“The important thing is that you just have to be you, try to see their point of view, be the best person you can be, and be courteous to them and be kind to yourself.” ANTONIO DI DIO continues his Short History of Kindness series.

Guf was a gloriously different kid in that ’70s paradise of my own making, all sepia, self delusion, water coloured in the gentle hogwash of my self-serving memory. 

Wonderfully messy, his clothes looked ancient an hour after he put them on. He was the smallish untidy kid inexplicably good at footy, till you realised it was because no one wanted to tackle him for fear of contracting something bubonic. 

His hair was 40 per cent lice and kero, and his first set of dentition back in kindy resembled the kind of shark-tooth necklace he took to wearing a decade later, in the long, drawn out, surf-hazed end of high school. 

But back here in ’73 he was, and no amount of natural oily mess could stop him smiling at the world. I remember asking why it didn’t bother him that one particular nun was so frankly cruel to him. She wasn’t so nice to me, but I could do my seven times table and wore vaguely matching Bata Scouts so it wasn’t awful.

Well, he said. It was like this. He said a cheery good morning to her every day and she would shoot a snarl back and tell him he was hopeless at Enid Blyton and other matters of Extreme Importance. It never got him down. 

He moved town eventually, out of my reality and into the strange half land of my myth and memory, but I remember clearly how he kept at it. The friendly smile, the genuine warmth. Why did he waste time and effort on someone who so disliked him? A dry and unfortunate person who was so bitter and mean to everybody?

Maybe I should park it there briefly and think about how phenomenally dumb I was in the same situation. A few years ago someone I interact with at times took a powerful dislike to me. 

For years, I was very upset, especially because there were mutual professional relationships. I tried plenty to fix it, with no luck. Some sad things happened, and I even gave up something that was precious to me. Still no luck. 

Thankfully, it has worked out really well, without any of the ineffective strategies I had previously employed. I’m using the power of Guf, and it works a treat.

Back in ’73, this boy who could reliably force the town dentist Dr Ulrick to lock his door and hide under the desk with the cooking sherry, who couldn’t tell a verb from a vegemite sandwich, who was belittled by a person in power daily, knew the secret, no doubt from wise parents and a sweet nature. He smiled and said good morning, he was friendly and generous. 

And he had not the slightest interest in those actions making Sister Terrifying like him. No, he wasn’t interested in what she thought of him, he was trying to do right by himself – to be the best person he could be. When she shouted at him and called him the sorts of things teachers would be ashamed of today, he expected nothing different from her, but held himself to a far higher standard – and one that ensured his own happiness far more efficiently than my failed efforts years later.

So what do I do now? I try to be friendly and generous and have no expectation that the other person will change. And try to make sure my actions are good. 

My buddy Kez says that if 700 people in your phone address book like you and one person doesn’t then perhaps it’s not you. She’s being kind, but she’s also right. 

The important thing is that you just have to be you, try to see their point of view, be the best person you can be, and be courteous to them and be kind to yourself. One person being this way towards you may just reflect on their own circumstances, troubles and character, and you are simply the unfortunate lightning rod for their rage.

You don’t have to turn the other cheek to bullies. In fact, we need to call it out if we are to be good allies to those that really need us – our indigenous and diverse and LGBTIQA+ siblings. 

But you can harness a friendly and gracious response to the passive aggression of that person. If nothing else, you’ll be satisfied in knowing that your serenity is the last thing their inexplicable hostility is seeking, and the thing you most need.

Antonio Di Dio is a local GP, medical leader and nerd. There is more of his Kindness on citynews.com.au