I never really belonged there. They all knew it.
From my reluctance to accept the local accent to the obvious ease at which I maintained straight A's, every single kid in my class knew I wasn't one of them. I wish I could say I was quietly confident and well-equipped to deal with the words they hurled at me when they were in the mood to hurt, but the truth is I spent many days hunched over at my desk silently crying.
I loved school, but dreaded the people I would see there. I buried my nose in books, busied myself with activities, and did my best to find a way to hang out with the boys. The boys weren't as mean. The boys weren't as cruel. The boys generally chose to do their bullying on the soccer field, rather than with words.
A soccer ball to the face hurt far less than the words.
With all the recent media coverage of bullying, the words have been drudged up from the depths of that little black box in the back of my memory. I slap on those 20/20 Hindsight Goggles and analyze those words, fully realizing that they were every bit as bad as they seemed to that gawky little girl with the mouse-brown hair. I don't know if bullying has gotten worse in the past *mumble*grumble* 20-something years, but the effects of bullying are being discussed more. It makes me wonder what the difference is . . . why I came out the other side with very few scars, and yet other kids have taken their own lives.
I don't know the answer.
I wonder what I can do to protect Alexis from battling those same demons. It's pretty obvious she inherited that Smart Gene, that thing that often made school so much more difficult. To be average is a blessing when surrounded by middle schoolers. To be different, in any way, is a sin.
Yet, at the same time, I'm often more worried about her becoming a Popular Girl, one of those girls who doles out punishment to everyone in her path. Alexis has a heart of gold, but I can already see the beginnings of social hierarchies amongst her preschool friends, and Alexis is a leader. That could turn out to be a very good thing, or it could turn out to be a very big challenge.
Figuring out how to teach her to be kind always to everyone makes me question what other parents are doing. I already see the early beginnings of bullies amongst our friends. Little boys who are often too rough when playing are praised for being tough as dad glows with the anticipation of standing on the sidelines at a football game. Little girls who command their peers to do their bidding, often with threats and insults thrown in as motivation, are admired for their leadership skills. But, they are little bullies. Already. And their parents fully support it.
And then my thoughts circle back to fourth grade. Stacy. That was her name. She was the meanest of the Mean Girls, and I was often the butt of her jokes. Her cruelty knew no bounds. She would often follow me around, hurling insults as I desperately tried to escape her venom. Stacy's mom was a nurse and highly involved with the school. She knew everything that went on. She volunteered to escort field trips. She showed up for school parties. She was in the front row at concerts.
She offered to do lice checks for the entire school.
It was fourth grade when she pointed a flashlight at my little head and declared that there might be lice. I don't really know if there was or wasn't . . . I just know that she told me to go home and wash my hair and that she would check it again when it was cleaner.
Despite the fact that I passed the re-check with flying colors, she opened her mouth. She told Stacy. I don't know exactly what was said, I just know that Stacy showed up for school armed with a whole new arsenal. "My mom found lice on her!" "She's so gross!" "Don't stand anywhere near her!" She screamed it all, wrote it on notes, broadcast it to the world.
Stacy was a bully, but her mom was something worse.
You guys, we can't let our kids be bullies. We just can't.