The Struggle to Be Known

All the way back – way, way back – as far back as my elementary school days can take me, I remember feeling “alienated” from the other kids. I’m sure I was partially responsible for that feeling, because I tried my best to stay out of everyone’s way and draw as little attention to myself as possible. That probably served to make matters worse.

But there were a few times I would break out of my shell and try to join in all the proverbial “Reindeer Games.” I’m thinking of one incidence in particular that happened during the first grade. Let’s call this one:

“Boys with the Remote-Control Cars“

It was the very first week of the first grade, when I noticed several boys playing during recess with a battery powered, remote-control car.

“Can I play?” I said.

One of the “cool” boys replied, “Only kids with remote-control cars can play. You need to move on back to the other side of the playground.” I nodded and wandered back out on the playground away from the group as they snickered.

After school that day, I convinced my parents to take me around town in search of a remote-control car. My mom wasn’t keen on buying another toy that day, but she must have sensed how important it was for me. After a number of stops, we did manage to find a car similar to the one the boys had been playing with. I was very proud.

The next day I excitedly approached the same boys with my own car (which I had filled with fresh batteries that morning) and exclaimed, “I’m ready to play!”

The reply? “We don’t play with remote-control cars anymore. That’s for kids.” They laughed and walked away.

Believe me when I say, I’m no snowflake.

SNOWFLAKE: An overly sensitive or easily offended person, or one who believes they are entitled to special treatment on account of their supposedly unique characteristics.

First of all, I’m much too old to be a fresh little flake. If I were any form of snow, I’d be a half-melted muddy ball in someone’s drainage ditch.

Secondly, throughout my school years, I never complained about any mistreatment by kids or teachers. I did the best I could to navigate the landmines and took the blows as they fell. For the most part, my parents never knew about any of these incidents. On rare occasions when someone would step in to help, most times it only served to escalate my problem. So I kept my head down and kept to myself.

And thirdly, I actually agree with those who say some of these normal, tough childhood experiences serve to help kids understand the rules of interaction and help them learn how to exist in society. That was certainly the case with me and the boys with the remote-control cars. But there were times when the bullies crossed the line, and to this day I still find it difficult to see any benefit from their actions. It was simply mean spirited. One of these incidents I call:

“The Underwear Walk of Shame“

Kids can be cruel and sometimes they run in packs like wild animals.

One such “pack” crossed my path when I was in the second grade. That day I was making my way around the perimeter of the school heading toward the boy’s restroom. The entrance to the restroom faced out on the playground and was never supervised.

As I entered the restroom, I felt someone push me from behind and about six boys from an older grade piled in behind me. They immediately began the obligatory name calling and grabbed me by the arms holding me against the wall as they spouted every curse word in the book in my direction. I eventually wound up on the cold muddy tile floor with my face smashed into the muck. Before I knew what was happening these boys had unfastened my pants and yanked them off by the ankles with one clean jerk. Luckily, that was all they seemed to be after and they all scrambled out of the bathroom laughing and yelping swinging my pants in the air.

Here I sat on the tile floor of the restroom in my little white underwear, polo shirt and socks. After a few minutes to collect my thoughts, I grabbed my shoes and put them back on (somewhere along the way they came off) and washed my face. Then after a few more minutes, I mustered up my courage and marched out the door onto the playground and headed toward the principal’s office. I entered the office and told the secretary that my pants had been confiscated. And I swear, I used that word, “confiscated.”

Her eyes were as big as pancakes.

The principal was alerted, my pants were found on the far side of the playground and I was soon fully dressed and back in my class. Another incident that could have been even more traumatic, was safely navigated. The wild boys were never punished.

I guess it was in my nature to bounce back quickly, I’m not sure I would be as gracious today.

SIDEBAR:  Based on my childhood experiences, school bathrooms (especially boy’s bathrooms) were always ground zero for bullying. In the first grade my class had its own private restroom. It was a single-seater with an inside lock on the door. You would think that would be a safe haven for a kid like me. Not so true. At the beginning of the year, one of my classmates managed to lock himself in the bathroom and was unable to unlock the door. After a few minutes, he was hysterical, screaming and throwing himself against the inside of the door. It took about 2 hours of verbal coaching through the locked door (by about six teachers) before the young fellow emerged all sweaty and red like a tomato. The rest of that school year my teacher made everyone who entered the restroom, leave the door wide open, which only served to traumatize me further.

Bullies have always been around, especially kid bullies. And dealing with the bullies, well, that’s just another part of life. But for those who are outside the norm … smaller, larger, quieter, louder … the bullying can be intense. It’s our responsibility as adults, especially those who work with children, to be vigilant in responding to the bullies we encounter. We can all be ordinary heroes if we simply speak truth and light in the face of abuse. And these truths can be as simple as:

That’s not fair.

Don’t talk like that.

Don’t treat them that way.

Don’t use that language.

And the most powerful?

Stop.

Copyright February 2019