Looking back I don't think I realized I was being bullied, or know when it actually began. Probably because before then, I had never been exposed to such a thing. After all in my previous school/classes I got along with everyone. While they were a lot worse off than I was, when it came down to it all they were all like me. Outcast, misfits and a little slower. But somewhere between the first day of school and Thanksgiving break of my fourth grade I would figure it out. Along with the pain and the inner torture that came with it.
I may not know when it began, but I am pretty sure I know the name of the main contributor. His name was 'Doug'. Doug was your typical elementary kid. He was well liked by most everyone, the teachers included. Boys wanted to be friends with him and girls even in the fourth grade had crushes on him. He was smart enough to get by but athletic enough to know in the long run, his grades wouldn't matter.
He was also the school's counselors son. A fact I soon would not be able to forget.
It started out innocent enough, on the playground. During dodge-ball, when I was always picked last. Then as the game began, I became the target of his aggression. And that red rubber ball the reason for many of my bruises. While it may have been Doug who originally started it all, it soon would catch on and before I knew it half of the class was making fun of me. If it wasn't the name calling it was knocking my clothes, making inappropriate hand signals. It was making fun of my speech, my slight limp. It was picking my last, or first just to make sure I was the joke of the game.
Making friends in elementary school is tough, making friends when they think your name is retard, crippled, dumb girl, ugly, MMR girl damn near impossible. And the few friends I did make, seemed to disappear shortly after they realized being friends with someone who didn't fit the mold everyone else did wasn't exactly popular.
And in elementary school, being popular was everything.
I would like to think I took it all well. For the most part I did what my mom, my therapist suggested and smiled through the pain. Because if you smile, they don't know how much they hurt you. And one should never let them see how they got to you. Which is a lot easier said than actually done. I was thankful for the friends that I did make, no matter how long they decided to stick around.
I also managed to deal with the pain. The names continued, the attacks on the playground during dodge-ball so apparent and so hard that I ended up sitting by myself in the corner in hiding making friendship bracelets until they called us back in.It was better than a thousand bruises anyway.
And in those precious years when everything is key, when making friends is important and feeling wanted is something the only thing I felt was isolated. Small, not worth while to anyone. Its a hard lesson in life, that feeling of not being good enough for anyone. How often did I come home and cry because I just wanted someone, anyone to like me? How often did I just wish for this stupid disability to go away. Even for a day. If I didn't have the disability, then maybe people would like me, kids would stop making fun of me and maybe I would have friends.
I can't remember telling anyone just how lonely I felt during those years. Bringing it to my parents who had two other perfect and normal daughters was hard, I being the middle child didn't want the attention that it was bringing. And yet at the same time in my family I found the only normalcy I would probably ever know.They couldn't offer much, besides love and hope that someday things would get better.
But sometimes that's enough.
I sat there and put up with the name calling and the teasing for the two years of elementary. Admittedly there were some days that were better than others. But isn't that always the way. These days helped me get through the bad. For awhile anyway.
And then came the sixth grade. When I was put back in the same class as 'Doug'. Which wouldn't have been so bad because lets face it, not everyone in the same class your going to like. But did I really have to be seated next to him? Shortly after a school break, we were back in the desks preparing for our lunch, when our teacher announced that we would be leaving we all packed our stuff, and me and all my clumsiness dropped my stuff on the ground. As quickly as I could, I got down and started picking it up, delaying us from our lunch. I suppose every minute we were late meant another minute away from dodge-ball. But I wasn't moving fast enough for Doug who shoved everything in my desk and then exclaimed the words that still to this day haunt me.
'Your such fucking asshole. Could you move any slower retard'
That was all it took, I could no longer hold the tears I had been fighting back for the past three years in. My teacher oblivious to what had transpired asked the group that was seated in my seating group what was going on, and not one of them said a thing. And when I was sent down to the counselors office, I knew that there was no way 'Doug' would be in trouble. Still I sat there explaining my side, they called in the classmates, all of whom denied he said anything and sided with Doug that it was all my imagination taking over again. When I insisted that it wasn't, they called my parents who sat there in the office as Doug's father explained the 'misunderstanding.' and informed them if I was prettier, if I didn't wear braces on my teeth and if my parents could afford name brand clothes, and if I didn't have the disability-as if I chose to have this- none of this would happen.'
Doug never got in trouble and I for the rest of the year continued to get tortured by him...including getting pushed down three flights of stairs at the end of the school day.
Again no one saw, heard or did anything. Including the teachers.
I will admit I was not sad to these years gone...
My teenage years could only get better.
Or would they?
No comments:
Post a Comment