We've all heard recent reports out about bullying running rampant in America's schools: the tragic case of Phoebe Prince, the Irish girl whose family moved to Massachussetts only to have their daughter bullied by classmates to the point that she hanged herself; and more recently, the Florida father who stormed the school bus where his special-needs daughter had been savagely bullied by fellow students to the point that she has now been admitted to hospital from the stress. While we can all agree that these extreme examples are horrendous cases of how ugly children can behave, it makes me reflect on my own behavior and how I have acted in the past, and even now in my adult life.
Back in elementary school, I was the typical insecure and awkward girl with a bit of a weight problem. I did well in school, had perfect behavior, and desperately wanted to be liked by the "cool" girls in class. Not wanting to seem like the nerd that I was, I chose an alternate route to cool-dom; I was mean. Lisa B., the overweight girl with shabby clothes, stringy hair and a hygeine problem was an easy target for a lot of us in elementary school because she just didn't fit in, even more than I didn't fit in. She was taller and heavier than the other girls, didn't wear the latest fashions, played sports like the boys did, and always carried a slightly foul odor wherever she went. I didn't have any real problem with her other than the fact that nobody else seemed to like her and I wanted to fit in. So I joined the mass of girls who would wave their hands past their noses whenever Lisa walked by, over-dramatizing how bad she smelled. I called her "Fatso" even though I knew how much it hurt when people called me that. I even thought about making up a really mean insult about the fact that she was biracial, but even I knew that was going too far. So, I stuck to the odor and weight offensive instead. I was a bully.
In middle school, there was a girl named Rebekkah H., a transfer student who arrived during the middle of the school year. She was the definition of weird from first sight: she had multi-toned blonde hair and unruly short curls that were always pulled back from her face in an unflattering way. She wore tight, too-short-to-be-appropriate-in-school skirts and dresses that only made her seem to be trying too hard. Her big, thick-rimmed eyeglasses with the coke-bottle lenses always made her look googly-eyed and crazy. And her voice, a high-pitched nasal sound that was like nails on a chalkboard, only resonated even more oddly when she would describe in detail how she had gotten her monthly period the day before. She was weird.
Now, I'd like to say that I had grown up a bit since elementary school, and was repulsed by the idea of bullying someone like her. I think the more honest statement, however, was that my mother was a substitute teacher in my school at the time, and I was afraid she would find out that I was behaving badly. So, rather than actually bully Rebekkah, I just didn't do anything to stop those in the class who bullied her. I watched in amusement as girls rolled their eyes whenever Rebekkah spoke, or would make snide comments about her clothes. I giggled as the popular girls would pretend to invite Rebekkah to sit with them at lunch or go to a weekend party only to sarcastically reveal, after her hopes were raised, that it was only a joke. The thing was, those girls never invited me to their parties, either.
I never knew what happened to Lisa or Rebekkah. My family moved away from the town where I went to school with Lisa many years ago, and Rebekkah's family (which consisted of an equally-weird brother, a sister who was miraculously quite popular, and a single father) mysteriously disappeared after seventh grade. I have spent a few years trying to find these girls online, to find out how they're doing, to somehow put my conscience to rest. If I knew they were okay, then perhaps I could stop feeling guilty for the way I treated them. I still haven't found Rebekkah, but Lisa and I became "friends" on Facebook, more than 20 years after our tumultuous elementary school relationship.
I felt a need to be honest with her, to admit my bad behavior from childhood, and to apologize for it:
Hi Lisa
I'm so glad to hear from you...believe it or not, I've thought about you a lot over the years. I was not very nice to you in elementary school, and this thought has distressed me a lot into my adult years. I am so thankful to have been reconnected with you through Facebook so that I can finally ask for your forgiveness. I hope that I can teach my daughter to one day be a much kinder, generous and thoughtful child than I was.
Hope that you are well.
Lauren
I didn't know what to expect in return. I had spent so many years feeling guilty for my behavior that I assumed that Lisa had been clocking many hours on a therapist's couch sorting out her early childhood experiences and how I had made them hell. I am such a narcissist. Her very quick reply was:
Lauren,
Honestly I just remember being the tomboy that other girls hated! Lol. I'm good. I am glad you are in good and happy to hear that you have a daughter. I have a ten year old soon to be eleven year old son. Apology accepted and thanks for accepting me as a fb friend.
Lisa
Clearly, she had moved on. But, evidently, I wasn't quite ready, so I had to write back:
Thank you, Lisa. Your forgiveness does my heart good. And, by the way, I didn't hate you in grade school...I was so caught up tryng to be accepted by the 'cool" girls that I thought being mean to other kids was my ticket in to their clique. So stupid, I know, but I was a misguided 5th grader.
Her response, even shorter this time, told me she was not interested in reliving the past, it was time for me to get over it, and enough was enough:
Lol. Yeah its okay. I had my moments in high school and had to check myself.
So, do I still feel bad? Absolutely. Maybe Lisa is okay and has moved on (and maybe Rebekkah has, too) but I think the lasting impact might actually be on the bully him/herself. The knowledge as an adult that you were capable of being really mean to someone...that you weren't the person that you are teaching your own children to be, is halting. I'm so grateful that Lisa forgave me; hopefully in time, I just might be able to forgive myself.
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