Down In The Tube Station At Midnight
Why boys pretend to be tougher than they really are
When I was 15 I got mugged at Stamford Brook tube station. A gang of lads cornered me and my mate on the steps leading up to the platform, pinned us against the wall, gave us a few digs and rifled through our pockets. We only had a few quid on us so it was no big deal on that front. But, obviously, being roughed up in the tube station isn’t very nice. I went home and told my big brother who, I kinda hoped, would put together a posse to exact ugly revenge on my attackers. But he’d had a few drinks and was feeling belligerent - so he called me soft for allowing it to happen. He even advised that I should have been carrying a knife to protect myself against such incidents. I felt like absolute shit but refused to show it. In the end I went to bed and cried silently.
I’d begged him not to tell my mum what had happened because I didn’t want to worry her. The next evening I cancelled plans to meet up with my mates (I pretended to be ill but, in fact, I was too shaken up and couldn’t face getting back on public transport). My mum nipped out to the shops and brought me back a four pack of Stella. “What’s this for?” I asked. “I heard what happened last night, thought you could do with a pick me up,” she said. I think I managed to get through one and a half cans before falling asleep peacefully on the sofa.
I was happy about the beer but angry that my mum had found out about the mugging. She had four sons who were always getting into trouble and, as the youngest, I’d always had a close up view of the constant anxiety she suffered from.
The most important thing, in my mind, was to avoid making a big deal out of what had happened at the tube station. We lived in an area where muggings were not uncommon. It was neither the first nor the last time it had happened to me. There were all sorts of scary stories about street violence in those days. One of my brothers had been chased through the local subway by a gang of yobs who had smashed a whiskey bottle over his best mate’s head and left him in a coma. He eventually woke up but the brain damage was lasting; within a few weeks of leaving hospital, he jumped out the window of his tower block home and died instantly.
I lived in a part of town that was a bit far away from most of my mates houses. So after a night out I would often have to travel home alone on tubes and busses where local gangs would often hang about, looking for stragglers and easy pray. I kept my money in my shoe because getting robbed was so common.
Through all of this, I turned every incident of violence or assault into comic anecdotes for my mates. This made it easier to process, I suppose. But I also thought it helped me seem tough: I wanted people to know that none of it bothered me. I wanted my peers to know that it was all water off a duck’s back.
But it wasn’t water off a duck’s back at all. It was scary and upsetting and I spent every single solo tube journey home in a state of constant panic. It was fucking horrible and I lived in fear. To be honest, even when I reached adulthood, the residual trauma of my adolescent years still haunted me. I couldn’t walk down a dark street at night without constantly checking over my shoulder. The truth is that conflict of any kind leaves you bruised inside as well as out. It’s nasty and upsetting. And yet, as a boy, you put all of you efforts into trying to ignore all that and just pretend that you’re alright. To me, getting mugged wasn’t the problem. Showing that it was a big deal was my ultimate fear.
This is what’s tough about growing from a boy into a man. You have to go through a process where you systematically crush all of your sensitivities. I wanted to hide my vulnerabilities and almost completely deny the existence of any emotions whatsoever. Most of my mates were the same. We thought it was the only way of surviving in a dangerous and unpleasant world.
I think I suppressed the softer bits of myself for decades. It was only as I got older that I started to re-discover and embrace them. Getting to know yourself a bit better, drop the macho bollocks, accept that the seemingly little things that happened to you in your youth were, in fact, deeply impactful: it can all make you a more relaxed, more content, happier person.
My son is ten and I am starting to look at secondary schools with him.
He is a nice lad - like most ten year olds are, I think. He loves animals and drawing and cups of tea and reading books. He is funny, he loves watching football and he’s good at taking the piss. It’s great that he’s got a beautiful, open minded and creative soul. But it’s also good that he’s got a bit of a laddish side to him too. The two things can co-exist. I just hope that he doesn’t let the laddish bit overpower the sensitive bit. I hope he finds a way of staying true to himself and not giving in to a tough-guy act the way me and and so many of my peers did. It was an unnecessary betrayal of our true selves that - in my case - probably played a big part drink and drug addictions later in life.
Starting secondary school can be a bit of a jolt to the system. I remember on my first day hearing people insult each other’s mums in extraordinary and pretty grotesque ways. My primary school had been a pretty knockabout place but mum cussing felt like a whole new level of mean to me.
The good news is, mum banter is more of a thing in primary schools these days (fucking austerity) so it won’t be quite such a shock to my lad when he starts big school. Plus, he’s got his big sister to prep him for the step up. “You’d better watch out,” she warned him over the breakfast table the other day. “Because when you start secondary school there are dicks and balls drawn on literally EVERYTHING!”
He smiled weakly then went back to his cereal, clearly disconcerted. Being a boy is fucking tough.
A great piece in The Guardian last weekend about men and friendship.
My New Podcast With Shaun Ryder
As if I didn’t already make enough podcasts…here’s another one. Shaun Ryder was the first ever guest on The Reset podcast - in which he showed the vulnerable side that he is perhaps less well known for. In his new podcast - the Universe According To Shaun William Ryder - I basically ask him questions about life, love, health, UFO’s, music, school, fighting, politics and pretty much everything else - and he regales me with a host of truly spectacular thoughts and anecdotes. It’s a six episode series that you can subscribe to exclusively through Hubwave.net - the new podcast platform (where you can also find Club Reset, if you’re interested).
The Reset Ep 61 - With Oliver Burkeman
If you missed this last week, then you can catch up here. Fascinating chat with a dead smart bloke about the myth of productivity.
Some services, links and phone numbers to help you through the tough times
https://www.samaritans.org/ Tel 116 123
@calm 0800 58 58 58
@YoungMindsUK 0800 018 2138
@CharitySane 0300 304 7000
https://www.alcoholics-anonymous.org.uk/
https://cocaineanonymous.org.uk/
https://andysmanclub.co.uk/
https://www.nhs.uk/live-well/healthy-body/gambling-addiction/
I had exactly the same fears about my own son as you mention here: a clever, sensitive and sweet lad, great at sports, but let’s face it, cosseted by a very comfortable middle class life that I didn’t grow up with. I was mildly terrified at the thought of him going to secondary school. He is 14 now and thankfully has flourished thus far; he is still all of those nice things BUT he is clearly grappling with the fact that some of his mates aren’t all like that; they are less bothered about doing well in school, happier to get in trouble. So when he dresses up in his proto-Top Boy or Casual gear and meets up with them for their general mooching about sessions, he does it with warnings of “doing the right thing” ringing in his ears. It must be take the edge off his enjoyment, grappling with impressing his parents or his mates. I really hope he chooses his parents, as some of his mates would make a troop of chimpanzees look thoughtful and considered.
Secondary schools seem to be the absolute worst factories of conformity.
I do hope things have changed and Len can keep his soul.
It's unfortunate that it can take so many of of us so long to come out the other side.
And some never make it out.