Tag: The Cool Steve Stories

Cool Steve Explores The Nature Of Respect

Post author By Dr. Jeffrey Rubin
Post date April 8, 2026
2 Comments on Cool Steve Explores The Nature Of Respect

Welcome to From Insults To Respect.

On this blog, every now and then, I present a little section from one of my three Cool Steve novels—A Hero Grows In Brooklyn, Fights In The Streets, Tears In The Sand, and Love, Sex and Respect. It is my hope each of these sections will provide an opportunity to deepen our thoughts regarding the nature of respect.

Today’s section is from Love, Sex and Respect, and presents a discussion that occurs during an evening on a Coney Island beach with insecure Jeff Star, and his fellow Lincoln High School students, Cool Steve, and Ray Wong.

“Hey, Jeff,” says Ray, “you look lost somewhere way up by that twinkling star.”

“Oh, I was just thinking about that Jiminy Cricket song, you know the one–oh it goes–‘When you wish upon a star, makes no difference who you are, anything your heart desires, will come true.'”

Ray and Steve smile.

Hey Ray,” I say, “if you could, by wishing for something make it come true, what do you think you’d wish for?”

“I guess… well, to see my mom again. I barely knew her when she died of cancer.”

“Seeing your mom again,” I say. “Hmmm. Okay. Steve, how about you? What would you wish for?”

“A cure for everything, peace on Earth, stuff like that I suppose.”

“Yeah, Yeah,” I say. “Let’s hear something more personal.”

“I don’t know. Well, ever since I remember, I wished I would someday be the next great Yankee centerfielder. Anyway what about you, Jeff? What do you think you’d wish for?”

“Hmmm. I remember when I first entered Lincoln I wanted to be respected. In Boody Junior High, I had made all of these enemies and I had this burning desire to turn my life around.”

“Well, your wish came true,” says Steve. I bet if you asked the average Joes or Jills at Lincoln if they respect you, they’d say, ‘Yeah. He’s okay.'”

“Maybe a little,” I say, “but I don’t think they really, really respect me.”

“If you want someone to respect you,” says Ray, “all you gotta do is treat them with respect.”

“Hmmm, maybe that’s part of it,” I say.

“What are you after, Jeff,” asks Steve, “a critical analysis of how you can be more respected then you currently are?”

“Something like that might be helpful,” I reply.

“How about complementing people from time to time?” Steve asks grinning. “I’ve noticed you rarely ever pat anyone on the back, Jeff.”

“What?! I do so! I can’t believe you just said that! I’m always complimenting people!” As these words spring from my lips, I notice anger spilling from me like lava from a volcano.

Some awkward seconds go by with my lips squeezed together and then I say: “Ya know, I came down here to try to find some peace and then you go ahead and say something like that. I went 0 for 4 in yesterday’s baseball game. I was feeling rotten, and when I was finally calming down, and now this!”

“Sorry,” says Steve.

“Ray,” I say, “don’t I compliment people?”

“Well, I’ve certainly heard you compliment people. Just a hair more compliments would be nice. I wouldn’t want you to be obsequious about it.”

“Obsequious!” cries Steve. “Man! If I would use that word with my lunch table crowd, they’d lynch me to the highest limb.”

“Well,” says Ray, “what I mean is we don’t want Jeff to end up overdoing the compliments. That would be just as bad as too little.”

“There.” says Steve, “It’s settled then. Jeff, you gotta compliment a little more, but not too much. Ray, in some settings, depending on who you’re speaking to, you might want to go easy on your highfalutin words. How about me? What do you think I can improve on?”

“Well, for one thing,” I reply, “you could learn to cut out the ridiculous criticism, especially when you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“You know,” says Ray, “there’s an old saying, Jeff, that if you want people to respect you for your wisdom, all you gotta do is agree with everything they tell you. Is that the kind of respect you want from us?”

“I’m not saying that!” I holler.

A seagull walking by on the sand a few yards away starts screeching, as if mocking me. I flash a glare at it. With its pointed beak, it rearranges a few feathers and then takes to flight.

I resume gazing up at the heavens. The stars are becoming more distinct. With a few deep breaths, calmness begins to settle in. Maybe there is some merit to what Steve and Ray had said. And, unlike seagulls, I would mind if Steve and Ray took to flight.

“A lot of people respect Sandy,” says Steve after a while, “because when they have something to say to her, she has a way of listening, and she seems to really care about what’s going on in your life. And she’s quick to offer to help in some way. I bet that has something to do with respect.”

“Respect,” says Ray. “You know, when I was in junior high, kids would tease me because I’m Chinese and a little different. I lost a lot of respect for them. I guess if you want people to respect you, maybe you shouldn’t tease them.”

“Well,” says Steve, “a little teasing may be okay if you do it with a twinkle in your eyes… I mean, as long as you’re prepared to back off and apologize if your teasing hits a sensitive spot.”

“Depends on the person you’re teasing,” Ray replies.

“I guess,” says Steve. “Some people are so sensitive whenever they get teased, maybe with them you’re better off not teasing them at all.”

After some reflection, Ray says, “I suppose some mature, respected people enjoy some teasing as the friendly dual of wits gets played out, but mature people have a sensitivity within them so they aren’t looking to hurt anyone in the dual. Anyway, Jeff, I agree with Steve. I think most people respect you.”

“Thanks,” I say. But as I say thanks, I begin to think maybe I have a little more I can do in this regard.

Well, that’s my post for today. I hope you find it provides a little food for thought.

My Best,
Jeff

———————————
Some people will enjoy reading this blog by beginning with the first post and then moving forward to the next more recent one; then to the next one; and so on. This permits readers to catch up on some ideas that were presented earlier and to move through all of the ideas in a systematic fashion to develop their emotional intelligence. To begin at the very first post you can click HERE.

Tags Jeff Rubin's Novels, respect, The Cool Steve Stories

antipsychotic drugs Ethics in Mental Health Care Ethics in psychiatry psychiatric drugs psychiatric medications

Cool Steve Deals With A Psychiatrist

Post author By Dr. Jeffrey Rubin
Post date September 11, 2025
4 Comments on Cool Steve Deals With A Psychiatrist

Welcome to From Insults to Respect. Today, I ask readers to consider a story that raises some questions regarding the practice of psychiatry.

The Story

Cool Steve and three of his fellow high school buddies, Jeff, George, and Cliff, have come to the Coney Island Child Psychiatric Center because Steve’s eight-year old brother, Pete, has been dealing with some serious emotional problems. When Pete was first brought to the center, Doctor Goldwin had prescribed Thorazine, to treat Pete. Upon doing some research about the drug, the boys learned it has some serious, and even life threatening side effects. The boys have now come to the center to discuss this with Dr. Goodwin, and while waiting to see him, another psychiatrist, Dr. William Kolanski, comes by. Here’s how Jeff tells what transpires.

“Excuse me, Dr. Kolanski,” I call out just as he’s shutting his office door behind him.

Dr. Kolanski reopens his door. “Can I help you boys?”

“We’d like to ask you some questions about Thorazine,” says Cliff. “We have some questions about the safety of Thorazine.”

Dr. Kolanski’s forehead crinkles. “Oh, I see,” he says. “I’m afraid I too have some questions about its safety. I’ve seen, personally, a couple of tragedies that have befallen patients who had been placed on Thorazine and related drugs. One just occurred last night.”

As he is speaking, we notice Dr. Goldwin opening his office door and as he begins to listen to Dr. Kolanski, his face begins to turn brick red and suddenly he begins to shout at Dr. Kolanski, “Doctor! Please step into my office!”

Dr. Kolanski gets up and walks into Dr. Goldwin’s office.

“Hurry, Jeff,” whispers George. “You’re the actor. Go over by the secretary and as you’re walking by her, create a commotion. Get her into the hallway with you so she can’t see us. The rest of us will listen at Dr. Goldwin’s door and hear what’s going on.”

“Wait a minute,” whispers Cliff. “If they catch us listening, we’ll be the ones they’ll be injecting with Thorazine.”

I look at Steve who is bending over with his ear close to Cliff’s mouth. He straightens up, turns his back to the secretary so his voice won’t project toward her. I glance over and see the secretary is hard at work typing. She has blond hair, obviously bleached.

“Cliff, you’re free to leave,” whispers Steve.

“If you guys are staying, I’m staying,” whispers Cliff. “But we’re nuts!”

Then Steve turns to me. “Go ahead, Jeff,” he whispers. “Do what George said. Hurry.”

What kind of commotion can I make? I think to myself as I head toward the secretary. As I walk by her, suddenly I scream and grab my leg, falling to the floor.

“God! Oh God! Miss! Miss!” I shout to the secretary, pretending to be in agony. She leaps up. “Shall I call for a doctor?” she asks, very concerned.

“No! No! It’s just a cramp. If you could just come over here for a second and help me up. I get them from time to time. I just need to walk it off.” My hand stretches out to her as my face contorts, and I let out a wrenching–“O-h-h-h!”

She hurries around her desk and helps me up. I limp, with her support, leading her down the hall. Halfway down I feign another cramp attack. I moan and groan, fall to the floor and clutch my leg. “I’ll be okay. All I need is some help to walk it off. It’ll be okay in a second or two. Just help me up again. Oh-h-h-h!”

I lead her further away from her desk. By the main doorway, I begin to ask her about being a secretary to psychiatrists, while still acting like I’m in distress. Once she gets to talking, she starts to get lost in what she’s saying for a few minutes.

I begin limping slowly when the hallway elevator doors open. An orderly steps out and turns down the hallway toward the chamber where my friends are listening at Dr. Goldwin’s door.

I have to act fast. I begin yelling, “Orderly! Orderly!”

I have no idea what I will say to him, but he stops, turns, and says, “Yes?”

I explain to him about my leg cramp, and that although the secretary is helping me by holding my left arm, if he could take the other one just until I can get back to the waiting room where my friends can take over to help me.

I limp, with this assistance, toward the waiting area; and when we’re six feet or so from being able to see into the chamber off to the left, I call out, “Steve! Cliff! George! Could you guys come help me?”

I pray my warning cries are heard. When the orderly, the secretary, and I enter the chamber, there are the three spies innocently sitting on the waiting area couch.

* * *

As we jump into a taxi, I ask, “What did you find out?”

“Get this,” says Cliff, obviously annoyed. “I agree to stay with these nuts, and I didn’t even get to listen at the door. Steve tells me I gotta watch down the hallway to see if anyone was coming!”

“I wanted him to stand guard,” says Steve, defending his actions.

“Well, at least Cliff, you must of felt relaxed knowing no one would surprise you,” I say.

“Get out of here!” Cliff responds. “There are three doors in the waiting area–Dr. Goldwin’s office, Dr. Kolanski’s, and some other guy’s. At any second someone might have popped out of any of the doors.”

“Well, anyway, you didn’t get caught,” I say. “What’d you find out?”

“First of all,” says George, “Dr. Goldwin is going to try to get Pete committed to the hospital and to force him to take Thorazine. There’s a meeting in a Judge Kaplan’s chambers at 2:00 today.”

“What else did you hear? I ask.

“Dr. Goldwin,” says Steve, “was yelling at Dr. Kolanski, saying,” ‘What the hell do you think you were doing out there?’ “Then Dr. Kolanski said,” ‘We don’t know what we’re doing with this Thorazine, yet. Just last night one of the patients on it became very sick. We need to back up, re-evaluate.’

“Dr. Goldwin said, ‘Bill, you’re going to have to learn to take a clinically detached view of these cases. Now pull yourself together. I want you to go out there and tell those boys you thought they were talking about some other medication–Reserpine. Tell them you thought they were talking about Reserpine.’

“Dr. Kolanski said, ‘I can’t do that, Robert.’

“Dr. Goldwin said, ‘Let me make myself clearer, I’m ordering you to do it.’

“Dr. Kolanski said, ‘You’re ordering me to do something unethical and immoral.’

“Dr. Goldwin replied, ‘I’m telling you that if you ever want to work as a psychiatrist again, you’ll get out there now and do what I just told you!’

“Dr. Kolanski said, ‘Robert, Pete’s mother has a right to make an informed and completely voluntary decision concerning treatment for her son. I intend…’

“Dr. Goldwin interrupts, hollering, ‘Informed consent–what crap. You know what kind of patients we deal with. You think their parents are any better…’

“Dr. Kolanski then said, ‘Under the law, parents are presumed competent. You presume incompetence. If you think the parent is incompetent to be the boy’s legal guardian, pursue the case in a court of law. At least there she’ll be entitled to due process.’

“Dr. Goldwin then said, ‘Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? Who the hell… you want us to get rid of drugs, do you? What are we supposed to do, talk to the patient? That’s what the social workers and psychologists do. You know what they get paid around here? Do you know what I paid for my brownstone on 57th Street? You’re fired, Dr. Kolanski.'”

Discussion

This story raises some important questions. For example, do you respect Dr. Kolanski for seeking to be honest with Steve and his friends? Did Dr. Goldwin do the right thing by firing Dr. Kolanski? How do readers feel about Dr. Goldwin raising the issue of having a much higher salary than social workers and psychologists because of his prescription privileges?

I encourage readers to chime in on these questions and comment in any other way that comes to mind.

My Best.
Jeff

————————-
Some people will enjoy reading this blog by beginning with the first post and then moving forward to the next more recent one; then to the next one; and so on. This permits readers to catch up on some ideas that were presented earlier and to move through all of the ideas in a systematic fashion to develop their emotional intelligence. To begin at the very first post you can click HERE

Tags Inform consent, Psychiatric Drugs, The Cool Steve Stories

conflict resolution criticism racism

Cool Steve Deals With Racism

Post author By Dr. Jeffrey Rubin
Post date August 7, 2025
2 Comments on Cool Steve Deals With Racism

Welcome to From Insults to Respect. Here’s a story that just might deepen your thoughts about racism.

Cool Steve Deals With Racism

Monday morning. Lincoln feels more familiar now. Here and there I see someone I know.

After lunch, my black friend, Leroy and I are talking about our rock band rehearsal next Thursday night while heading to math class. I spot Steve Marino and Brainy George down the hall. We’re heading toward them. I know that Steve and George live in an all-white neighborhood. How would they react to being introduced to Leroy?

When Leroy and I reach Steve and George, I nod and try to hurry by, but Steve says, “Wait a minute, Jeff. I wanna talk to you about playing stickball after school.”

My heart freezes. I think, I’ll just keep walking and say quickly, I gotta run.

But then, what I was doing just feels wrong. I stop. My heart—pounding, my forehead—hot—I say, “Hey, this guy over here, he’s… he’s a friend a mine—Leroy Wilson.”

“Leroy, huh,” says Steve, smiling. “Hey, you from Coney Island?”

“No, I ain’t. I live in Brighton. Most of the cats in my family, though, live ovuh dere.”

“Coney Island,’ says George, “a lot of niggers live over there.”

“What did you say,” yells Leroy? The anger in his voice captures the attention of the hallway traffic. Students are stopping to see what’s going on.

Just then, the late bell rings. “Leroy,” says Steve, “I’ll talk to George about his choice of words after school.” Steve then gives Leroy a respectful bow of his head. Then we quickly head toward our classes.

On our way, Leroy says, “You know dat Brainy George cat is a real ass.”

* * *

When I spot Steve in the hallway after math, I hustle after him. “Steve, after school I’m gonna get your friend, George, good.”

“Get? Get? Watcha mean get?”

“You heard him. What he said to Leroy, man…”

“Listen, Jeff, I’ve known George for a couple of years now and I’ve seen quite a few kids rough him up because he can have a big mouth. And ya know what? All it does is make him more stubborn. Jeff, I’m with you on wanting George to knock off the insults. Maybe we could come up with something that actually has a chance of working with him. I’ll see him in health class eighth period and I’ll tell him we both wanna talk to him after school. We’ll go to Rocco’s and whyncha keep it friendly until the pizza comes, capeesh? Then tell him straight how ya feel, without threats. When you’re through, let him answer you completely. No matter what he says, don’t interrupt. When he’s through, you’ll be dying to reply to what he said, but don’t. Let me go. We’re old friends. Some stuff he ough’da hear… well, he’ll be able to take it better if… if it comes from me. Capeesh?”

“We still gonna play stickball?”

“Yeah. Right after pizza, we’ll go.”

* * *

Later that afternoon, George, Steve and I all walk over to Rocco’s and order a pizza.

When it comes, I say, “George, ya use the word nigger to piss my friend Leroy off?

“Hey! If we start calling those people black, pretty soon they’ll start thinking that they’re as good as us.”

“George,” says Steve, “why is everything to you in terms of who’s better than the next guy?”

George doesn’t answer, but his face is turning red.

Steve pauses a few seconds. I pick at my pizza trying to restrain myself. After a few more calming seconds, Steve continues. “I’ve known you for a couple years now, George, and I know you feel bad about not being too hot in gym and sports and stuff like that. You looking to put people down to convince yourself that being poor in sports isn’t as bad as being black or… or… or whatever?”

“Hey! First of all I don’t give a shit about sports,” George screams. “And what about you, Steve?! You do the same thing as me, Steve! You do the same thing! You’re always saying you want to be the best baseball player around and you’re always comparing yourself to other people! Just yesterday, I heard you say to Cliff that you think you’re better than Jeff in stickball! That’s the same thing, Steve! That’s the same thing!”

Steve pauses here, looking confused. Then a smile forms on his lips. “No. No, it isn’t,” Steve replies. I notice he has put his hand on George’s shoulder, and his voice is soft and calming. “You’re right that I wanna be the best baseball player around, but I know that even if I become the best, that still doesn’t make me better than anyone else as a human being. Mickey Mantle and Willie Mays are the best players around, but that doesn’t make them any better people than you or me. It’s okay to strive to be the best at something. That’s a person’s special contribution. Cliff’s great at writing about sports; you’re a genius at school stuff; I’m good at baseball; and Jeff’s a good stickball player, maybe not as good as me, but pretty good.” Steve turns to me and smiles.

“Finish up with George,” I say, “and we’ll straighten out the stickball issue over the next few games.”

“All right,” says Steve, still smiling. “George, first of all, you know I like you, don’t ya?”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

“There’s no guessing here, George. I don’t have to hang out with you. I don’t have to be talking to you now. I do it because I like you. That’s gotta be pretty obvious to someone with your intelligence. No?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Now, correct me if I’m wrong. No matter how special our talents are, it still don’t make us better or worse than the next guy as a person. You can see that, can’t ya?”

I think to myself, maybe in some basic way we are all equal—but people do respect some people more than others.

George glares at us. He then roughly shakes hot pepper on his pizza and too much comes spilling out. “SHIT!” he hollers as he slams the shaker on the table. He shoves his slice away, crosses his arms in front of his chest, and angles his chair away from us. We sit silently, listening to the juke box playing “Downtown,” and watching the other patrons passing the time. Now George is rubbing his head, messing up his already messy hair. Slowly, a quiet sadness comes over him. I see a glimmer in his eyes. He turns to Steve. “It’s not that I’m bad in sports,” he says, his voice much softer now. “I couldn’t care less about sports. It’s just… well, all through elementary school there were these black guys who would gang up on me. I know white people have roughed me up also. And probably whites have beat up far more blacks than the other way around. It’s in the paper all the time how whites are stringing up blacks, especially in the South. But, when you’ve been beaten up as much as me by blacks, it’s hard to forget just like that.”

Everyone remains quiet for a few moments. I notice every now and then Steve looks softly into George’s eyes. After a while George says, “I guess Leroy… well… he never did anything wrong to me so… well, I guess I should at least give him a chance.”

* * *

A couple of days later, Leroy and I run into George out by the side entrance of Lincoln. George turns red, stutters for a minute and then says, “Listen, Leroy, I… I… well, I’m sorry about the way I acted the first time we met.”

“Sorry,” says Leroy. “Sorry. Man, git the hell away from me.”

“Leroy, listen to George for a minute, will ya,” I say.

“Leroy,” says George. “When I was in junior high there were these… well these black kids, and they taunted me day in and day out. And a few times they beat me up and some of my white friends. And… well… I wasn’t alone about getting to hate them. After awhile, the white kids I knew started to say stuff about black people, without bothering to say the stuff just about the kids who picked on us, and… I guess we began in some strange way to think we were better than blacks. That’s wrong, and I’m… well, I’m sorry.”

Leroy places his hands on the tight black curls of his closely cropped hair. He clears his throat by going, “Ahmmm. Ahmmm.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest and takes a tough looking stance. Then he puts his arms down to his side. Finally, in his deep rich voice he says, with his hands moving in front of him: “Ya know, it’s funny… it’s funny about dis business of so many cats tryin’ ta think dey’re better dan everyone else. Ya know, when I go ta Coney Island, some of da black cats ovuh dere mess wit’ me just because dey know I have white friends. Dey start squawking, ‘Boy, you a whitey’ or ‘You a Oreo!’ Dey think dey’re better den me ‘cause dey have just black friends. Dere’s times when I hated all of ‘em because of it. At uda times, I hated all whites fuh makin’ black people hate me. T’ tell ya da truth, George, I guess… well, I guess I have no call holden’ a grudge wit’ you, not wit’ me sorta doin’ da same thing lots of times.”

——————————-

Some people will enjoy reading this blog by beginning with the first post and then moving forward to the next more recent one; then to the next one; and so on. This permits readers to catch up on some ideas that were presented earlier and to move through all of the ideas in a systematic fashion to develop their emotional and social intelligence. To begin at the very first post you can click HERE.

Tags conflict resolution, Racism, The Cool Steve Stories

conflict management conflict resolution respect

Cool Steve Confronts Poverty

Post author By Dr. Jeffrey Rubin
Post date July 22, 2025
No Comments on Cool Steve Confronts Poverty

Welcome to From Insults To Respect.

When thirteen-year old Cool Steve’s parents no longer can afford the rent where they had been living, they move to a less expensive, run down apartment. Steve has to start a new junior high school even though it’s the middle of a school year. Let’s see if we can learn something when we see how Steve handles his first day there.

* *. *

At lunchtime, Steve’s teacher informs him, “Young man, because this is your first day here, when you get down to the lunchroom, you’re to report to the vice principal, Mr. Lantern. He’ll assign you a place to sit. You can’t miss him; he’s the large, bald gentleman down in the lunchroom.”

“You must be the new member of our team,” says Mr. Lantern, amidst the noisy sounds of the lunchroom. He glances at a clipboard. “Steve Marino?”

“Yes, Mr Lantern.”

“Welcome to Cunningham. Follow me.”

They walk past rows of long rectangular lunch tables until Mr. Lantern, pointing to an empty spot, says, “Why don’t you have a seat right here? This is where the students in your homeroom sit.”

“Okay,” says Steve, nervous but attempting an air of nonchalance.

As Steve begins to sit down, this very pretty girl who is sitting just to the right of where he has been assigned leaps up wildly screaming. “I can’t believe this!”

Steve looks around for some answer to this crazed girl’s actions.

“I can’t believe this!” she screams. “The incredible power!”

Steve sees that she’s talking to him while intensely staring at him.

“You have a very old soul,” she continues, “an ancient soul of some mighty leader. I’ve never sensed such power! This is incredible!” Then she touches Steve’s arm and her shining, green feline eyes drift up as if leading her to another dimension and she swoons, “Ohhhhhhhh!”

Steve, shaking his head, sits down, looking bewildered.

“Don’t mind her,” says this broad, dark haired guy sitting opposite to the girl. “You’ll get used to Mysterious Jane.”

“Mysterious Jane?” Steve asks.

“Yeah,” says the guy, “we call Mysterious Jane, Mysterious Jane, because she’s strange. Anyways, I’m Ron DeFilipo.

After Steve introduces himself, he looks over the situation. Directly to Steve’s right sits Mysterious Jane, with her long glimmering black hair, lovely green eyes, strikingly beautiful facial features, and, even as a thirteen-year-old, her curves are hard to ignore.

Ron points to a guy on his left. “This here is Jerry Miller, the best athlete in eighth grade.” Jerry, thick dark brown hair, swarthy, and wearing a silver chain around his neck with a distinctive Star of David hanging from it.

Steve gives Jerry a respectful salute.

Jerry returns the gesture with a nod.

“You see those kids over there?” says Ron to Steve, referring to the table two feet away. “They’re the SP kids, the biggest wimps at school.”

We had SP students, those in the “Special Progress Program” for super smart kids in my last school, Steve thinks to himself.

At the SP table this blond-haired, blue-eyed kid who, upon hearing Ron calling SP kids wimps, turns to Ron and yells, “We aren’t wimps, you are!”

Both glare at each other.

“Personally,” says Steve, “I like some of the kids that got school smarts. I like to have a couple of them for my friends ‘cause I’m not all that great with school stuff, capeesh? They help me to understand some stuff.”

“I don’t need no help from any wimpy SP kids,” says Ron.

“We wouldn’t give you any,” the SP kid bitterly responds.

“Ya wanna be friends with those jerks, ga’ head,” says Ron.

“I’m not saying you have to be a school wizard to be my friend,” says Steve. “I like to know kids with different kinds of talents.”

“So you’re a new kid here,” says another kid sitting at the SP table.

“Yeah. Today’s my first day.”

“Well, I’m Cliff, Cliff Schweitzer, and this blond guy sitting across from me who is always arguing with Ron; well, the guys call him Brainy George.”

“Your real name is ‘Brainy George’?” Steve asks smiling.

“Na. George Beck.”

Steve looks him over. His fine blond hair is sloppily combed mostly to the right, but some haphazardly falls over to the left. Thick glasses magnify his pale blue eyes.

Steve turns to look at Cliff. Even though he’s in the SP program like George, Cliff hardly looks like an intellectual. Dark and athletic looking, Cliff is quite a contrast to his buddy, Brainy George.

“Just because these guys are in the SP program, you don’t like them, Ron?” Steve asks.

“Aaa, they’re a bunch of losers,” Ron responds.

“What did he say?!” asks a student who is sitting to Cliff’s left.

“Shutup Abromowitz!” Ron hollers.

“I don’t like this kind of talk, Ron,” hollers Jerry Miller, his gold star of David glimmering reddish blue like an igniting flame.

Mr. Lantern points to Steve’s section of the lunchroom.

“That means it’s time for us to get in the lunch line,” says Mysterious Jane to Steve touching his arm and smiling into his eyes.

As Steve begins to get up, he feels an intense anxiety pang. Great, he says to himself. Now I gotta get on this lousy lunch line and use this damn free lunch pass I got at the welfare agency.

* * *

The aroma of chicken soup, peanut butter sandwiches, and fried fish cakes drifts into Steve’s nostrils. He picks out a peanut butter sandwich, a container of milk, and some ice cream. Then he shows the cashier his free lunch pass. Ron DeFelipo, standing right behind Steve, starts to laugh and says to Mysterious Jane, “Look at this! This is the guy with all the power! He can’t even afford to buy himself lunch! What a joke!”

When Steve hears this, it feels like a knife has been stuck in his gut. His face becomes hot, he pleads with himself not to have tears well up in his eyes, and he looks down avoiding everyone’s eyes.

Jane looks at Steve, turns to Ron, shoves him, and says, “You have no brains.”

“Don’t ya get it?” says Ron. “He’s got all this power and…”

“Lay off. It’s hard enough,” says Brainy George, who’s standing nearby.

When Steve gets back to his table, his appetite’s gone. There’s a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach. After a few moments he accepts that he isn’t going to get any food down, so he pushes his tray away.

A few minutes later, Ron turns to Steve and says, “Can you believe this? This ugly midget George says he can take me.”

Now Cliff, who has been quietly reading the Daily News sports page while eating, decides to put in his two cents. “If it’s important to you to be a good fighter, Ron, why don’t you join a wrestling team or karate club? Or learn to box. There’s a boxing club not too far from here where the former world heavyweight champ, Floyd Patterson, trained when he was growing up. Join one of those things. You’ll find that, compared to people who train regularly, your skills are awful. With training you can develop them and test them respectfully against other people who are also skilled.”

“I don’t need no training,” says Ron. “I can take anyone around here.”

“Anyone?” Jerry Miller asks.

“Well, maybe not you, Jerry,” Ron comes back, “but pretty much anyone.”

“Look,” says Cliff, “all I’m trying to say is, no matter how good you get at fighting, it’s not going to prove who’s a man and who isn’t. Patterson was the champ. Sonny Liston beat him and now he’s the best fighter around. He can take all of us. Does that mean he’s the only man around and the rest of us are wimps? And what happens when someone finally takes Liston? Does that mean that one day Liston’s a man and the day he loses suddenly he becomes a wimp?”

Steve once again begins to wrestle with his food and this time he gets some of it down, though it tastes like sawdust.

* *. *

Well, that’s my story for today. I hope it provokes some thoughtful reactions about how poverty isn’t just a shortage of money; it includes embarrassing experiences and opportunities to be cruelly looked down upon.

My Best,
Jeff

Tags conflict resolution, Dealing with poverty, respect, The Cool Steve Stories

conflict resolution Uncategorized

The Creation of The Cool Steve Stories

Post author By Dr. Jeffrey Rubin
Post date December 26, 2016
No Comments on The Creation of The Cool Steve Stories

It was way back in 1972 on a pleasant autumn day. As I stepped out of the sparkling sunshine into the shadowy confines of the Coney Island Child Psychiatric Clinic, I was greeted by three people who could have been movie actors. One was a beautiful social worker in her late twenties, with flowing brunette hair; another, a tall, handsome psychologist in his early thirties; and the third, a psychiatrist who looked like he was trying out for a part as Sigmund Freud, with his long, graying beard and pipe. Initially they were warm and friendly but, within a few minutes, switched to more earnest expressions. The psychiatrist took charge at this point, informing me that I would be working with eight very troubled male teenagers—two individually, and six in a group. My first job teaching conflict resolution under the auspices of a real life professional organization had begun.

It was a period of time before the current practice of converting the psychological concerns of all children brought to a psychiatric clinic into a language of illness believed to be due to chemical imbalances. The prescribing of pills as the main—oftentimes only—action offered was something I had never dreamed of. Instead, a staff of professionals and several advanced psychology students from Brooklyn College sought to provide empathic emotional support, understand the conflicts the children were experiencing, and guide them toward more mature coping. I was one of the Brooklyn College students.

Achieving the first two goals proved to be a breeze. The kids’ hunger for attention made it easy to develop genuinely enjoyable relationships. And the way the boys spoke and interacted readily revealed volumes on the topic of conflicts with which they struggled on a daily basis. Guiding the boys toward more mature coping, however, tripped me up.

I remember one of my first attempts. A burly thirteen-year old boy with wild, unkempt hair began to express his anger about a kid at school who had called him a jerk.

“Called you a jerk!?” I replied. “Yikes! What did you do about it?”

“I shoved him.”

“How’d that work out?”

“I got sent to the principal.”

“Do you like to get sent to the principal?”

“NO!”

“Hmm, if you don’t like it, maybe we can figure out how to respond to a name caller in a better way.”

“If someone puts me down, I ain’t gonna let him get away with it.”

“I can understand that. Let’s discuss a few ways to deal with name calling that doesn’t let the other guy get away with anything and yet won’t get you sent to the principal’s office.”

“Na. If that guy calls me a name again, I’m really gonna let him have it! He better not start with me again!”

“I can see just thinking about this is really making you angry.”

“Yeah, it is!”

“Well, I have good news for you. I think I can help you to come up with some ways that you can handle name calling that you would respect but won’t get you in trouble. Wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

“Listen, I don’t wanna talk about this anymore!”

At this point, I realized that, for now, to pursue this any longer would be counterproductive.

Shortly after this, I noticed that the two black kids in the group I was working with were frequently being put down by the four white kids.

Some words got thrown back and forth that could have made a Brooklyn boy blush. Well, okay, maybe not a Brooklyn boy, but most people. Anyway, my efforts to address this were, unfortunately, met with the boys shouting over me as their anger flamed into rage.

“You’re doing just fine,” my supervisor assured me. “Working with kids requires great patience.”

I would have preferred specific suggestions on how to better teach. Still, his comments at least temporarily took some pressure off of me.

But as time went on, my patience waned, and I began to have difficulty falling asleep. In the wee hours of the morning my mind kept going over and over incidents in which my efforts to teach something to the kids ended without success. And then, during one such night, amidst an experience of what felt like endless tossing and turning and excruciating frustration, suddenly I recalled an incident that happened to me in fifth grade. Back then I had recently seen the movie, The Pride of the Yankees, with Gary Cooper starring as the New York Yankees’ great baseball player, Lou Gehrig. Nicknamed “The Iron Horse,” Gehrig had his Hall-of-Fame career cut short at 36 years of age when he was stricken with a fatal disease. As the film comes to an end, it reenacts Gehrig’s farewell address in front of a packed, tearful crowd at Yankee Stadium. I’ll never forget his parting words. “People all say that I’ve had a bad break. But today…today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.”

Shortly after seeing the film, I decided to read a Lou Gehrig biography and learned that his parents were from Germany. Because I had grown up on war movies that depicted Germans as the vicious enemy, I had, at that time, come to hate Germans. But, when I began to read Lou Gehrig’s biography, I found my hatred undergoing a dramatic change. The story tells us that Lou’s parents were from Germany, spoke with a German accent, and this led the kids in his neighborhood to incessantly torment him.

Somehow, my heart went out to Lou, and from that day on, I came to believe that it wasn’t right to judge a person by their nationality.

Lying in bed recalling having read that biography so many years ago, my mind, at one point, returned to thinking about teaching kids coping skills. It seemed to me that there was something about that Lou Gehrig story that enabled me to reconsider attitudes that I had firmly held for so long. Perhaps if I could tell the kids at the clinic stories about a hero who portrayed higher levels of maturity, they might identify with the hero. I figured that kids like to try out the behaviors of their heroes. I know I did. Criticizing the actions of characters in the story would produce less defensiveness than when I had directly criticized the actions of the kids at the clinic. If I told the stories when the clinic kids weren’t already in a defensive state, maybe they would be open to a real discussion. Once they had thought the issues through, perhaps then they would be better able to integrate what they had learned into their own lives.

Soon afterwards, each time I saw the kids at the clinic dealing with a different conflict in a way that struck me as immature, a story dealing with the conflict in a more mature way just came to me in some strange, effortless manner. The hero of the stories, Cool Steve, has many of the attributes that the clinic kids admired.

I made it a point to tell each story at some point in our session when things were relatively calm. And it turned out that the kids loved them. When I told the stories to the group of kids I worked with—kids well known for their rambunctiousness—they settled right down and you could hear a pin drop as the tale unfolded. They discussed them, grappled with the issues, and oftentimes came to agree that Cool Steve had handled the conflict in a way they respected.

An interesting discovery that I made when I was teaching conflict management to graduate students at the University of Minnesota was that the adult students there enjoyed the stories every bit as much as teenagers. And so, with that encouragement, the stories grew and grew so that they now comprise a series of three novels collectively called The Cool Steve Stories that you can learn about HERE.

Readers of this blog know that as I provide lessons on conflict management, I often illustrate the ideas with newspaper comic strips. Although these comics are very helpful for introducing basic ideas, to really learn the subtleties of applying the ideas of conflict management in actual situations it is hard to beat the longer narratives that novels provide.

The first novel in the trilogy is A Hero Grows in Brooklyn. Most of the action occurs when the main characters are junior high school students. If it was a movie, it would likely be rated “PG.” Fights in the Streets, Tears in the Sand, the second novel in the trilogy, deals with some more mature themes. The main characters are now beginning an urban high school and there is a modest amount of cursing, and some talk about sexual feelings and fantasies. It would probably be rated “PG13” if it was a movie. Love, Sex and Respect, the final novel in the trilogy, takes the main characters through to their high school graduation. If the book was a movie, it might be rated “R.”

You can learn more about the novels at this blog’s NOVELS page toward the top of this page. There you will find that the first novel in the series can be downloaded for free on any iPad, Nook, Kindle or computer, or you can order a paperback version HERE.

I encourage my students to check these books out because they provide memorable adventures that are not only fun and exciting, but teach some profound lessons as well.

Have a great week!

——————————-

Tags Narratives and conflict resolution, The Cool Steve Stories

Bullied bullying conflict resolution The Cool Steve Trilogy

Cool Steve Faces a Bully

What is the best way to deal with a bully? In my Cool Steve Trilogy, the main character, Steve Marino, struggles with this problem. It initially comes up in the first of the three novels, A Hero Grows In Brooklyn, which is available for free as an ebook by clicking HERE. There, Steve, who is at this point in the trilogy, a mere 13 years old, has move to a new neighborhood in the middle of the school year, and on the first day at his new school the only thing going well is that he has met the strange and beautiful Mysterious Jane. Let’s take a little look at some of what happens.

Please keep in mind that important sections of how Steve begins to gain the respect of the students at school are left out of this little parable to keep the story fairly brief, but what is left brings up many of the essential issues that must be addressed if we are to wisely answer the question, What is the best way to deal with a bully?

Cool Steve Faces a Bully

Steve Marino, an eighth grader, has had to move to a new school in the middle of a school year because his father has gotten into trouble in his old neighborhood. On his first day at his new school, he enters his mechanical drawing class. He’s surprised to see Mysterious Jane. In his last school, there were no girls in his mechanical drawing class, and she’s the only one in this one.

Steve decides to take a seat next to her. As he sits down, he hears a kid to his right whisper to another, “Hey, the new kid’s picked the seat in front of Godzilla. This should be interesting!” Several kids start to laugh. Others have wide eyes of anticipation.

Steve glances back at who is sitting behind him and sees this monster of a student. Left back twice, and a grade ahead of Steve, Godzilla is well past his sixteenth birthday and huge for someone that age. Steve gives him a smile.

The teacher, Mr. Carmello, a big man with large shoulders and a slightly bent back, gives the class an assignment—they have to draw an engine block using a pencil, ruler, T-square, and protractor. Mr Carmello then pulls on the lapels of his well-worn gray sports jacket and cries out, “Let’s get to work!” and he begins clapping his hands like a baseball coach.

As Steve works on his project he bites on his lower lip. Aaaa, that angle looks pretty shoddy. I better erase it. Okay, slow up and get it right. Aaaa, it still looks like crap. Again he erases it. This time, ever so carefully, he tries again. Hey, that’s better.

About halfway into the class, someone in the hallway knocks on the classroom door.

“I’m going to have to step out for a minute,” says Mr. Carmello. “I expect everyone to act like adults.”

As soon as he leaves, Godzilla, the huge kid sitting behind Steve, reaches out and grabs Steve’s pencil. Upon the initial grab, the pencil digs into Steve’s paper. As Godzilla yanks the pencil toward his own project, Steve’s paper tears in half. Steve spins around and quickly sizes up Godzilla. If he goes right at him, he would be a feather colliding into a mountain. Steve screams in frustration, “Why did you grab my pencil?”

“Because da point broke on mine,” says Godzilla with a nasty smirk.

“There’s a pencil sharpener right over there!”

“Your pencil was closer,” Godzilla says, laughing.

Steve leaps up preparing to go at Godzilla. Godzilla leaps up, ready to counter-attack.

Steve, seeing Godzilla towering over him, becomes so frustrated he feels he’s going to explode. “I know I can’t take you in a fist fight,” Steve hollers, “but if you grab my pencil again I’m gonna hassle you for twenty-four hours. And I don’t care what you do to me—I’m gonna hassle you for twenty-four hours any way I can. I’m not looking for any trouble with you but I’m not gonna just sit here and take your crap!”

Then Godzilla spits in Steve’s face.

Steve grabs Godzilla’s assignment and begins to crumple it while attempting to dart down the desk aisle. Godzilla reaches out with his long arm and grabs Steve by the back of his neck with his huge hand.

Steve yanks his neck free, leaving two deep bloody scratches.

Several kids begin to yell, “Leave him alone, Godzilla! Mr. Carmello!!”

Steve runs down the aisle, leaping over one desk and heading toward the classroom door with Godzilla lumbering after him.

Just as Steve gets to the door, in walks Mr. Carmello who begins to scream, “What’s going on in here!”

* * *

Vice Principal Lantern, with his bright angry red face that matches his red hair, escorts Steve and Godzilla to the principal’s office. “You two are lucky I’m not going to handle this myself!” he hollers. “Since that student was killed, Mr. Imperiale insists on dealing directly with anyone who gets into a fight.”

“A student was killed?!” Steve exclaims.

“Quiet!” shouts Mr. Lantern. “Students are trying to learn.”

“A student was killed?” Steve repeats in a whisper. “What happened?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss it.” Mr. Lantern replies.

Oh, this is just great! Steve thinks to himself as he’s walking down the long hallway. Just great! Marone, my neck is killing me!

When they arrive, the principal is in his inner office busy with someone. His secretary, as she adjusts a bobby pin in her hair bun, tells them to have a seat until he’s through.

“Excuse me,” says Steve to the secretary. “I have to go to the bathroom to wash my scratches.” Upon showing the secretary his bleeding neck, she grimaces and gives him permission.

When Steve gets to the bathroom, he takes off his one decent shirt. Spotting dried blood all over the collar, his face contorts. “It’s ruined. It’s ruined.” He turns the sink water on, looks at his neck in the mirror and begins to think about his first day at school—being put down at lunch because he’s on welfare, now this…well, Steve just can’t help it. He begins to cry.

* * *

Steve doesn’t cry for long, but it’s one of those cries that pours out of you leaving you feeling like something awful was released.

When Steve looks up, he gazes into the bathroom mirror for a long minute. Come on, I gotta get going, he says to himself. He shakes his head and begins washing. The warm water burns and the brown paper towels feel like sandpaper as he washes off the blood.

Slowly, Steve twists and turns to slip his shirt back on, struggling against the wrenching sharpness of his neck scratches. When his shirt is buttoned up, he sets his eyes for strength and determination.

* * *

Arriving back at the office, Steve sees that Godzilla is already in with the principal. The secretary tells Steve to have a seat until he’s called.

After a long uncomfortable wait, finally, Godzilla comes out of the principal’s office. As he passes Steve he whispers, “I’m gonna fix you good for this.”

“I ain’t looking for any trouble with you,” says Steve looking firmly into Godzilla’s eyes. “You leave me alone, I’ll leave you alone. But every time you fix me you’re gonna have to pay the price. Twenty-four hours. I’m gonna hassle you twenty-four hours. And I don’t care what you do to me. I’m not gonna just sit there and take your shit!”

“You watch your language young man!” the secretary hollers.

Godzilla, just about to respond to Steve, spots the principal coming out of his office. Quickly he puts on a smile and lumbers away.

* * *

“Step in here, young man,” the principal says in a deep voice as he points to the entrance of his office.

Steve slides his hands through his hair and complies.

“My name is Mr. Imperiale,” says the principal as he puts out his right hand. A heavy five o’clock shadow is already sprouting from his jowls, chin and upper lip even though it’s only a little past three.

“Mine’s Steve Marino,” Steve replies as he shakes hands with this symbol of authority.

“What happened in Mr. Carmello’s class?” Mr. Imperiale asks, examining Steve’s neck, his face contorting.

“I was working on my mechanical drawing assignment when the teacher had to go out in the hall. Then this Godzilla character, he grabs my pencil, and he just doesn’t grab it, but he digs it into my drawing, ruining it.”

“First of all,” says Mr. Imperiale, “the boy you had a fight with, his name is Warren, not Godzilla. He hates it when the other students call him Godzilla. Is that what you called him when he started in with you?”

“No!” answers Steve. “I just heard the other kids call him that.”

“Well, I don’t want to hear you referring to him anymore in any other way than Warren. Do you agree to that?”

“Sure, Mr. Imperiale. I ain’t looking for any trouble with anyone.”

“Go ahead, Steve finish telling me your side of the story.”

“Well, when he ruined my assignment and I asked him why he did it, he says it was because his pencil point broke. The way he said it and all, well, he had this smirk and I knew he was giving me a pile of…”

“Watch it young man!”

“Sorry. Anyways, I told this here Warren guy that if he hassles me again, I’m gonna hassle him for twenty-four hours any way I can, and then we’ll start over like nothing happened, even if I get the worse of the deal. Each time he hassles me, I’ll hassle back for twenty-four hours. I guess he didn’t like what I said because he spit in my face. So I grabbed his assignment and tore it up, and as I was trying to get away, he grabbed my neck.”

Mr. Imperiale rubs his chin. After a few moments, he says, “Where’d you get this idea about hassling someone for twenty-four hours and then letting the argument drop even if you get the worst of the deal?”

“It started with this motto I’d hear in the streets every now and then. It goes, ‘It doesn’t matter if you win or lose a fight as long as the guy who started it ends up knowing he was in one.’ I got the rest kinda from this cartoon I saw and from trying to deal with my brother Pete. In this cartoon there were these two families—the Hatfields and the McCoys. They lived in Appalachia and they were fighting for years, for generations even. Nobody even remembered what started the feud. But they kept fighting anyway—mothers, fathers, and children, generation after generation would be blown away. At some point you gotta stop. I figure twenty-four hours seems like a fair amount. Every time you try a truce, maybe the other guy goes for it. It’s worth a try. I mean even if you get the worst of the deal while you’re feuding, it’s worth a try because, well, first of all, by then the guy who started it knows you gave him some trouble—and also because I personally got better things to do than feud, capeesh?”

“I capeesh,” says Mr. Imperiale.

“Another way I got the idea was from my brother, Pete. Even though I’m a lot bigger than Pete, I learned it pays to get along with him because he can do little things to me that’s more of a hassle than a punch in the nose. Like, he’ll start screaming when I’m watching my favorite TV program and if I twist his arm till he swears he’ll stop, two minutes later he’s making a racket with his train set. Before I know it, I’ve missed my whole show. Anyway, I’ve learned that being a lot bigger than a guy doesn’t mean you don’t have to get along with him.

“Hmm, very interesting,” says Mr. Imperiale. “Steve, your plan has some merit to it. But it also has an element of serious risk. There are some people who would seriously hurt you—even kill you—rather than settle peacefully. The sacrifice you make in waging a conflict might not be worth a fair settlement. Choose your fights carefully, Steve. Choose by weighing the good things and bad things about one plan and then contrast these with that of other plans. For example, your plan, in some ways, is kind of a ‘get back’ plan. That is, if a guy does something bad to you, you try to get back at him by doing something bad to him. Your plan does have two rather original elements. You let the other guy know you’ll leave him alone if he leaves you alone. You then let the other guy know you will only hassle him for twenty-four hours and then you’ll return to peace. Let’s look at the pros and cons of this.”

Then Mr. Imperiale pulls his seat around so it is side by side with Steve’s. He takes out a pen and begins writing.

PLAN 1 (Steve’s ‘get back’ strategy)

Pro

Con

1. Steve can bring about a desired change even with kids much bigger than him.

1. It takes time and energy to do bad things to someone for twenty-four hours.

2. There is a chance of peace every twenty-four hours.

2. Steve got spit on.

3. Some kids will be discouraged from hassling Steve because they wouldn’t want to pay his price.

3. Steve got his neck scratched.

4. Some kids will respect Steve because he stood up to somebody much bigger than him.

4. Warren can do other bad things to Steve in the future

5. Some people, when threatened, would seriously hurt Steve, maybe even kill him.

After making this list, the principal says, “Let’s consider another plan. I think Warren started in with you because he knew you’re new here. Without friends to back you up, he thought he could get on your case without any problems. What do you think might have happened if you would have waited until you made friends here at Cunningham before taking any action to deal with Warren?”

Mr. Imperiale and Steve make a list that looks like this.

PLAN 2 (Put off action to deal with Warren until Steve makes friends.)

Pro

Con

1. Steve’s neck probably wouldn’t have been scratched.

1. Steve would have still lost his pencil.

2. Steve might not have gotten spit on.

2. Steve’s project would have still been ruined.

3. Steve would be home now instead of staying after school.

3. Warren could do other bad things to Steve.

4. In time, Steve could get enough friends to discourage Warren from hassling him.

4. Steve wouldn’t get as much respect from kids as a ‘get back’ strategy. (Though some kids might have lost respect for Steve because they might have thought he was pretty stupid to start a fight with Warren.)

“I’m not going to ask you to decide now which plan is the better,” says Mr. Imperiale. “Just think about it over the next few days, okay?”

“Sure.”

Now Mr. Imperiale turns very serious. “Steve, students who need to prove they’re real men by starting fights with other students don’t stay long in this school. I’m not going to put up with that kind of behavior. The community has decided that this school is to be for students who want to get an education. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Steve nods. Then Mr. Imperiale smiles and shakes Steve’s hand.

* * *

Warren, the boy that the kids at school call Godzilla, gets suspended from school for a week because he started the fight with Steve. On the day he returns to school, Steve is nervous about meeting up with him. When the bell rings to go to his mechanical drawing class, he leaps up two flights of stairs, and then hurries down a hallway lined with student art. When he steps into class, he eyes the situation. Warren is already at his seat. His teacher, Mr. Carmello, is by his desk rubbing his mustache.

“Excuse me, Mr. Carmello,” says Steve. “Let me have a minute to talk to Warren alone out in the hall.”

“I’m not letting you two alone. What? So you can get into another fight. You’re crazy. Go take your seat.”

“I don’t want to fight him,” Steve replies. “I just gotta talk with him, for a minute. Please.”

Mr. Carmello fiddles with his moustache as he considers the situation. “Warren,” he says after a few seconds, “Steve Marino over here, he says he wants to talk with you out in the hall. You want to talk to him?”

“I don’t care,” Warren answers with a tough snarl.

Mr. Carmello fiddles some more with his moustache for a few seconds. Then he pulls on the lapels of his worn gray sports jacket, clears his voice with a throaty—”Ah, hum,” and proclaims his decision. “Steve, Warren, I’ll let you two talk outside the classroom but with the door open. Both of you are to stay at all times in my sight. I’ll be watching through the doorway, but you can stand far enough away so you can have some privacy. If I hear your voices shouting or you get into a fight, you’ll just have to go immediately to the principal’s office.”

Outside in the hall, alone with Warren, Steve paces back and forth several times and then he looks up and says: “Listen, Warren, I’m stuck. My neck is still killing me. You’re twice my size. What would you do if a guy twice your size started to hassle you?”

Warren pulls his head back and his pupils, wide and open, glare into Steve’s eyes. He firmly makes an X with his arms in front of his chest while his hands grasp his shoulders. “You askin’ me?”

“Yeah, I’d like your opinion.”

“I guess… well… well I guess I like yer plan a little,” Warren answers haltingly. “I mean dat plan of yours… you know… where ya hassle somebody fer twenty-four hours. It might work wit’ some guys. It’d probably’d ov worked wit’ me ‘cause I really don’t wanna go ta no 600 school. Ya gotta take a train dere. And Mr. Imperiale, he ain’t just threatenin’ ta send me dere neither. He’d really do it ‘cause I seen him do it ta t’ree udduh kids since I’ve been heah. So yer plan might ‘ov worked wit’ me, and maybe wit’ some udduh kids too. But you do it wit’ some udduh kids—ye’re dead. Like wit’ Harold an’ Anita’s gang, the Skull Bones. Dis guy, Gary, stood up ta dem an’ ended up da next day stabbed ta death in an alley. What are ya gonna do when ya meet up wit’ dem, Steve? Huh? And yer gonna meet up wit’ dem. Everyone ‘round heah gets shit from dem. What are ya gonna do den, Steve? Huh?”

Steve has no answer. He just gets quiet and then says softly, “I heard about some teenager recently getting killed around here but this stuff about Harold and Anita’s gang, I don’t know nothing about them. All I know is I’m not looking for any trouble from you.” Then he looks into Warren’s eyes and offers him his right hand. Warren looks into Steve’s eyes, and growls, “I ain’t shakin’ ya hand yet. Ya treat me wit’ respect and maybe den.”

“That seems fair, Warren,” Steve says. “Is there anything else you want to say to me.”

“Just don’t mess wit’ me.”

“OK.”

Discussion

Well, that’s my parable for today. By presenting it to you, I don’t mean to suggest that Steve handled this situation perfectly. The story is designed to highlight many of the issues that come up in these types of situations, and to be part of the process that urges us to continue the discussions about how to handle bullying in our schools and in other parts of our communities. I urge readers to add their two cents to the discussion by posting your comments below.

And, with that, here’s hoping you join us again real soon right here at From Insults to Respect. Until then, may you find, and may you give, some kindness throughout this holiday season, and beyond.

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Tags bullies, bully, bullying, The Cool Steve Stories

conflict resolution learning through stories respect

On Being Respected

How does someone learn how to become a person people respect? Arguably, the best way to develop a deep understanding of this is through stories that depict characters that, as they mature, grow into individuals that have the set of characteristics that people highly respect. In the Cool Steve Stories, a coming-of-age trilogy of a boy growing up in Brooklyn, I have attempted to provide my readers with just this type of story.

A Hero Grows in Brooklyn

The first novel of the trilogy, A Hero Grows in Brooklyn, can be downloaded for free on any e-book reader, iPad, or computer. It is also available as a paperback book.

In the trilogy, the topic of respect initially arises when Steve is only five-years old. His Uncle Ricky has taken him to Yankee Stadium, and Mickey Mantle has just won the first game of a double header with a spectacular catch in center field.

The story continues from here:

“Hey Steve,” says Ricky as he stretches his arms way above his head, “while we wait for them to get ready for the next game let’s take a walk. My legs are getting stiff.”

“Can we go way up there?” Steve asks pointing to the seats high above them.

“Let’s go see,” says Ricky.

In the crowded aisle between the dark green seats, slowly they make their way up to a covered cement walkway with hordes of fans on long lines seeking to buy peanuts, hot dogs, ice cream, beer, and soda. Uncle Ricky looks around to get reoriented.

“Let’s try this way, Steve.”

“Wow, Uncle Ricky, I never seen so many people!”

The crowd thins out along an upwardly sloping tunnel. Soon, they emerge into bright sunlight and Steve finds himself in the upper deck behind home plate. This view provides a bird’s-eye perspective. Looking down from the wall in front of the upper deck’s first row of seats, Steve’s mouth flies open, and he suddenly takes a step back. “I bet a guy could get pretty hurt if he fell from here!” he cries.

“Ya wanna find out,” Ricky responds mischievously. “Here. I’ll give ya a boost,” and as he says this he bends down, interlocks the fingers of his hands together and holds them by Steve’s feet.

Steve feigns anger, throwing some mock punches at his uncle while laughing.

As they begin the journey back to their seats, Steve notices the unique smell of stale beer and Cracker Jacks.

“So, Steve, you getting excited about starting kindergarten in the fall?”

“I hear they got some mean kids there.”

“There are always a few kids trying to earn respect by pushing kids around.”

“Resect? What’s that mean?”

“Not resect, respect.”

“Yeah, re… respect, Uncle Ricky, what’s it mean?”

“Well, if ya like a guy then ya…” Ricky begins to say but then pauses. He was about to say, If you like a guy you respect him. But then he thinks about his older brother Mike, who happens to be Steve’s dad. Ricky realizes that he likes Mike, even loves him, but he doesn’t truly respect him. Then Ricky wonders to himself if you can dislike a guy and still respect him. Hmmm.

“Well?” says Steve.

“I guess I’ll tell ya what my dad used to say about respect. You’re a little young ta understand this yet but anyway, every now and then your nonno, in his heavy Italian accent, would say ta me and your dad when we were young, ‘Ricky, Mike, if ya wanna get respect ya gotta learn how ta use this-uh, wit’ this-uh, and wit’ this-uh,” and as Ricky imitates Steve’s grandfather saying these words he points first to his right arm’s biceps, then to his head, and then to his heart.

The little Yankee Stadium scene that I just described, only begins the process of encouraging people to start thinking about the nature of respect. Why Ricky doesn’t respect Steve’s dad, and how Steve, when he becomes a teenager, manages to become respected are answered by reading the rest of the trilogy. By following over the course of a few months the characters as they deal with specific situations that we can relate to, we find ourselves envisioning how we might handle similar situations. As psychologist Rollo May put it, these types of stories are the fibers with which a person weaves a coherent fabric of identity and meaning.

Other Ways to Learn About Respect

An alternative to stories for learning about respect, is to review a list that some people put together of the characteristics that they believe lead to respect. One such list, for example, is provided by wikiHow’s, titled “How to Be Respected.” Among the items listed is:

Being a Good Role Model

Present yourself well

Set an example for others

Make your own decisions

Don’t be overly materialistic

Don’t procrastinate

Be a cultured person

Keep your language clean and respectable

Exude confidence

Be optimistic

Stick to your word

Excel at something

Admit to your mistakes

Avoid getting overly intoxicated in public

Stick up for yourself when you need to

Respecting Others

Greet people in a proper and friendly manner

Never bully others or take advantage of their weaknesses

Give everyone a chance

Be prepared to see other people’s side of the story

Don’t act like a know-it-all

Be discreet

Each item on this list comes with a few examples along with a picture illustrating the point that is being made. Although I believe that there are some essential characteristics left off the list, and many of the examples are too vague to readily put into practice, the items are worth thinking about.

I think the list can be usefully employed as part of a discussion on this topic, especially if those participating in the discussion are encouraged to tell a little story of their own depicting an incident in which someone they know acted in a way that illustrates the items on the list.

Of course another way to learn the skills that lead to respect is to begin reading this blog, starting with the first post, and systematically going through each succeeding post at your own pace. It’s free, and engaging in discussions can be done by posting comments in the “comment section” that appear at the bottom of each of the posts.

Conclusion

Regardless of how else you choose to learn about respect, the Cool Steve Stories is a great way to supplement your learning. The process has elements of fun, sadness, frustration, excitement and humor.

To end today’s post, let’s take a little look at how five-year old Steve ended his day at Yankee Stadium.

After Steve’s mom, Marie, makes him take a shower, it’s time for both of them to watch the Ed Sullivan Show, a Sunday night tradition of theirs.

“Did it start yet?” asks Steve hurrying into the room wearing his pajamas, still dripping from his shower.

“Not yet,” says Marie as she turns the RCA dial to channel two. “Hmmm. That doesn’t look so good.” She adjusts the rabbit-ear antenna so she can get rid of the shadows that are interfering with the picture quality. “There,” she says, “that’s better. You need anything before the show starts?”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll just come over here and sit by my handsome young man.” Together they settle in on their green sofa to enjoy the night’s variety acts.

Steve likes the juggling act. Not only does the guy get balls flying all around, but he also performs a smooth routine using cigar boxes that dance in the air.

During a commercial, as Marie goes into the kitchen to get something to nibble on, Steve gets two pink rubber balls and a baseball and tries to juggle. As he tosses one ball up and then the second, he observes that he is already too late to catch the first because it is about to hit the floor. He tries again and again.

Marie comes back into the living room with a large bowl. The aroma of fresh buttered popcorn enters Steve’s nostrils. He puts the balls down, goes over to the sofa, snuggles with his mom, and together they munch away on the soft, fluffy treat.

“Steve, what was all that commotion I heard in here while I was making the popcorn?”

“I was trying ta juggle, Mom. It’s kinda hard. I’m gonna practice a little everyday till I get it.”

The show drifts by. Marie recalls the quarrel she had with Mike before he left for the bar. He had promised to defrost the refrigerator today, and it hadn’t gotten done. Oh, if this had been the only unfulfilled promise of Mike’s she would have said nothing, nothing at all. But time and time again!

Aching memory after aching memory drift through her thoughts as Dean Martin croons his way through “That’s Amore.” Then Marie looks over to her son. She sees the golden highlights of his dark brown hair, his beautiful face, his sweet lips, the sparkle in his eyes… and as she gazes at him waves and waves of joy flow through her.

The show comes to an end. Steve begins to yawn. It’s been a long day.

“Come on, Steve, it’s time to go to bed,” says Marie.

When they get to Steve’s bedroom, Marie tucks Steve in with his teddy bear. “I love you, Steve,” she says as she leans over and kisses him on his forehead.

“I love ya too, Mom.”

Snuggling with his teddy bear, Steve closes his eyes. His mind drifts here and there. After a while, he begins to dream of one day becoming the next great Yankee centerfielder.

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Some people will enjoy reading this blog by beginning with the first post and then moving forward to the next more recent one; then to the next one; and so on. This permits readers to catch up on some ideas that were presented earlier and to move through all of the ideas in a systematic fashion to develop their emotional intelligence. To begin at the very first post you can click HERE.

Tags A Hero Grows in Brooklyn, learning through stories, Mickey Mantle, respect, respect list, The Cool Steve Stories, Yankee Stadium