Back in the bad old days I made a terrible mistake. I was in the fifth grade and I decided that if I wanted to be "cool", I needed new friends. I can't imagine being more ashamed of anything I've done---I ditched two of my childhood friends so I could hang out with the "cool kids". I don't have to tell you that it didn't work out. It was a horrible thing to do and it had worse consequences. At the end of the school year, I decided to transfer schools for a 'fresh start'.
Well, that did not go well either. See, karma is a bitch. She has a great big bitchy boot that she likes to smash down in your face when you do something evil and she wasn't done with me yet. So when I transferred from the elementary school where I'd been since first grade and every one knew me---and even if they didn't like me much they left me the hell alone---to another school and I opened my big stupid mouth, the results were terrible.
I don't think even my mother knows this, but I wouldn't go into the lunch room after a while for fear of eating with my class. I would hide from the teacher herding us in when we were between the regular building and the portable that was the lunchroom. The boys would moo at me as they walked by. I already had breasts at this point--apparently they thought I wanted milking. The playground was a lot of isolation. By the end of the year I was withdrawn, sad, and in a very dark place.
Oh and I was really really pissed off. Really pissed off.
Back in those days the public schools in my town had a program called "Positive Action". Positive Action was a euphemism for "We know our schools are full of mean little kids who do mean things to other kids and this is our pathetic attempt at counter acting it". We had to sing stupid songs and engage in silly exercises. On the last day of school, we had to draw out a name of another child and write something nice about them and put it back into the hat.
Did I mention by this point I was one pissed off angry little milk cow? My teacher had somehow managed to miss the fact that I was being harassed, maligned, mentally tortured and just generally living in my own personal hell. I will give her this: I was one socially awkward fat girl who said something mean at the lunch table at the beginning of the year. I spent the rest of the school year paying for it with my dignity and my 'self esteem'. No, I didn't try to apologize. I didn't know how. Couldn't begin to think of a way to do it. It was my last day in this hell and I had heard a rumor about a boy in our class. A strange rumor to my asexual little 12 year old mind. This was a boy who mood at me. A boy who pinched me, and stabbed me with pencils. He was a mean boy with a rumor going around about him that he had had sex with his cat.
That wasn't of course how 11 year olds put it--they said he fucked a cat. 11 year olds are vulgar. I had a vague idea of what this meant and when I drew this mean boy's name out of the hat, I had a terrible awful idea. It was a self esteem exercise---meant to build this creep who mooed at me's self image up.... Forget that.
I wrote: "Little "Johnny" loves his kitty cat". Little Johnny was furious. Little Johnny was sure I did it. I don't know how he knew that. The room was filled with stunned silence as this was read aloud. He was a bully and everyone was a little afraid of him. I don't know how the teacher who had failed to notice me being stabbed with pencils, verbally abused, and pushed into walls knew I did it. She just did. Though, she couldn't get me to admit and it was the last day of school. She let it go.
Little Johnny didn't. He and Big Johnny (I swear this kid was built like Fat Albert without the great personality---I think he may have been peddling weed as young as that because he acted like a mob boss and went by all three of his names) chased me to my mother's car and didn't even let the sight of her stop them from trying to pound my ass as I got into the back seat and locked the door.
I don't think anyone forgot any time soon that Little Johnny loved his kitty though.
Purr kitty purr.
I know other kids had it worse than me. I got lucky and ended up in a speech and drama class the next year. Things got a little better. I grew up and they got a LOT better. That pissed off little milk cow still comes out sometimes, but she has claws now. I credit my sixth grade snark to my family's knack for sarcasm and one liners.
I'm going to go check and see if Big Johnny's been arrested lately.
Well, that did not go well either. See, karma is a bitch. She has a great big bitchy boot that she likes to smash down in your face when you do something evil and she wasn't done with me yet. So when I transferred from the elementary school where I'd been since first grade and every one knew me---and even if they didn't like me much they left me the hell alone---to another school and I opened my big stupid mouth, the results were terrible.
I don't think even my mother knows this, but I wouldn't go into the lunch room after a while for fear of eating with my class. I would hide from the teacher herding us in when we were between the regular building and the portable that was the lunchroom. The boys would moo at me as they walked by. I already had breasts at this point--apparently they thought I wanted milking. The playground was a lot of isolation. By the end of the year I was withdrawn, sad, and in a very dark place.
Oh and I was really really pissed off. Really pissed off.
Back in those days the public schools in my town had a program called "Positive Action". Positive Action was a euphemism for "We know our schools are full of mean little kids who do mean things to other kids and this is our pathetic attempt at counter acting it". We had to sing stupid songs and engage in silly exercises. On the last day of school, we had to draw out a name of another child and write something nice about them and put it back into the hat.
Did I mention by this point I was one pissed off angry little milk cow? My teacher had somehow managed to miss the fact that I was being harassed, maligned, mentally tortured and just generally living in my own personal hell. I will give her this: I was one socially awkward fat girl who said something mean at the lunch table at the beginning of the year. I spent the rest of the school year paying for it with my dignity and my 'self esteem'. No, I didn't try to apologize. I didn't know how. Couldn't begin to think of a way to do it. It was my last day in this hell and I had heard a rumor about a boy in our class. A strange rumor to my asexual little 12 year old mind. This was a boy who mood at me. A boy who pinched me, and stabbed me with pencils. He was a mean boy with a rumor going around about him that he had had sex with his cat.
That wasn't of course how 11 year olds put it--they said he fucked a cat. 11 year olds are vulgar. I had a vague idea of what this meant and when I drew this mean boy's name out of the hat, I had a terrible awful idea. It was a self esteem exercise---meant to build this creep who mooed at me's self image up.... Forget that.
I wrote: "Little "Johnny" loves his kitty cat". Little Johnny was furious. Little Johnny was sure I did it. I don't know how he knew that. The room was filled with stunned silence as this was read aloud. He was a bully and everyone was a little afraid of him. I don't know how the teacher who had failed to notice me being stabbed with pencils, verbally abused, and pushed into walls knew I did it. She just did. Though, she couldn't get me to admit and it was the last day of school. She let it go.
Little Johnny didn't. He and Big Johnny (I swear this kid was built like Fat Albert without the great personality---I think he may have been peddling weed as young as that because he acted like a mob boss and went by all three of his names) chased me to my mother's car and didn't even let the sight of her stop them from trying to pound my ass as I got into the back seat and locked the door.
I don't think anyone forgot any time soon that Little Johnny loved his kitty though.
Purr kitty purr.
I know other kids had it worse than me. I got lucky and ended up in a speech and drama class the next year. Things got a little better. I grew up and they got a LOT better. That pissed off little milk cow still comes out sometimes, but she has claws now. I credit my sixth grade snark to my family's knack for sarcasm and one liners.
I'm going to go check and see if Big Johnny's been arrested lately.
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