Archive for the “bullying” Category

By Adrienne Jones
Middle School
Excerpted from No Style Points

Right before Valentine’s Day, my orthopedist decided that I should be hospitalized for tests. I’d been having crippling low-back pain for several weeks and the rest, pain medicine, and muscle relaxants he’d prescribed were not making me feel any better. I spent a week in the hospital undergoing a variety of tests to rule out structural abnormalities, cancer, and any other problems that could be causing the pain. They never found anything. The ultimate diagnosis: acute stress.

The year was 1983. I was eleven years old.

This is the story of me and my bullies. All these years later, a whole lifetime, and I’ve already used half a box of tissue preparing to write about it. I was just a little girl, deserving of love and protection, like every other child, but I didn’t know that. I thought I was different: unworthy, flawed, and fundamentally unlikeable. My bullies, and the adults who allowed their behavior to continue, taught me lessons that I’m still unlearning nearly 30 years later.

Full disclosure: I am changing names for obvious reasons. Also, emotional pain and time have worked together to make my memory pretty hazy. This is a true story to the absolute best of my ability.

When I showed up at Madison Middle School in August, 1982, I was scared. And while I think that probably every 6th grader at Madison was scared that day, I was unique in my level of terror. We’ll get back to the reasons for that later, but for now, just know that I was shaking in my summer sandals like there was a salivating tiger on my left and a tsunami wave rolling in on my right.

I went to my classes and listened to the rules. So many rules! Do you remember how it was, how they threatened you and swore that they wouldn’t help you no matter what, because for God’s sake you’re not babies anymore and if you think this is like elementary school then forget about it and do you have any idea what it’s like in the REAL WORLD?!? Well, do you? Rules for the bathroom. Rules for the lockers. Don’t be late. Don’t forget your book. Always have your paper, your pencil. Don’t chew gum, don’t talk, don’t run (but don’t be late!), don’t eat, don’t swear. Do your homework; no, not like that! Put your name here, the date there (write it out), the period number in that place. Use pencil, no always use pen, no never use pen. That’s the wrong paper! Did you write in your book? Put a cover on it!

Here’s what I heard: Shut up, sit down, and if I never have any reason to notice you, or even glance in your direction, then you’ll be just fine. Teachers have no niceness to share; being ignored is the best you can hope for.

I was all alone. The Albuquerque Public Schools have a different system now, whereby all kids from several elementary schools feed to one middle school, and then several middle schools feed one high school. Not so back then. My elementary school fed four middle schools, with just a tiny handful of us going from Zuni to Madison. There were no familiar faces around me; I was surrounded by strangers in every class. My family might as well have moved across the country over the summer.

There were seven class periods per day. My 6th period class was PE. I had kind of looked forward to “changing out” because it seemed grown-up, something that you saw in the movies. Obviously I had a warped sense of what’s glamorous! And thus we arrive at problem number 1, the first thing that my bullies found to target about me: no breasts. I mean none. Nada, zilch. I didn’t know it then (and would have been devastated if I had), but I was still a year away from any action at all in the puberty department. But to be honest, I might as well have been wearing a big ole’, flashing neon sign on my head that said Pick on me! I am your willing victim!

I always had a hard time making friends, had struggled socially from the very beginning. My parents like to tell the story of my first day at pre-school. There was a one-way mirror so parents could observe, and they were stunned by what they say: me, a little girl who would not stop chattering, ever, while at home, sitting quietly and observing the other children. Silent. I was always terrified in social situations, and so excruciatingly sensitive to every perceived slight, even at that young age, that I usually believed that everyone around me hated me.

As I moved through elementary school, every year the kids were a little less tolerant of difference, a little less willing to befriend, or at least leave alone, the shy, awkward girl in the corner. Complicating matters was the fact that I was very intelligent and had a huge vocabulary for a child my age. This was probably due to the fact that my parents were both well-educated and used their own wide knowledge of words when speaking to me. I used my big words and that, coupled with my shyness, earned me a reputation as “stuck up.” It’s laughable, now, that I was accused of being the very thing that I’m most NOT. (God, that’s an awful sentence. Sorry ’bout that.) All I wanted was some friends, some kids to talk to me and play with me at recess.

The most ridiculous piece of this particular part of the story is this: my second grade teacher told my parents that I would have more friends if they could make me stop using so many big words. True story, and a damn sad example of an “educator.”

I always managed to make a few friends, but never more than 2 or 3 at a time, and I was consistently a target of teasing by the girls in my grade. The worst bullying I endured while I was a student at Zuni happened when I was in 3rd grade. Two 5th grade girls started to mess with me on the bus every day on the way home from school. They spit in my hair, over and over, all the way home, to the point that I arrived home with saliva dripping onto my shoulders.

Gross, right? Here’s what’s grosser: the bus driver either didn’t notice or didn’t care, because she never said a word. Neither of my parents called or went to the school to insist that something be done, nor did they ever (not once) drive me home from school to spare me the torment. No other child on a bus jammed full of students ever tried to intervene. Only my little sister, in kindergarten at the time, tried to defend me.

I was in third grade in 1980, so 30 years ago now. I still remember the names of both those girls, can still feel the hot shame that nested behind my face when they taunted me and spat on me.

My elementary school experiences had primed the pump; I was more prepared for my middle school bullies than I was for middle school literature and science.

There were three of them: Kathy, Karen, and Tanya. I don’t know if they knew each other before 6th grade or if they fell together that year, but they joined forces and made me their common enemy. It was a campaign of terror that, while not unique to middle school girls, is certainly most common among them. Virtually all of it happened in the girls’ locker room, though they got away with plenty out in the open, during PE class. Our coach joined in just enough to make it clear that he wouldn’t be a source of support.

The details are lost to me. There was lots of name calling. I know they snapped my bra strap plenty, after I begged my mom to buy me one so I could keep my non-breasts covered. They pulled my ponytail hard, so that my head snapped back and hurt my neck. Mostly, though, they relied on the name calling and the taunting, and I almost never answered them. I just took it, because I believed it was mine to take.
By Halloween, I was in agony all day, every day, dreading 6th period. I cried every evening at the dinner table with the misery of it all, and my parents tried to be sympathetic. Eventually, though, they were annoyed, then angry, at my inability to resolve the situation. They encouraged me to fight back, to punch or kick or hurt the girls to make them stop. They sent me to a counselor in hopes that she could convince me to fight back. No luck. I was far, far too afraid of authority to do any such thing.

How afraid of authority was I? In three years of middle school, I was never (not ever, not even once) late to a class. I was in agony from a full-to-bursting bladder at least once a week, but I would not risk being late to class by using my 5 minute passing period to go to the bathroom. At Madison, the lockers are in long halls that are kept locked except before and after school and before and after lunch, so we had to make sure we had everything we needed as there was no running to a locker between classes. One time (ONE TIME) in 3 years of middle school, I forgot one of my books. (Funny how pain makes some memories fuzzy, and leaves some of them so sharp.) It was my English book, the class I had right after PE during 6th grade. I was shaking and sweating through 5th and 6th periods because of forgetting that book.

And my parents and my counselor wanted me to punch someone?

I went to the school counselor for help. She decided a session involving Kathy, Karen, Tanya, and I was in order, so that we could air all of our grievances. Clearly, the school counselor had a fundamental misunderstanding of the nature of the situation. She saw a conflict among peers, when in fact it was a victim/perpetrator situation. We sat in her office and the three girls told me all the things that disgusted them about me. (I don’t remember most of what was said, but I do recall that one of my facial expressions was a problem for them.) Thus emboldened by quasi-approval from a school authority figure, the girls re-doubled their efforts.

Sometime shortly after the New Year, my mom and I were at the grocery store when I turned to see Kathy standing next to her own mom’s grocery cart. She squinched up her eyes and pulled a disgusted, I-smell-something-nasty face. I yanked my mom’s sleeve and whispered, “That’s one of them, one of the girls from PE!”

We finished our shopping and when we got in the checkout line, my mom went to speak to Kathy’s mom. No big surprise here: the next day I caught hell. Karen and Tanya were furious that I got Kathy in trouble and tripled their harassment, stealing things from my locker and encouraging other kids in our PE class to join them in harassing me.

Eventually, the stress took its toll and I landed in the hospital. The back pain was so bad that I couldn’t sit or bend over. Except sometimes I could. The pain was not constant, and I have never admitted this to anyone, ever. I felt guilty about that for many years, but not anymore. I didn’t know how to communicate my anguish, didn’t know how to get the adults in my life to hear me, and letting them believe that the pain was more than it was was the only way I knew to get any relief. I missed two weeks of school and it was pure bliss, like taking off a 200 pound backpack I’d been staggering under for 6 long months.

Note to parents: if your child is so stressed out that he or she is in the hospital to rule out spinal cancer, something is deeply wrong.

I walked into the girls’ locker room on my first day back to school and Kathy turned to Karen and Tanya and, sneer on her face and disgust thick in her voice, said, “Look who’s back.”

I made it to the end of 6th grade. I faked sick a few times, though I never refused to go to school. My parents did not express any sympathy or take any action on my behalf. Once, my dad said to me, “If this is the way you act at school, it’s no wonder you don’t have any friends.” My mom got angry at the dinner table several times, saying, “Can’t we ever talk about anything other than you and your problems?”

And so, by the time winter became spring, I had learned my lessons, and I had learned them well.
What my bullies taught me:

• I don’t matter. My suffering is not important.
• I am socially unacceptable, worthy only of rejection.
• I’m weak, a loser, destined to be a social bottom-feeder, or worse, absolutely alone.
• The best I can hope for, in my relationships with others, is to be left alone.
• I am a fundamentally unlikeable person.

What the adults taught me:

• I’m unworthy of help.
• To identify or talk about a problem is to whine or feel sorry for myself.
• When I ask for help, I will not get it.
• The way other people behave toward me, no matter how bad, is my fault.
• I am a fundamentally unlikeable person.

I was never again bullied the way I was in 6th grade. There were some girls here and there, throughout 7th and 8th grades who taunted me, and I never had many friends, but that sort of systematic torment was over.

But any social confidence I may have had (did I ever have any?) was shattered. Throughout the rest of middle-school, I went to the library during lunch rather than risk rejection in the cafeteria. Books, always my favorite escape, became even more important to me. I tried to hide, to blend into the background. I hated myself, hated everything about my life. I had increasingly frequent episodes of depression, but I had learned by then that there was no help, and so I just showed up and went through the motions until I could get back into my books, back into the quiet solitude of my bed.

High school was better. Much, much better, in fact. I never had any social confidence, didn’t make friends easily or feel comfortable with people, but I had some friends. Kathy, Karen, and Tanya all went to the same high school and, amazingly, I never had a class with any one of them. I saw them sometimes, in the commons or on the walk across campus, and the dominant feeling I had when that happened was fear. I hated myself for that fear, hated that I was still so weak, but I couldn’t shake it.

I went about living my life. Sixth grade was a painful memory. In my early twenties, I thought about that year a lot and wished for the chance to do it again, to stand up for myself, to bring my adult strength to a child’s situation. But as my own children approached the age I was when I was abused by my classmates, my thinking changed.

I started to recognize that Kathy, Karen, and Tanya were little girls, too. They were so large in my memory, so much more powerful than I was, that they had become something other than children for me. They were just as young as I was, caught up in personal turmoil about which I know nothing. Why did they do what they did? I don’t know, but it seems pretty unlikely that they were bad kids whose parents didn’t care what they did. In fact, I’d guess that Karen and Tanya’s parents would have punished them for such behavior just like Kathy’s mom punished her. I think they were probably very nice girls from their parents’ perspectives. I think they would have been shocked to find out what their daughters were doing at school.

As I came, over several years, to this new perspective, my anger at the adults involved grew. How could they just let me suffer that way? And of course I know how, in a rational, removed sort of way. They didn’t know what to do; they didn’t know the breadth and depth of the problem. They’d been conditioned to believe that, unless there is physical aggression that leaves marks, the problem isn’t significant enough to warrant any real attention.

But past rational, past the adult-me who is raising children and sometimes making big mistakes and who understands that shit happens and you can’t always fix it, there is an eleven year old girl in a blind red rage. I was a little girl. The coach, my parents, the school counselor, they were adults. Their responsibility, first and foremost, before anything else, was to keep me safe. And they failed. They failed big.

In my adult life, I’ve had almost no contact with any of the people with whom I went to school. I didn’t go to any of our reunions, didn’t call or write, didn’t even exchange Christmas cards. Finally (finally!), as I moved deeper into my 30s, the pain of those years started to recede. Sending my eldest to 6th grade was indescribably gut-wrenching, but for the most part, I didn’t think about it much anymore. Although I’ve always been afraid that my children would bully or be bullied (I probably wouldn’t handle that very well.), they’ve been much more confident than I ever was. We still live in Albuquerque; my kids are students in the same school system in which I was educated, but things are different now. They take bullying more seriously.

Last year, I joined Facebook. While I was skipping sleep in that first week, hunting down old boyfriends and making sure my kids weren’t posting their phone numbers for all the world to see, I found all three of them: Kathy, Karen, and Tanya. For weeks, I thought about contacting them, telling them how much they had hurt me. I would see their names show up in comments to mutual friends and it was like a tiny stab. I turned it over in my mind, even starting, then discarding, a few messages.

Ultimately, I decided not to do it. If the first lesson my bullies taught me was “I don’t matter,” how bad would it hurt if the message I got back said, “I have no idea who you are. What the hell are you even talking about?” I knew that would hurt more than I could bear, so I gave up on the idea.

And then.

On March 24, the day before my birthday, a message from Kathy showed up in my Facebook inbox.

Gobsmacked.

I’m at a loss to describe what happened to me in that moment. I was sobbing and shaking before I finished the first sentence. How can a wound that old still be so tender? I can’t answer that, only tell you that it was.

Far from forgetting me, she remembered 6th grade often. These are her some of words:*

My oldest kiddo is ten and we just had his parent/teacher conference this past week. At every conference since he was in kindergarten, his teachers always comment about how accepting he is and how he goes out of his way to be kind and be a good friend to all of his fellow students. And while that is nice to hear about my child, it always makes me think of how I treated you and how for a very long time I have wanted to find a way to get in touch with you to tell you how sorry I am.

Not forgotten. NOT a person who doesn’t matter. Me, worthy of consideration. Me, worthy of the time it took to write a thoughtful, heartfelt apology.

I lay awake all night that night. I thought of nothing but Kathy, and 6th grade, and the other girls, Karen and Tanya, for several days. The letter turned my world inside out, brought me to my knees, and when the storm had passed, a Kathy-shaped piece of pain rose out of me and floated away, and in its place? A new friend. Kathy and I have exchanged more than a dozen messages since that first day and with every message, we’re a little more comfortable, a little less tentative and nervous. I giggle and joke and call it my Facebook miracle, except it’s not really a joke at all.

* * * * *

Recently, bullying stories have been all over the news, stories of girls who ended their lives because of abusive treatment by their peers. For all the anguish I experienced during 6th grade, when I came home from school, the taunting and teasing stopped, completely, until I went back to school. Back then, we didn’t even have cordless phones and answering machines, much less internet and text messages. I can’t imagine I would have survived if Karen, Kathy, and Tanya had had 24/7 access to me.

I’ve long wondered why they did what they did, but even Kathy doesn’t know*:

For many years now, I have questioned why I treated you so horribly when we were in school together. And as much as I’ve thought about it and as much as I’ve tried to figure it out, honestly don’t know why. Maybe peer pressure of trying to fit in, maybe joining in with others so that they wouldn’t pick on me, or maybe I was just a horrible, horrible person. Maybe all of the above. But whatever the reason, it does not change the fact that I was wrong to treat you the way I did. I want you to know how very sorry I am. I know I caused you tremendous pain and suffering because of my actions. I want you to know that my apology is sincere and heartfelt. From the very bottom of my heart, I am so very sorry for the abusive way I treated you when we were in school.

Parents, talk to your kids about bullying, because any child can be a bully. Any child can get caught in the swirling social morass of middle and high school. I don’t vilify my bullies anymore; we were all little girls. We were children who, lacking adequate supervision and guidance, found ourselves tangled in a situation that got too big for us. Adults should have saved us, and I do mean us, not me. I suffered from years of shame; Kathy suffered from years of guilt. (Perhaps Tanya and Karen have suffered, too, though I don’t know.) Adult intervention could have protected us all.

Know what your kids are doing at school, how they’re treating other children, and find out what their school’s bullying policies are. Find out if they follow those policies, how they are enforced, and what the grievance procedure is. If there isn’t a policy in place, or if the policy is inadequate, work with some other parents and pressure the school to change it.

And if your child is being bullied in school, do not wait, do not hesitate, do not be scared. Just make it stop. Find a way. I can’t tell you how to make it stop because every situation is different, but if you need the courage to confront the school, you email me and I will pep talk you to the moon. As parents, keeping our kids safe is job one. You can do it.

Because honestly? I would have been better off if my parents had done anything, up to and including letting me hang out at home and read books all year. Academically, I learned something between nothing and absolutely zero that year. How could I have learned? That’s like locking someone in the tiger pen at the zoo and insisting they write a 2,000 word discourse on surplus transfer and the birth of capitalism.
And Kathy: thank you. From my toes to my head, thank you. I know you feel guilty, but hear this my friend: I forgive you, wholly and completely.

* * * * *

*I’ve included portions of Kathy’s message to me with her permission. Because for all the painful lessons I learned from my bullies, I also learned this one: It’s important to play nice.

For more information about bullying, go to Stop Bullying Now!

Originally published on: The Big Girl Blog: Tales of a Plus Size Princess in New York City
By: CeCe Olisa
Age 9 at the time

When I was younger I would hear stories about kids being teased because of their weight.

When I would hear those stories, I would think about how awful it was for those kids who were made fun of, but I would also wonder what made me different because, although I was a big kid, those things didn’t really happen to me.

At age nine I was best friends with the most popular girls in the fourth grade. The leader of our group was Riley Baker. Riley was beautiful, all the boys were in love with her and she had the type of personality that made you want to do whatever she said. We called ourselves the Red Sisters because of a blood oath she convinced us to take one day after school.

If Riley was the queen of the fourth grade, recess was when she held court. Everyday after we shared our goldfish crackers, sandwiches and caprisuns we would roam the playground. We felt we were too old to play on the jungle gym like the 2nd and 3rd graders but we also knew we were too young to make our way over to the softball field where the 7th and 8th graders hung out.

So we walked… waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, Riley would make something happen. Sometimes it was flirting with boys, sometimes it was lying on the grass listening to Nirvana on her Walkman. Then there were the afternoons when Riley’s claws would come out. There were two girls that she hated and both were on the chubby side. If Riley crossed paths with either of these girls, the Red Sisters would stand in silence as Riley tore into them; criticizing their clothes, their bodies, their hair and anything else she could think of. The Red Sisters never added any insults, we were actually cool with both of the chubby girls when Riley wasn’t around, but our silence spoke volumes.

These girls had it rough because if they cried it would only bring them more negative attention. On the other hand, when one of the girls got fed up and told a teacher what Riley was doing to her, it was even worse. Riley was put into detention for 3 days and gave the Red Sisters strict orders to pretend the girl didn’t exist.

I can remember feeling bad for the girls but feeling relieved that Riley was my friend. I also remember feeling confused because I knew that I was actually bigger than both of these girls who were being teased about their weight. I knew it was twisted, but I was grateful that Riley and the other girls looked past my size and still allowed me to be a Red Sister.

When Riley returned from her stint in detention, we went back to sandwiches, goldfish crackers and caprisuns followed by walks, boys and Nirvana. Riley had a new boyfriend and hadn’t harassed anyone in a while so things felt pretty normal. One day, we decided to roam a little further across the school yard and found ourselves chatting in front of a brick wall outside of the 6th graders classrooms. We were waiting for something to happen, but as usual, nothing did.

The bell rang, signaling the end of recess. We all stood up to head back to class, the other Red Sisters turned the corner and Riley, who was in front of me, abruptly turned around. Suddenly it was just the two of us standing against the brick wall.

“You need to lose weight,” she said.

I felt like she had punched me in the stomach.

“I-I… I know,” I stammered.

I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. I wanted to tell someone, but what was the point? I wasn’t sure if I was going to have to plead for my place as a Red Sister, but before I could think of anything to say, Riley turned on her heel and headed back to class.

I stood against the brick wall, alone.

“Celeste…”

I turned around and Mrs. Arcane the 6th grade history teacher had her head poked out of her door.

“Yes, Mrs. Arcane?” I said, nervously wondering if she’d overheard what Riley said to me.

She took a deep breath “You know, with friends like that… you don’t need enemies.”

Annie Fox is a fantastic social skills problem-solving resource for tweens, tweens and their parents, via her Middle School Confidential book series and her online Hey Terra! teen advice column. She also has several upcoming Bay Area speaking engagements and workshops. Her website is www.anniefox.com, and you can also follow Annie on Twitter.

Our thanks to Annie for graciously letting us feature a sampling of her Hey Terra! questions and answers about teens and bullying on Can I Sit With You? today. We hope teen readers (and their parents and teachers) will find this information useful.

—-

“I want to leave the mean girls but part of me doesn’t.”

Hey Terra,

I want to make the change from being in the popular mean girl group to the nice people. The nice people have accepted me but I’ve seen a few friends from the popular group and I realize it’s going to be hard to tell them I want to leave! I have best friends in the non-populars, but I’m starting to freak out because what if when I get back to school I’ll see them and be like “I should be with them!” Today at orientation two of the girls were in the corners gossiping and half of me wanted to join them but I pulled away! What should I do??

Nice Bitch

—-

Dear Nice Bitch,

Whenever you’re having trouble deciding what to do, it’s a good idea to look at your options and weigh the PROS and CONS. This exercise can help you compare the benefits of being with the “nice” people vs. the “popular mean girl group.”

After you’re finished, take a look at the two lists. Decide what makes more sense to you.

A word of caution: If you decide to move away from the “mean” girls towards the nice ones there might be some fall-out. Worst case, the mean girls may try to turn others against you. I’m not suggesting that you ought to freak out and worry about this now. That would be foolish and a waste of your energy. Just be aware of that as a possibility. If it happens, know that you have the ability to deal with it in a mature and peaceful way. On a positive note, it’s possible that some or all of the “mean” girls will be inspired by your choice and realize that they don’t want to be thought of as “mean” any more because it’s not really who they are! It would be a pretty cool thing if by being true to yourself you motivated others to do the same.

By the way, there’s no such thing as a “Nice Bitch.” Either the “real” you is a nice girl … Or you’re not. Can’t have it both ways. Ask: How do I see myself? How do I want others to see me?

In friendship,

Terra

“I can’t help it if I have breasts and they don’t!”

Hey Terra,

I am 11 years old and I have a period and unlike the zillions of girls in my school, I have big breasts as well. It’s embarrassing when we have physical education classes because we have to change in front of everybody else and if I change in the stalls, which have doors and locks, I would be laughed at. Recently someone looked in my schoolbag and found my pads! She scattered them on the floor and I had to pick them up all by myself! What can I do?

Embarrassed

—-

Dear Embarrassed,

The girl who scattered your pads on the floor was acting in an unkind and immature way. My guess is that she felt a little jealous because you had already reached this phase in your physical development and she hadn’t. That made her feel “less than” you. Sometimes when people feel “less than” someone else, they try to put the other person down. It’s nuts, but that’s what some people do when they feel jealous.

I know it’s hard to be different from other girls at this time, but I guarantee it won’t be too long before other girls “catch up” to you when it comes to breast development and the rest.

I know, I know, you wish your breasts were smaller right now so you could blend right in. (And I get regular emails from girls who wish they had larger breasts!) Bigger, smaller … And then you think all of your problems will be over. It’s not about your body. It’s about the “real” you … your gifts and talents and how you use them to help others.

None of us get to choose the body we’re born with and even though you are currently having issues with the size of your breasts, they are a part of your body which serves you in so many amazing ways. Since you can’t change your breasts, you need to work with whatever you can control … And that’s your point of view. You’ve decided that it’s “embarrassing” to have those breasts. What if you shifted that opinion just a bit and decided that “these breasts are OK just the way they are.”

If I were you, I’d talk to the P.E. teacher privately, calmly, and respectfully. Let her know what happened with the pads. Let her know how you feel about changing in front of the others and LISTEN to what she says. I guarantee you’re not the first student she’s had with these feeling. Do yourself a favor and talk to your teacher. She will help you feel less uncomfortable about the changes going on.

In friendship,

Terra

“What can you do when people just stop talking to you?”

Hey Terra,

You just recently visited my school. I enjoyed your talk, but it also made my friend and I a little uneasy. You talked about how sometimes friends grow apart, and sometimes people just don’t like each other anymore. Well that has happened to my friend and I. Last year everyone was getting in fights and there seemed to be different groups that all hated each other. This year I thought things would be different and everyone could just get along… and they did, at first.Everything was going fine until one day our whole class just stopped talking to me and my friend. Our other friends would just walk by us and glare at us like we had done something wrong. People would talk about us behind out backs and laugh as we walked by. We had no idea what was going on. I chose to talk to one of my friends about it and she said that she wasn’t mad at me, but that it just seemed like I was too depressed to have friends. This I did not understand. I was never depressed and I always thought that I was actually a happy person. The only time when I was quiet or sad was when no one would talk to me besides my friend (the one that people were also mad at). I don’t know what to do, and my friend and I are very confused. Please help.

Very Confused and Lonely

—-

Dear Very Confused and Lonely,

People can be very insensitive, can’t they? I have no idea why some of you “friends” would choose to “just walk by” and “glare” at you. I’m very glad you and your friend have each other, but I’m sure you’d like this negative behavior toward you to stop.

Like I said when I came to your school: you don’t get to control the way other people act (or how they feel or what they think). But you can control your choices. One of the choices within your control at this time is to talk to the people involved. You say you did talk to one friend who said she “wasn’t mad” at you. This explanation she offered about your being “too depressed to have friends” is not helpful, even though she probably thought it would be. I mean, what are you supposed to do with that information!?

My suggestion is that you talk to one of the school counselors. I guarantee that you will be listened to with respect and receive some good advice. Talking to them about what’s going on would be an excellent choice on your part.

I hope this helps.

In friendship,

Terra

“I’m teased at school and all my mom says is ‘Ignore them.’”

Hey Terra,

The kids at my school tease me because I’m a vegetarian and I’m not good at sports. I feel like I don’t have any real friends because they’re constantly telling me how weird I am, and this one girl, that I have to sit next to, enjoys throwing my pens and notebooks off my desk. I’ve tried telling my mom about this, but all of the things she told me to do didn’t work, like ignoring them and laughing with them. The say my food is gross and they never listen to what I have to say. Sometimes I get so frustrated, that I start screaming at them. Then they ask me why I’m so mad. It’s like they purposely upset me for fun. What should I do?

Still Screaming

—-

Dear Still Screaming,

Thanks for writing. I’m sorry that you’re going through such a rough time right now. What these kids are doing is rude, insensitive, and cruel. I can’t say that I understand why they are doing it, but I totally understand why this is so upsetting to you.

Your mom loves you and she is trying to help with the advice she’s giving, but it’s not working. That’s not your fault or her fault.

Please show your mom this email and talk to her again. Let her know that you need her help in getting through to the adults at school.

The law says that every school is responsible for the safety of all of its students (that means physical safety and emotional safety). Teasing is NOT ACCEPTABLE.

Either with your mom’s intervention or on your own, you need to speak up and let teachers, the principal and the school counselor know what is going on and how you feel about it.

It’s their job to make sure this behavior stops. The students who are teasing you also have parents who ought to know what’s going on. Get your mom to get in touch with their parents. Teasing is serious business and kids need to get the message that it’s NEVER OK to make fun of people.

If you talk to the principal, etc., and nothing changes, then have your mom go to the school board.

Keep speaking out. It’s your right to go to school without being teased.

By writing to me you show that you have courage and that you want to make a change. That’s awesome. Now I hope my reply gives you the courage you need to take the next step.

Let me know what happens. I care about you.

In friendship,

Terra

I recently came across two blog posts, one recent and one from a few years ago; one from an author still struggling with the emotional scars of bullying, another from an author who has made peace with her social self,  past and present — and both of which underscore the need for this very Can I Sit With You? blog and book project in which we share social stories from our school years.

Why a need? Because in both cases, the authors felt completely isolated. In both cases, the authors had no idea that other kids were afloat on the same stormy social seas. In both cases, I suspect, the authors might have been relieved to hear their stories echoed from someone else’s perspective:

• PhD in Parenting: The Bully Who Defined Me
• Kate Goldfield: Normal Is Just a Setting on the Washing Machine

Do you have a story about a particularly prickly, challenging, or triumphant time in your social life at school?  Don’t forget to send it in. We publish new stories every week.

Victoria Laraneta
Fourth Grade

I grew up in a small Midwestern town. We were, I suppose, middle class folks; we lived on the “right side of the tracks” by several blocks. It never seemed to matter that much, but I was aware that there were kids who lived up the hill in houses that were bigger and newer, and that other kids lived across the tracks in smaller houses that didn’t have big yards. Though our homes were different, at school we seemed to be much the same, and we were all pretty good kids.

I have always had friends from both sides of the tracks. My grandmother taught me to love everyone because we are all God’s children.

Even so, I remember that I still seemed to feel sorry for the kids on the “wrong side of the tracks.” One girl in particular, Sophie, was in fourth grade with me. She always looked like she needed to shampoo her hair, and her clothes were not so pretty. And, unfortunately, her last name sounded like “bottom,” so you can imagine all the teasing she received.

I always left school with Sophie, walking together part of the way home. Then she would turn right and walk her six blocks over the railroad tracks, and I would walk straight home another four blocks. We walked to and from school every day, even in the winter when the snow was piled up as high as a tall giraffe’s butt.

One warm rainy spring afternoon, we left school together as usual. We had only gone three blocks, just before Sophie should have made her turn, when we were accosted by some sixth grade boys on bicycles. They said mean, horrible things about Sophie, and then they teased me, asking me why I would want her for a friend.

Sophie looked at me and her eyes filled up with tears. She looked so sad and scared, and well, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I folded my umbrella and took a swing at the biggest boy, and got him right on his fanny. I told him to get away or I would bonk him on his head and then run back to school to get the principal. He grabbed me, but I broke free and swung at him again with my umbrella. I missed him that time, but he decided I might hit him again so they just called us more names and then rode off.

We were very scared and crying by this time, so we ran through the rain all the way to my house, until I was pounding on the side door. My grandmother let us in, and as she toweled us dry with big fluffy towels, I told her the story. She said, “Good. I hope you smacked him a good one. Sometimes God’s children are hard to love.”

Sophie was supposed to go right home after school since both of her parents worked and she had siblings who would be waiting for her. But Grandma called her mother at work, and asked if Sophie could stay for a while, if we would give her a ride home in the car after dinner.

Grandma gave us a piece of her homemade bread with grape jam and a glass of milk, and talked to us for a while. When we had calmed down and had bellies full of Grandma’s snack, Sophie looked at me, smiled, and said, “Thank you.”

I said, “That’s all right. You’re my friend.”

By: mom2spiritedboy
Age at the time: 6

Dear Kirk,

I am sorry that I did not stick up for you more in the first grade
I am sorry that I didn’t ask you to come to my house to play
I am sorry that you didn’t get to live with a forever family
I am sorry that the kids at school were so horrible to you
I am sorry that they called you “Kirk the Jerk”
I am sorry that I do not remember your last name

If I could have it all to do over
. . . I would have played with you at recess when no one would, EVERY day, not just sometimes
. . . I wouldn’t have let go of your hand when we were walking home and other kids were coming
. . . I would have shared my Jos Louis with you on the field trip and sat with you on the bus
. . . I would have been your best friend

I am glad that I kicked those boys HARD with my Cougar boots that day they were bullying you after school. I wish that there wouldn’t have been a need for anyone to have to protect you – I wish people could have been nice to you and that grown ups would have made the world a safer place for you.

I think of you often. I feel much shame and sadness for the things that never were and all that should not have been. When I watch my son as he struggles so much to fit in, I often think of you. I will do better by him than what was done for you.

I am sorry and I hope life got better. I hope you found someone to sit with on the bus and who would share their lunch with you.

By Alicia Rios
Age 13 yrs at the time

I hated Karen Morley in year 8. She had naturally blonde hair so light it was nearly white. Her no-makeup skin revealed the colourless spots beneath to the world. When she laughed her small teeth were yellow against the red of her too-large gums; and she laughed a lot. Her clothes were boring and old fashioned, as if her gran had chosen them. She had no friends. Despite all of that, the boys seemed to love her. They flocked around her like seagulls around fish! And she had a boyfriend called Colin.

But she was so boring! She never said anything. She just laughed. She laughed at their jokes, she laughed when they teased her, she even laughed they asked her questions instead of giving an answer. But still they flocked.

Tania and I often stood frowning, arms folded, watching in disbelief. Now Tania and I – we were interesting, clever and funny. We could joke back, tease them with attitude and hold our own in any debate. We knew about football, politics, psychology and Marc Bolan. We also spent a lot of time on our clothes, hair and makeup. So why were they hanging around with her? She couldn’t even crack a joke and she had yellow teeth for goodness sake!

I can’t recall much about what we did to Karen Morley that year. I do remember Colin kicking Tania really hard in the playground for calling Karen names. I don’t remember the names that we called her but I expect being boring and yellow teeth were mentioned. We were outraged at his reaction. We had just wanted the boys to see what we saw. They were supposed to turn against her, not us.

Three years later Karen Morley and I sat together in the Form room only a couple of months away from leaving school. All animosities had long ceased. We chatted and laughed about teenage girly stuff. Then suddenly she told me that Tania and I had made her life Hell in year 8. She said we had sent her a card on her birthday and when she’d opened it “We all hate you” was written inside. I was devastated. I saw all the pain of that year in her face.

Karen Morley was a nice, pretty, not particularly clever person. She had never done anything to hurt me, but I had really hurt her. I remember that I said I was sorry and did not know what else to say. I wish now that I’d told her what pretty hair she had, how attractive her laugh was, and how destructive and powerful jealousy can be.

By Amy Looper
First published online at the MindOH! Blog
Reprinted with permission from the author

When I first heard about Ryan Halligan, a 13 year old boy who committed suicide a few years ago, I was sad to hear of yet another child taking their life due to bullying. While watching the recent Frontline show “Growing Up Online”, I was particularly struck by new information his parents shared after establishing contact with some of his friends in an effort to get answers to so many unanswered questions about their son’s suicide.

I was completely horrified to hear his parents talk about a web site Ryan had visited that teaches kids the best way for them to commit suicide based on taking a personality test offered there.

A few days after watching the Frontline special I just couldn’t shake this profound sadness out of my head. I had a rush of vivid and unexpected memories about a kid I knew in elementary school back in the 60’s who had repeated first and third grade. Everyone knew who she was and teased her relentlessly calling her stupid, retard, dummy, the usual hurtful stuff some kids will say to those they see as different, or as lower on the proverbial playground food chain. Even more abusive and shocking, some of the teachers chimed in on this ridicule. Calling her out in the classroom with snide comments and making her stand out in the hall. This kid couldn’t catch a break.

She was out for a week one semester because her father had died. Kids and teachers were nice to her for a few days but eventually the usual taunting picked right back up. Then one day while we were at recess, one of the bully boys came over and took the girl’s jump rope and quickly fashioned a hangman’s noose over a tree branch. He grabbed this picked-on girl by the arm, threw the noose around her neck and gave a big tug with all of his weight. Easily twice her size, he jerked her up and she was swinging in a matter of seconds. I mean, being hung right there in front of everyone. Not one kid moved to help. I think we were all stunned.

Grabbing her neck with her hands, choking and struggling to get free, the bell rang to end recess and the bully boy let go of the rope. She fell to the ground. The teacher was coming toward the big tree, but when she saw the girl fall to the ground, the teacher turned around and left her to pick herself up. No one helped her. We all just filed back into class like nothing had happened.

That little girl was me.

What I realized about Ryan Halligan’s suicide was if the bullying I endured as a child was complemented by the resources of a 21st century online world, I too could have easily opted to check out the suicide web site and — even worse — acted on it.

It shook me to my core.

Even though I was very lucky to have loving parents guide me through my trying times as a child and see me into successful adulthood, they still had no idea of the many sad and lonely days I spent because I couldn’t articulate the full extent of what was happening, much less even understand what I needed.

This is why I’ve dedicated the rest of my life’s work to meet kids in their technology-based culture, leveraging technology in every way possible, to create positive content options, a lifeline to life skills for all kids to learn how to confidently navigate the fast paced world and myriad of negative influences they’re faced with daily.

If you’re a parent, teacher or simply care about youth watch Frontline’s “Growing Up Online.” Even though the show could have used more coverage about the positive things happening online for kids, it is still an important eye opener for offline adults.