Me? Maybe not. My elementary school years started off ok. I cut, I pasted, I colored with the best of them. Then came that fateful day when I was walloped in the melon with a sharp rock. Not only did I bleed like a gutted pig but afterwards my teacher was closely watching me for signs of concussion and noticed that maybe I was having a bit of a vision problem- not from the rock, just one in general. I was.

With in the matter of a short summer I went from non nondescript kindergartener to pirate. Not only was I nearsighted, but I had a lazy eye. I remember crying in my mother’s car on the way home from the eye doctor. I remember the tears pooling under my patch and my mother trying to be optimistic, promising me all sorts of cool stickers to dress it up a bit. Cool stickers flew out the window the first day I waltzed into school wearing that dreaded patch.

“Pirate, pirate, pirate girl! Where’s your parrot pirate girl?”

Oh had they only KNOWN, I actually did have a parrot!

It was a rough time in my life but it was only the precursor of things to come. About the time the patch came off, I grew. A lot. The Jolly Green Giant jokes began. Then I grew breasts- in the fourth grade! By sixth grade, I had a full rack and a mom who refused to allow me to shave- Gorilla Girl was born. I could ramble on, but here’s the thing - it was always SOMETHING. It also didn’t matter who you were, everyone was the butt of someone else’s joke. Even the “popular” kids were targets, they just had a bigger bark and drowned it out with their disparaging comments about other who were weaker then they were.

For all the years of teasing, I really only remember bits and pieces of it. I do remember my mom telling me that it doesn’t matter, that what they were saying meant zero to the people who loved me. I thought she was insane, but I also felt comforted. She encouraged me to let it roll of my back, rather then eat me alive. It was hard, but I worked at it.

Once in 6th grade a girl decked me for walking into “her” bathroom. When I finished reeling from the blow I punched her right back. I felt vindicated until she started wailing. Seeing her cry like that, someone who moments before had wielded such power.. it affected me, deeply. I realized she had no control and that I could easily manipulate the situation, disarming her of her anger. A year later in the 7th grade, instead of socking this chick who was trying to pummel me, I laughed and asked her why? Why are you doing this? Do you think you can hurt me? After the forth or fifth punch she lowered her fists, looked at me, and walked away. She was never a threat to my physical well being, I was bigger and I was thinking more clearly. We later become friends and laughed over that day. She would shake her head and muse aloud “Why didn’t you hit me back?”

I didn’t need, I knew she was already hurting.

The kids who railed the loudest, hurled the most insults, and mercilessly bullied were in more pain then they ever inflicted on me. Sure, my life was harder and lonelier because of the teasing but from that grew empathy.

I want to protect my kids from hurt and pain, but I know that some of it is necessary to turn them into fully functioning adults. I hope I protect them enough to keep them from becoming bullies.

Hop over to crazy/hip blog mamas to read other mama tales of school. Many thanks to Baby Wit for inspiring the topic.