Bullied: My Story

It started in the 5th grade. Elementary school had been charmed for me and I was a very happy and well adjusted little girl. My parents were exceptionally loving and amazing and we lived in a perfect house in a great neighborhood and I went to a fantastic school just blocks from my home. I didn't want for anything and lived the life that every parent wants for their child. My biggest problem was that I always got "talks too much" checked on my report cards and was constantly in trouble for that. :-) Elementary school ran from Kindergarten through 5th grade and it was that final year that everything changed. When I really think hard, I suppose the change had slowly started late in the 4th grade. I have a hazy memory regarding the upcoming school year. I remember that there was a specific teacher (we will call her Mrs. Smith) whose class everyone wanted to be in. I don't recall how I knew that, but I do remember telling my mother that it was urgent that I be in Mrs. Smith's class. You didn't get to choose things like that...you were assigned a class and got a letter in the mail before the start of school telling you what class you were in. I don't know if it was because my mom was a teacher in the district or just the luck of the draw, but I managed to get Mrs. Smith. That was probably the beginning of the end for me. I should have let the cards fall the way they were supposed to because 5th grade was horrible.

That year, kids seemed older and our concerns stopped being so child-like and began to revolve around clothes and boys and gossip. Due to my own machinations, I was in the "it" class and up to my ears in zippered ankle "Guess" jeans and Dooney and Burke purses. This was also the first year that I noticed how much smaller I was than the other girls. I had not had a growth spurt yet and was markedly smaller than my classmates. I had a best friend, let's call her Sally, and we had been inseparable since probably the 1st grade. She was in my class. My first bad memories are from this time. ALL of the wealthiest kids were in my class because their parents had pulled their own strings and it was a tough crowd to fit in with. My mom was fond of braiding my hair into two french braids down either side of my head and down my back. One boy used to use them like the reins of a horse when we were in line from the playground or lunch. He would say, "Giddy Up, Little Girl!" and pull them. The other boys caught on to his teasing and I started to notice the tide turn...I was becoming the joke of the class. I was sensitive and quick to cry, which made it worse. I wasn't completely miserable yet, though. That was coming. At some point in the school year, a new girl moved to town. She was absolutely beautiful. This cannot be overstated. She was stunning. She towered a foot over every other girl and looked about 25. This is actually not an exaggeration in the least. I have many yearbook pictures of her that would blow your mind. She was an anomaly and still remains to be one of the most beautiful people that I have ever known in real life. She was also very kind and I wonder to this day if she knew the havoc that her arrival brought on our little world. Anyway, she was not in our class, but we shared recess and lunch with her class and it didn't take long for literally everyone alive to want to be her friend. She rocketed immediately into the most popular girl of all time. At this time, Sally decided that she was going to be best friends with her (we will call her "Susan"). I don't remember exactly how it happened, but somehow Sally successfully befriended Susan and quickly became a bully. She started joining in with the boys making fun of me and passed me notes in school saying that I was annoying her. When I tried to join in with her and Susan at recess, she would pass me notes afterwards saying that I was pitiful and trying to "puppy dog" her around. It is funny...I still remember that phrase on a piece of wide-ruled paper. "Puppy Dog" How horrible of her. Anyway, I was devastated and HATED school. Mrs. Smith...the fabulous teacher that everyone wanted...never helped me one time. By the end of the year, the whole class made fun of me literally all day long. She never said one word to help me and, in fact, would tell me to "buck up" when I actually came to her for help. My parents got involved and called Sally's parents several times. Sally was forced to apologize to me on many occasions, but it only made her meaner at school. Nothing helped. I was so happy when the school year ended and elementary school was officially over. I thought that life would get better in a new school. I was very wrong.

When we arrived at middle school that next fall, things had really changed. Most of the girls had grown a ton and had started to look more like women. I, on the other hand, remained exactly the same size. Tiny. Middle school meant that you had 7 classes a day and no longer stayed in one room with the same people. The very wealthy and popular crowd increased with the arrival of new students from different elementary schools. The group of people teasing me remained the same, but a few new members were added to the mix. I was absolutely tortured by these people. They called me names every single time they spotted me in the halls or in class. They tripped me when I walked past cafeteria tables and I started changing clothes for P.E. in a bathroom stall so that they would stop making fun of my "baby boobs". I kid you not. The complex thing about my experience is that I was somehow still considered to be the "in-crowd", just the outskirts of it. I am sure that hundreds of people that went to my middle school would tell you that I was very popular. I was, in a way. The very tiny group of kids who made fun of me were the top tier of the group. Because they were so "lofty", everyone who heard would join in with the teasing. For some reason, calling me a baby and pinching my cheeks was hysterical to my whole grade. I was so sensitive about my size that it devastated me more each day. Not everyone was as mean about it...in fact, my nickname was "Punky Brewster" even when I graduated from high school and I know it was meant as an endearment by that time. But back to middle school, I was destroyed by these people for all of 6th and 7th grade. Probably because of who my parents were, how well-off we were, and how I had grown up beside them all my life, I remained a member of their group and was just made fun of every waking hour of the day. I was so young and wanted to fit in so badly that I stayed around them all. I was invited to all the "big" parties, just not the more intimate ones. At all of these parties, I was teased the whole time, including people pretending to suck on baby bottles and making the "waaa waaa" sound of a baby crying. Then there was the time that one girl pulled my pants down around my ankles in front of the school while we were waiting for our rides. There were hundreds of children outside and everyone was a witness to my underwear. I don't think there is anything more scarring to a 12 year old girl. Luckily the girl who did it, who was one of the meanest people that I have ever met, moved away after middle school. She was one of about 5 people who were truly cruel and venomous in their treatment of me. After my triumph in the elections of the student body in 8th grade, I overheard one of the nasty girls telling several people "it is almost like hell has frozen over and the nerds have taken over!". I also vividly remember the time I was asked to a "Sadie Hawkins" style dance for a very popular girls birthday party. I was befriended by this girl for a couple of weeks, almost like she was going to finally be nice to me, and convinced into telling her who my "crush" was. She told me to ask him to her party. I did and he told me "yes" on the phone, but then made a big show of telling the whole cafeteria what I did and announcing that he would never go with me anywhere. It was just a giant joke. I remember crawling into my dad's car after school that day and collapsing into his arms. That was in the 7th grade. There are diaries that contain endless entries about how much I wanted to disappear during this time. I actually wished for my own death. That is why the current news about children committing suicide has me so affected. I wish I could do something more to help.

The reason that I was brave enough to run for office in 8th grade? The reason that I managed to shake the whole experience off before high school? The reason that I thrived throughout the rest of my childhood? My parents. They were so loving and amazing that I was able to survive with their help. I also had some wonderful teachers in middle school that made me feel good about myself and worth something. The difference in me and the kids who didn't survive is that I had people constantly in my other ear telling me that I was worthy and good and brilliant and beautiful. If not for my parents, I don't think my story would be the same. I was popular and happy and in the middle of everything in high school. I was able to do that because of the power of love. I rode a school bus every day from middle school over to the high school that my mother taught at. The buses picked up kids at both schools before taking them home. Since my mom worked at the high school, they allowed the bus to pick me up and drop me off there to meet her. The driver of my bus was a popular Spanish teacher at the high school. One very bad day, the kids were making fun of me outside the bus before I got on and he heard them. I will never, for as long as I live, forget what he said. In his thick accent he said, "Chalna, listen to me for a minute. The next time those jerks say anything to you, I want you to repeat this. I may be short, but you're ugly. When I grow up, I will be successful and beautiful and you will STILL be ugly." Now, that was probably not the most politically correct thing to tell me, but I loved him for it. And the fact that I remember that moment at 33 years old should tell us all something. If you reach out to someone being bullied, no matter how small the gesture, you can help. We ALL can help.