To announce that I was bullied as a kid, as if I was the first and last to be so, would be insulting to every other person who has ever been bullied. I was not the first, I will certainly not be the last and as long as kids go without appropriate punishment for their actions, which have far too often resulted in those being bullied taking their own lives, it will continue. While my experience isn’t as severe as other stories out there, it is a story worth sharing if only to prove that more needs to be done to stop this fucked up behavior.
It was March when my parents moved our family from Massachusetts’ North Shore area to New Hampshire. I was in second grade, and my sister was in kindergarten. I had emotionally struggled with the move. Honestly I was not equipped, in the brain or heart, for the move but it was a fact and there was nothing I could do about it.
I had never been he new girl. Although I had been enrolled in ballet and piano classes since I was old enough to walk, the “new girl,” even though it was a status I had held on several occasions, was never one that stuck or had me stick out in a group. But moving to a new town does not allow for such obscurity.
The bullying started from day one. My sister having been in kindergarten and with the year almost over, got to stay home and wait until September before attending school again. I, unfortunately, having already been enrolled in grammar school, was forced to finish the year as a second grader in a foreign place. While in the classroom all was well for this new girl, the school bus was a different story.
Mitchel, who was a year older than me, immediately pounced on me the first day of my arrival on the bus ride home. It was light at first, the verbal poking and prodding, but within a few days it became too much for even this tough cookie to handle.
Why was I so ugly? Why was I so spoiled? Why didn’t I kill myself? Why hadn’t my parents killed me? If I had a kid like you, you’d be dead by now. You’re so disgusting. I hope someone murders you tonight.
This was also the first time I heard the word “abortion” although it didn’t officially resonate with me, because I didn’t know what it meant. What I did know was that, according to Mitchel, my mother should have had an abortion so I wouldn’t be on the bus making him so disgusted by my very existence.
I told my parents everyday what was going on and it was initially chalked up to “he has a crush on you” and the ever famous, “boys will be boys.” It was only after Mitchel smacked me upside the head with a sharp object I never saw, and kicked me so hard that I landed on my face in the bus aisle between the seats, that my parents went to the school to put an end to it.