“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.
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