goal in sight.

  I know what you’re thinking: Easier said than done. Well, let me give you a step-by-step guide to how to deal with a bully.

  1 KNOW YOUR ENEMY

  Your bully is weak. Your bully is afraid and insecure. Sure, they might be clever or physically strong, but deep down some unknown fear is eating away at them. Something frightens them. Why else do bullies hunt in packs? Because they need other people and opinions—usually from people even weaker than they are—to give them backup or reinforcement.

  In real life—the playground, common room, or workplace—people side with bullies because they’re afraid of being a target themselves. Online it’s different; it’s where the troll comes into play. Trolls are people who deliberately post negative comments on message boards and internet groups. They might be anonymous strangers, or they could be people you know, and they tend to influenc
e people’s actions with a keyboard. They use their opinions to bring someone they don’t like down. That might be someone who’s posting their own music videos online, or a wannabe video-maker putting up their latest project. The troll sees them making strides, being brave, and decides to cut them down for fun.

  Now, before I go on, I think it’s good to share opinions. Everyone has them, and everyone should feel confident in expressing them, providing those views are positive. But if those opinions are poisonous, they can quickly affect thought on a large scale and bring someone down. That can cause a lot of pain.

  Social media and the internet are easy places to foster a pack mentality. In real life, bullying on a large scale is harder to organize because most people don’t like it. It angers or upsets them. They see another person getting attacked by a group and they don’t like it. They see a reaction in the target and they feel bad.

  That’s not the case online. The pain isn’t visible to an audience because the person being trolled is hidden away, in their bedroom, unable to fight back. Because there’s no comeback, the troll often feels invincible. No one’s going to come back on them and confront them.

  That’s the theory anyway, but sadly, it won’t make your enemy vanish overnight, so here comes the practical stuff. . . .

  2 IGNORE THEM

  Your bully or troll is after a reaction. They want you to get upset and they want you to freak out. In my case, they wanted to manipulate me into giving up something I was good at—and I allowed them to win. I’ve learned from my mistakes though and the best way to beat them is to ignore them. Yeah, I know that’s what every friend, parent, and teacher will tell you to do, and it seems almost impossible at first, but, trust me, it works.

  If you’re thinking, Fine, Marcus, but what do you know? You gave up when you were bullied. . . . Believe me when I tell you I get abuse every day online. Whenever I post a new video on YouTube, there are always negative comments. For a while there was one person who started regularly hating on me for everything, usually less than a day after I’d uploaded something new.

  It got to me at first. I started to recognize their name whenever it appeared in the comments section of a video. In the end I started waiting for their comments because I knew they were inevitable. But the thing with me is, I learned my lesson from school. I knew not to give in. Eventually I figured, You know what? Are they achieving anything from doing this? Nope. And if they don’t like me, why do they watch every video I post? I just reached for the online equivalent of ignoring them. I clicked the block button and didn’t hear from that troll again.

  3 GET HELP

  If the above hasn’t sorted out the situation, it’s time to reach out for the big guns: a helping hand, which I know feels like the last thing you want to be doing right now. Why? Well, I guess it can make you feel as if you can’t handle the situation on your own, or that you’re not as strong as you thought you were. You’ll also be aware that there might be consequences to your actions. People might think of you as a rat. The bully or trolls might come back at you harder than before.

  This fear is what they’re banking on. They’re expecting you to be too frightened to ask for advice, or to get someone to stop their actions. They think you’ll be worried that your parents won’t understand, especially if it’s an online issue, that you’ll suspect that your parents won’t take it seriously given it’s something they haven’t gone through themselves. Whether it’s online or not, if you’re experiencing trouble, you should explain to a parent, teacher, or colleague that you’re being put through hell and you need some help. Doing this is the first step toward happiness because talking about it will: a) help you to release some pent-up emotion, and b) that person will help you to make the first steps to improving your life, whatever they might be.

  Be brave, and good luck. If you’re at step two without an answer, turning for help is the best solution, and one you’ll be thankful for in the long run. I know from experience. I wish I’d reached out when I was giving up on my dreams. Don’t let the bullies win like I did.

  What I’ve given you is just the anti-bullying basics. If you want some more detailed advice or info on your problem, visit the following websites:

  The Anti-Bullying Ambassadors

  antibullyingpro.com

  Anti-Bullying Alliance

  anti-bullyingalliance.org.uk

  Government

  stopbullying.gov/kids/

  DEALING WITH LOSS

  I don’t have any grandparents anymore. I guess for someone my age that’s probably quite unusual, and while I was growing up there weren’t any significant older men in the family—apart from Dad and Simon (my stepdad), who are great, of course—which was a massive shame. Dad’s father had passed away before I was born. Mom’s dad died when she was seventeen, which was huge for her. She told me that they had been really close. So growing up I only had grandmothers in my life, but they were very important to me.

  I have to admit, though, looking back, I feel I missed out on certain grandfather opportunities. I’d hear friends talking about their granddads at school and what they’d been up to, like fishing, learning to shoot pool, or whatever, and I’d think, I wish I had a granddad. I wish I could experience what it’s like having that grandson–grandfather relationship. But I was never bitter about it. I just took it as a life experience that I wasn’t going to get, and I enjoyed the stuff that was there for me instead.

  Granny to the left; Grandma on the right

  Like Granny. She was Mom’s mother, and I loved her very much, but when I was about eight she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, which was a condition that affected her memory, among other things. There were no significant symptoms at first, and my sisters and I would even talk to her about it, but as we got older her condition deteriorated.

  Granny’s mental state started to get worse—much worse—when I was about thirteen. At the time she was living in her old house, and there was one occasion when Mom visited her and she wasn’t there. Mom called around to find out if anyone had seen her, or if she was visiting one of her friends, but after an hour or so of asking questions it was obvious nobody knew where she was. Everyone was concerned.

  We called the police, who eventually found her, and it turned out that she had gone on one of her walks, which she loved to do. This time, though, she had walked about four miles away from her home and couldn’t figure out where the hell she was. Granny’s mind had become confused and she wasn’t able to find her way home. It must have been so terrifying for her.

  It freaked me out as well. I remember thinking, Whoa, this is Granny. I’ve grown up with her being strong and independent, but now I can see she’s not functioning right. This is horrible. . . .

  It got worse. I could see that her brain was being destroyed by the disease, that her memories were going with it. She started forgetting my name, my sisters’ names; sometimes she wouldn’t recognize us at all. In the end she had to go into a nursing home and everyone would take turns looking after her. Granny was going into a downward spiral, and it was awful for all of us, but it was so tough on Mom, working full-time, raising kids, and having to look after her mom, too.

  I think the fact that it was a slow process made it a little easier to handle—not that it was easy by any stretch of the imagination. I think in the back of my mind I always knew that she might get worse, and that she could pass away from her condition. I suppose that time meant I was able to prepare myself for the awful reality of it all, but it didn’t make her dying any less devastating. I was sixteen, it was heartbreaking, and I took the news very hard.

  With my grandma, it was different. Her death happened quickly, and it was just as horrible. She was a grandparent I’d had an amazing relationship with. My sisters and I would spend all summer with her; Mom would drop us off in the morning while she went to work, and as soon as we got to Grandma’s house we’d convince her to take us to the sweet shop.

  “Mom said we could go,” we’d say.


  Grandma would always question us. “Are you sure?” she would say, though she knew she was going to take us anyway. “Oh, all right then . . .” And off we’d go, walking along Brighton Pier, where she would give us money to play on the machines or jump around on the trampolines. We spent so much time with her as kids. She’d even come on vacation with us, or go on walking trips with the family.

  But there was always some doubt in her about her own mortality that I found strange. She would sometimes say, out of the blue, “Oh I’ll die soon.” Even at sixteen I would set her straight, telling her, “What are you talking about, Grandma? You’re an eighty-year-old woman and you’re still walking up hills! You’re healthy! You’ll live a long life!” So it was a massive shock to hear one day that she had had a fall in her house, a really bad one, and that she’d had to go to the hospital.

  After that, I remember thinking that she was starting to look old, like a little old lady. She had always looked strong and healthy before. I wondered if the fall had affected her, or knocked her confidence. She wasn’t herself anymore and it wasn’t long before the falls became a more common occurrence. There was another incident on a bus that scared us all. Then we learned that she was having heart problems and needed to take all these pills. One night, all of a sudden, she got really sick and was put into the hospital.

  Tash and I were worried (Heidi was in America at the time). Tash called me to tell me the news, but neither of us really knew how serious it was. We went over to the hospital as soon as we could to see her, but when we arrived she was sleeping. She was technically alive but she had tubes in her arms connected to drips, and she wasn’t herself at all.

  The doctors were saying that they weren’t sure if she was going to get better. We were still talking to her, though, and holding her hand. I said, “We’re here, Grandma. It’s Marcus and Tash, just to let you know . . .” After a while, I felt her squeezing back, which I took as a promising sign, but a couple of days later she passed away. I was twenty-two. I had lost another grandparent, and I was devastated.