My Apologies to June

Seventh grade was perhaps the worst year of my life. I was the object of bullying by a group of girls who knew exactly how to inflict the most pain. Until now I have never talked about this with my teachers, my parents, or my friends. But finally I have to write it down.

Being 13 is a hard time for everyone. Your body is changing, your hormones are raging, and you are always vying for a place in the societal pecking order. It’s a time when someone who isn’t just like the others sticks out and begs to be dumped on. That would have been me. I was a smart kid who never got in trouble, who made all A’s, who was an overachiever, who still had short permed hair – the kind of kid other kids love to hate. Most of the taunting took place as we hung around outside waiting to be let back into our junior high classrooms after lunch. This group of piss-ass girls not only said awful things about me, but they also included my father in their insults. What was most discouraging to me was watching people who had been my friends for years just stand there or even join in. It wasn’t us against them, but rather me against them. Fortunately this never occurred in earlier grades or after 7th grade. It was as though they got it out of their system, but I can never forget that time.

Yesterday as I thought about this, I also remembered with shame what happened next. I am normally a person who goes out of my way not to hurt others, but instead I found myself seizing on a similar situation and becoming the bully. June was a girl in our class who was a little short on mental ability but long on imagination. As she told story after story about her fantastic older brother, I knew she was lying through her teeth because I had known her family years earlier and was well aware that she had no older brother! The story about how he had just broken his leg caused me to initiate a collection to send get-well flowers. I’m not sure what happened next, but ultimately there were tears and confessions on June’s part. I had felt so vindicated as I controlled that situation, but like such a shit when it finally was over.

I hope June has no memories of this today because we really don’t need hurtful childhood memories to occupy our adult minds. I keep wondering how I will view that group of teenage bullies when I see them next year at our 40th high school reunion. I’m sure they will all be there. After all, they were the most popular girls in the class.

When you were an adolescent, were you ever bullied or did you ever hurt someone else and later regret it?