Taking the Bully by the Horns

My dear friend Audrey has given me wonderful advice about this blog. She told me to just start writing. The right words will come. Everyone needs a fabulous writer as her mentor! I just happen to be so lucky. I am getting ready to go walk on this beautiful morning, but I have had something on my mind for the last several days. I'm gonna try and write this down.

Supposedly, EVERY single American kid goes through an awkward stage. Experts (whoever the hell they are) tell us this. Our parents and teachers tell us this. Anyway, I truly thought I had completely put my horrible awkwardness far, far behind me. But dammit, FaceBook keeps popping up with people I haven't seen or heard from since that time. And it makes me think about it. And it makes me question just how much I really put away. Again, the last thing I want to do is sound like I am whining or feeling sorry for myself. But I want to tell this story. It's mine. I might hurt my parents a little, but they are strong, and i think they can handle it.

"Blubber" by Judy Blume, was my favorite book in the 5th grade. The book is about a heavy 5th grade girl who becomes the target and victim of her class. Ultimate teasing and bulling ensues. But one of the worst offenders soon finds the tables turned and makes some pretty big self-realizations in the process. This book was really well done. And thought now it feels a little dated, it still holds some heavy truths for certain kids. When I was in the 5th and 6th grade, thankfully I wasn't a fat kid. That would be the last thing I needed. Up until about 5th grade, I was fairly normal. I wore glasses, but so did a lot of other kids. I also got braces at a rather young age (at that time), getiing them put on right after the 3rd grade. My grades were average to good. I loved to read. I had a pretty normal family. Just my mom, dad, and younger sister. Nothing too unusual. When I was going into the 4th grade, my parents moved to Owensboro KY, where my dad had a new position with GE. It was while we were living there that things started to get sketchy, and later to fall apart. My parents began to fight. Their arguments were loud and explosive. Then they turned violent. It was during this time that my mother, my sister, and I moved back to Tennessee. After staying with friends and family, we finally moved into a little duplex near the elementary school we would attend. During this time of upheaval, something happened (well, several things actually) to my normally attentive mother. She stopped eating, she stopped coping, and ultimately, she stopped caring for us like we needed. My sister and I were pretty much left to fend for ourselves. It did not go well.

Kids tend to have a radar and can pick up on the weakest link in a heartbeat. They wouldn't have needed much of a radar in my case. I practically advertised all the disfunction that was going on around our house. I had not been to the orthodontist in so long, several of my brace brackets had come off. (pretty) I had out grown my clothes and my shoes, and my mother cut my hair very short because it was driving her crazy! Plus some eye doctor had decided that perhaps I needed bi-focals. Oh yeah. Just what every 5th grader needs! I walked into my classroom basically begging to be made fun of!! And boy, did they ever! After our 5th grade teacher read "Blubber" to the class in an attempt to help us understand how bad it feels to be teased, my bright class basically just gleaned the evil antics of the characters from the book and looked for a victim. And lo and behold, there in my bi-focaled, half braced glory, stood the perfect victim. Me!

Now my class was smart about how they approached the teasing. It's not like today where anti-bullying campaigns fill the halls and auditoriums of America's schools. Teachers were not on the lookout for bullies. (I believe they were in the breakroom smoking cigarettes and downing coffee, but that's another story.) We were left to our own devices much more then. There were no paid playground monitors. That job fell to some kid in the class. So playgrounds were basically torture chambers for the meek. I, personally, was not allowed on any apparatus, unless I barked. My class had dubbed me "The Dog" and I had to perform to get to do anything. If I wanted to use the bathroom, I had to bark, and sometimes beg. If I wanted to get a tray in the cafeteria, I was told to bark. This lovely moniker followed me into the 6th grade, where I would come in to class in the morning and find my desk pulled away from everyone else s because nobody wanted to sit "by the stinky dog!" I was pushed, tripped, my shoes stepped on and torn. My wonderful project on Julius Caesar was crushed. When I had my school picture made, some kid jumped up and down behind the photographer making monkey faces. ANd I made it fun for them. I yelled, screamed, bawled, brayed, cursed, threw things! I even tore a girls earring! I am sure i made it a pure pleasure for them. There is nothing more fun than a victim who responds so deliciously. Wonder why I hated "Lord of the Flies?" Anyway, the amazing thing was that the adults in my life were so seemingly unconcerned. I know my teachers knew about it. But teachers are human, and sometimes it is easy for them to fall into the pack as well. My PE teacher definitely did that. She was downright cruel. My mother would say things like, "Well Amy, that just happens to everybody!" My dad was not there. My grandfather told me to pray. I did pray while I was dodging rocks at the bus stop. I prayed for everyone of those little fuckers to be hit by the bus! But....no such luck. For about 3 years, my young life was a living hell. I will say now, as an adult, I am amazed at what grown-ups would say to a little girl. When I finally did get to go to the orthodontist, he actually yelled at ME for not showing up to my appointments! Like I could drive the 9 miles into town myself? My grandparents yelled at me because my shoes were completely falling apart. Now I know that this was the late 70's and early 80's, and the "Me" generation was in full swing. But what the Hell?

My home life was pitiful. That is something I don't like to talk about even to this day. There are very few photographs of me during this time. I am thankful for that. When I see them, the chaos of that time comes running back, and even thought I am a happy, healthy adult, I still get those terrible feelings when I look at pictures. But, you know, things do tend to change. I grew up. Got contacts. Got my braces off. My family moved to Texas and then to Alabama. We were happy for a while. I got a chance to totally reinvent myself. And boy did I ever! And although my family really did put the "fun" in dysfunction, I will always be grateful for getting away from that horrible time. I mean actually, physically getting away. Of course, I swore I would NEVER move to Tennessee again. Ha......well, here I am! Because, things do change. My Dad, whom I now adore, got scary sick. My Mother, who just makes me laugh, now lives near here as well. And my beautiful sister, with whom I share these memories, is here for support, and to back me up in just how ridiculous the situation (s) actually got.

Here is another little tid-bit of craziness. I, of course, work very hard not to transfer my past onto my children. They are not me. My husband and I are not my parents. But since we moved back to Tennessee, one of my daughter's is now a student at that elementary school I went to. The first time I went in to register her, I will admit, I had to fight a little panic. But I walked around the school a little. I was safe in my anonymity. I did some yogic breathing. I looked at the bright and beautiful classrooms. I saw the well-dressed, smiling teachers standing at their doors with huge 'first day" smiles. And I knew it was just going to be okay.

As an after thought, I will say that I am very glad there is "anti-bullying" legislation in most states. I will also say, no child deserves to be bullied for their race, sexual preferences, or economic background. What I went through has made me who I am today. Most of the time, I am okay with that. I know that there are children who had it much worse than I did. I pray that there will not be more. And I have had the opportunity to be such a proud mother when I witnessed one of my children standing up for another who was being harassed. So I have much hope for this current generation. I think about what Woody the Cowboy says to the evil Sid at the end of Toy Story. Two simple words......."Be Nice!" We can do it!