I was a rebellious and independent child. Big surprise. Always had my own slightly skewed or out-of-sync perspective; didn't have much use for dolls, but loved playing with tadpoles, frogs and turtles. Given a choice between playing "dress up" or playing cowboys and Indians, well, hand me Trigger's reins or my bow & arrow. When all my 12-year-old friends were swooning over Elvis, my voice that sent me into rapture was Frank Sinatra. My mom once remarked she thought they must have switched babies at the hospital.

I learned early what bullies were all about. I was the youngest of four siblings, and two of them questioned my right to be there at all, and one of them, my older brother, separated from me by the infinite gulf of nine years, was at the top of that short list.

That nine-year gap put me on the earth and he on the moon, a place to which I frequently and fervently prayed he'd go. The brotherly abuse he heaped on me was always good-natured "fun." He thought. To me it was torture, and I learned early to use avoidance where he was concerned. If he couldn't find me, I reasoned, then he couldn't tease, tickle or torment me. But big brothers being what they are, he always found me sooner or later, and then I had no choice but to endure the unwanted attention that, as The Older Brother, was his birthright.

I came across another bully in the 6^th grade. A rather large girl who had a crush on the same boy I had claimed. She knew this, of course. I was cuter. But she was bigger. And as her increasing forays to test my metal grew in potency, so did their frequency. The avoidance approach I had used with my brother to sidestep confrontation would not work in this situation: We were both in the same class and had to take the same route home. So I learned another time-honored trick, to "flock with friends" as a means of protection. We'd psyche each other out each day as we passed, she with her friends, I with mine. That situation degenerated until one day we found ourselves face-to-face, each with our apron of protectors around us, with one important difference: HE was there. No quarter given, none taken. We had a brief, but decisive struggle in which neither of us won, both lost, but each declared victory. Well, at least I had my pride, even if I didn't have him. My only consolation was that she didn't have him, either.

Fast forward to my first "real" job at the excruciatingly juvenile age of 19. You know, "hot shit" time. One of my bosses at an otherwise marvelous company was a virtual primate, with little regard for others. A bully and brute in full form, and the brother-in-law of the company president. He held sway over my very survival. Without the job I couldn't pay rent or eat, and the hard reality of the situation was that I simply wouldn't have the job for long if I didn't please him. And besides being a bully, he was also a sexual harasser, far before society gave it a name. The women in the office selectively ignored and side-stepped his snide double meanings, slimy looks and occasionally even a hands-on display of affectionate duplicity. In short, we endured.

One day I had simply had enough. Forever. I told him off. Eloquently. Perfectly. Then marched into the President's office and told him exactly why I was quitting. Next, I grabbed my high hat and walked out. It was like the times you mentally imagine how you'll tell someone off far after the encounter, but never at the precise moment you need the smart-ass comeback.

Guess what? There was a big conference among the mucky-mucks. Then they called in some of the "girls" (one of whom was 50) who worked in the office and heard their stories. All of their tales were the same, and all jibbed with mine. I was urged to return to the company in a different position. I declined, but with grateful appreciation for the offer.

But that lesson taught me the only effective way of dealing with bullies, when your cause is just: You either stand your ground, or you swallow a dusty, dry chunk of your self-respect and move on. Or worse, turn the other way and pretend you don't see.

Each person's limit is different. And some folks never reach it. They simply go through life, trying their best to stay within the twilight zone of shadows cast by others.

I'm thinking it might be a bit tough to hold to that questionable position, once Mayor Rowe has replaced the current police department with his own hand-picked people. While only suspected previously, it's clear now that this is his intention.

Standing up to a bully is heavy lifting. But getting repeatedly pushed onto your butt into the mud is a lot harder. Because you have to do it over and over and over and over…..