All of us have something about us that makes us different. It might be because of the color of our skin. Because we have a different religion. Because we or our parents come from another country. Because we like boys or girls. Because we’re heavy or skinny. Because we’re short or tall. Because our hair’s a certain color. Because we’re in special classes. Because we’re poor. It doesn’t matter what it is, bullies will find something different about you and try to make your life hard…. I wish I could tell you that bullying will change. It won’t. But you can change how you react to it. Whatever you do, don’t hurt yourself and don’t hurt other people, because that’s how it gets worse.
It seems as if I’ve read and heard so much about bullying lately, and that’s a wonderful thing. I can only hope that bullying isn’t destined to be the issue of the moment, in the spotlight today and then relegated to the back pages tomorrow. It’s an issue that impacts more of our children than any of us realize; the sad thing is that it doesn’t need to be this way.
The increased attention devoted to bullying is a good thing, but it’s also forced me to confront some very difficult things in my own life, things I’ve rarely thought about over the years. I’ve been pretty good at ignoring the fact that I was bullied as a child, from elementary school through ninth grade. I got through it because I frankly didn’t know that other options might have been available. Thoughts of suicide never entered my mind until later in life…but that’s a story best left for another time. I was physically assaulted- publicly and privately in school as well as outside of school. Some of it happened in full view of adults who did nothing to stop it.
I was always “different,” though I don’t know that I ever truly understood why that was cause for me to be harassed and ridiculed. As a child I was the not-so-proud owner of a very prominent pair of buck teeth. Three years of orthodontia resolved most of the problem, but I can still remember the humiliation I was subjected to. I wore orthodontic headgear for a couple of years in junior high school, which for a shy kid trying to blend in as much as possible seemed like the equivalent of taping a “PLEASE KICK ME!” sign to my backside. It seemed an almost daily occurrence: standing in front of my locker, someone would sneak up behind me and pull my headgear down the back of my head. Not only was this physically painful, the accompanying snickers and guffaws poured salt into an already gaping emotional wound.
The good news is that I eventually learned, long before the phrase became popular, that it really does get better.
Children are among the cruelest creatures. Survive childhood, and odds are that little else you will face will seem as daunting. Nor are you likely to feel so thoroughly and utterly alone, as if you’re the only one in the world being bullied.
Growing up in Walker, MN, was an exercise in isolation. Stuck in the middle of nowhere (Minneapolis was a four-hour drive south, the Canadian border two hours to the north, Fargo two hours west, and Duluth two hours east), there was no Internet. My grandmother still had a hand-crank telephone on a party line. The local theater didn’t get first-run movies until 6-12 months after their release. There was little knowledge of or exposure to the world outside Cass County, which during my childhood had the lowest per capita income in Minnesota. Domestic violence was a dirty little secret that most everyone knew about but never mentioned. I always wondered my aunt would occasionally come to our house sporting a black eye. Violence was merely part of the culture, something that no one dared openly discuss.
Poverty, anger, and frustration made for an environment that implicitly promoted violence and did nothing to actively discourage it. No child spoke of bullying to adults, and none of us understood the term- at least in the context it’s used today. All I knew is that when Frank Kollar came up behind and lifted me off my feet by the waistband of my undershorts…well, it was humiliating. When Chris Doyle cornered me in a quiet hallway, physically harassed me, and took what he wanted from my lunch, I took it quietly. I didn’t know what else I could do, and it wasn’t as if the adults in my life took an active role in protecting children. Much of the bullying happened right under their noses and in full view.
I’ve consoled myself over the years by thinking that Chris Doyle and Frank Kollar ended up leading dead-end lives as gas station attendants or fishing guides in Walker. I don’t know what’s become of them, and I don’t know that I ncare to. That’s just how I’ve chosen to put that part of my life into something resembling perspective.
It’s difficult for me to look back on that time in my life, especially when I remember how powerless and utterly alone I felt. I’ve never been a fighter (I lost my only two pugilistic engagements- in fifth grade- and promptly retired), so I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what I COULD do. There was no one in my life to tell me that it gets better…but it eventually did get. What I’ve never been able to understand is why and how so many people are unwitting (or, in same cases, active) co-conspirators in teaching their children to bully, that it’s OK to verbally and/or physically harass and assault other children…simply for being perceived as “different.”
I’m grateful that bullying has finally come to the forefront of public attention, but I can’t help but wonder if something isn’t missing from the equation. Telling children that “it gets better” is a good start, but where’s the education effort directed at parents? Where’s the zero-tolerance policies directed at bullying? Why is “boys will be boys” still the prevailing theory in so many schools and families?
How many more children will have to attempt to take their own lives (and, even worse, succeed) before parents recognize their responsibility and obligation to teach tolerance? When will schools understand and accept that they must aggressively and immediately address instances of bullying? Bullying is learned behavior; if parents and schools can recognize and accept their responsibility to teach children tolerance, perhaps we can save this and future generations.
I got through it…and it DID get better. I just wish there had been someone there for me when I needed it.
