Thursday, October 16, 2014

Spirit Day: A Reminder of Why We Still Need it



“If you don’t want to be picked on you shouldn’t present yourself in such a way as to make yourself a target.”  “You should be grateful you didn’t get what you really deserved.” “Now Erica, retard is just short for retarded.  It may not be a nice way of putting it, but it is true.”  Growing up with a learning disability meant that I was going to be bullied.  It was as inevitable as getting homework or flunking spelling.  The nature and the quality of what was done to me changed over time, but the point behind it was still the same. 

When I was in grade school it mostly consisted of being chased down, or having things thrown at my head.  The reason was obvious to the kids, I was retarded, so hitting my head was fine, there wasn’t anything in there.  I grew to hate recess.  I didn’t understand why everyone wanted to go out there.  I usually hid in a small grove of trees until it was over and we could go back in. 

Once I got into middle school it shifted to being tormented in class.  I had always been left out whenever possible in class, but the nature of how a class works meant the other students within the class didn’t get much chance to go too far.  The other place was in the hallway.  I remember one clear incident where a student knocked my books out of my hand in the middle of a congested hall and instead of walking around me many students walked on me while I tried to pick up my books. 

In highschool what had been physical attacks and general insults to my intelligence became something more.  My freshman year the attacks went from physical to sexual.  While other girls were beginning to notice boys I simply wasn’t.  I had made a friend with a boy in one class and people thought we were dating.  What they didn’t know was that he had come out to me.  We let them think we were dating because it meant they might leave me alone.  And then he came out. 

That was when the groping, kicking, and generally humiliating things happened all while in class.  It was called “stage craft” and our job was to set up the stages for the school plays.  Because of this there was often little to no supervision.  This left plenty of time for the football players in the class to do what they wanted to me. 

One might ask where the teachers were during this time.  Well, all but one of the quotes above are from teachers.  The comment on getting what I deserved was from a girl in my stage craft class when she found out the boys were molesting me.  This isn’t to say there weren’t teachers who were on my side.  There were some who fought like heroes to try and keep me safe in their classes.  In one case a class decided my name was LD (short for learning disabled).  I have never been ashamed of my dyslexia but having that be the name given to you is the same as saying that is all one is.  The teacher was not happy with the students and asked me to go down to the resource center (the center for helping students with disabilities) while she talked to the class. 

The administrator of the resource center heard about why I was there and decided this was the time to have a talk with me about bullying.  I was maybe 16 at the time, and she sat down with me with a pamphlet in her hand.  I remember to this day the first picture on it of a boy standing on a school desk saying, “hay, look at me.”  The conversation was yet again on how I had made a spectacle of myself making myself a target for abuse.  The issue wasn’t with the kids who went after me nonstop, but with my insistence on being present. 

Looking back I still can’t identify anything I did to try and make a spectacle of myself other than participate in class.  I would have given anything to be invisible, to never be called on, to never be seen.  The general philosophy on bullying was that it was just kid’s stuff, and that those of us who were bullied took it too personally.  I’m still not quite sure how one is supposed to not take being stabbed repeatedly I the back with a pencil personally. 

This was almost 20 years now, and I’ve been told by people that I need to just get past this.  On one level they are absolutely right, but then again, how does one get past the shaping of their personality.  I still have trouble believing people want to be around me.  When things have happened that warranted getting authorities involved I have trouble doing it because I don’t see how what happens to me equals the same as what happens to another.  It is hard to unlearn that your life, your very existence has less worth than others. 

And then one day I see this…

It is difficult to explain what seeing something like this means.  The word bully isn’t used to signify a lesser form of mistreatment.  The word has been given the weight it deserves, at least in some cases.  The real fact is if an adult did many of the things that constitute bullying they would likely be jailed for assault, attempted rape, molestation, or stalking.  The statement, “kids will be kids,” is dangerous.  The idea that these things are just kid’s stuff implies something truly disturbing about children I can’t accept to be true. 

And so each year people wear purple on spirit day.  It isn’t just a gesture.  It is saying that that person is on our side; So the next little girl who has rocks thrown at her for not being able to read right won’t have to believe it is deserved for the crime of being different; The next girl who is sexually assaulted won’t be made to feel that if only she had made less attention to herself she wouldn’t have it coming; The next kid who is suspected of being gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender will know that what they are going through isn’t okay.  It is so no child will ever have to learn that they are worth less. 

My parents were on my side, as was my sister, but they can only be there so much.  It is the responsibility of every human being to take care of any child who crosses their path in whatever way they can for the time that child is near them.  For me October 16th is a part of my personal healing.  It is a reminder that things aren’t better yet, but things are changing.  We are not pretending anymore that it isn’t as bad as it actually is. 

Saturday, August 30, 2014

On My Birthday.


Tomorrow is my birthday.  I was doing some school work and popped onto Facebook and saw this from a friend.


With this comment:

I would have added more decorations...but I ran out of room! Thanks for being such a good FB friend! I hope you enjoy your birthday, Erica!

This is from an online friend of mine and it made me smile.
I also got a FB birthday card from another friend. 


This is especially sweet because one of them is going through an especially difficult time right now and it's touching that this person would take time to do something for me considering the issues at hand, (no, I am not going to give further details, they know who they are and that’s what matters) 

Now, I can’t say what I want for my birthday because for the most part I’ve already gotten them.  In material gifts I have gotten a very nice set of real wood shelves and a new Samsung device for listening to my text books and other less productive things.

There is something far more precious that I’ve already gotten from not just my mom and dad, but also the countless friends online and in person.  It is the time, patience, respect, and love I receive every day.  When I was a young girl my mom figured out I couldn’t read.  My first grade teacher thought I wasn’t very smart, but my mom wouldn’t accept that.  She got me tested and I was diagnosed as dyslexic.  This led me to some very difficult times in my childhood, but I know what can happen to children who have learning disabilities and aren’t diagnosed.  I owe the chances I have had in my life to the time and respect they have given to my education. 

There were many times when I wanted to just give up.  I tried on a number of occasions, but they wouldn’t let me.  I can’t say I was all that thankful then, but now I know the work ethic I have, and the drive I have to do well comes from the fact that they never let me learn how to give up.  The time and energy both my mom and dad, but especially my mom have put into helping me do my school work is difficult to put into perspective. 

There is no way to overstate what that help has meant to me.  Weather it is reading an article that wasn’t available in a text format as my mom most recently did; writing up definitions for vocabulary so I can study off of it like she did during the summer; typing up Spanish vocabulary as my dad did the year before; or reading my homework off the computer because the publisher for the online homework didn't use readable text, they have been there for me every step of the way.  The school work may have been done by me, but the amount of work making the material usable for me has in many cases been equal to my own effort.  It isn’t an exaggeration to say going back to school wouldn’t be an option without it. 



But then there is that other detail to my life.  At this time there is a viral video of a young man’s coming out.  I haven’t watched the video because I know what it is.  I share it here because the family has tried to get the young man to remove it.  They made the choice to not only disown their own child for being gay, but they assaulted him in the process of disowning him.  They made a choice in how they would receive his coming out to them, and they should have to pay some consequence for their action.  The best I can do at this time is help expose the shame of their actions, so they can’t hide from it. 
Thank you BlackTsunami 





When I came out of the closet my parents accepted me without condition.  My sister accepted me without condition.  Her children accepted me without condition.  The idea of doing otherwise was unthinkable.  I have thought that on one hand they had some experience with dealing with differences in me.  After all they dealt with my learning disability as a child.   

They may not be the same, but in regards to how some families respond to them there are parallels.  To them, accepting a child who is coming out of the closet is just how things should be.  It is what all children deserve and need.  To do otherwise is unacceptable.  The contrast in my experience and that of DanielAshley Pierce are so dramatic that it points out exactly how wrong what he went through is.  I’m glad he has had the friend’s support he has, but it makes me angry to know his family has treated him as they have. 

I am grateful for the gifts I have been given of love, support, respect, and help.  They have meant far more than their actual doing.  The fact of the help has meant I can live, in many ways like anyone else.  I can enjoy the things others can in my own way, and I can enjoy knowing that the people who should be on my side are.  If there are any friends out there who have thought of giving a gift to me I would like them to consider making a donation to Daniel’s future at (http://www.gofundme.com/dnoqgg) or to donate at http://teacherally.learningally.org/ a resource that provides read books for people with disabilities that effect reading.  Because so many people in both accounts don’t have what I do.  I’d like to help them have as close to that as possible. 

Thank you to all of my family both related by blood and related by love.