I have first hand bully experience. I was plagued by them for most of my growing up years, from first grade right through eleventh. I never really felt safe in school until my senior year when all my tormentors were finally gone, as graduates or flunkies, I never really knew or cared. It began early. I was a wide-eyed, innocent six year old in the toughest of elementary schools and I made an easy target. I didn't dress like the other kids; I wore mostly hand-me-downs. I didn't talk like the other kids; my dad has a PhD in physics and expected me to keep up with him. I didn't play like other kids; I liked "The Farmer in the Dell" and "Go in and out the Window" and was terrible at kickball. I wasn't named like other kids; Charis in the middle of all those Susies. I played the piano, read at a high school level, and was very tall for my age. I suspect I may even have had "GEEK" stamped on my forehead.
It didn't take long for Ashley (names have been changed to protect the guilty) to begin punching me on the playground. Soon Shelly was threatening me with serious bodily harm if I even looked at her. By fourth grade I was spending half my allowance every week on Now-and-Laters for Missy. If I gave her Now-and-Laters, she would leave me alone. There were countless "accidental" trippings, bumpings in the hallway, books flying off my desk onto the floor, pencils stolen from my book bag. Teachers were no help. Once in awhile they would come along and "break it up," but more often they just ignored it. I never told my parents a thing. I thought it was somehow all my fault and they would be ashamed of me. To this day they do not know the extent of my agonies.
By middle school I learned to not stand out in any way. This was literally difficult, as I was now 5'11" tall. More grist for the bully mill! I was loathe to speak up in class or draw attention to myself. I have a photo of me in middle school, hunched over my desk, trying to be as small and unnoticeable as possible. The only change in high school was the bullies' comments became lewd and suggestive and boys joined in the fun, holding up signs that read, "EAT ME CHARIS," in all my classes. It was unrelenting.
I now have a better understanding of my little terrorists. They were probably pretty miserable kids themselves. I suspect many were abused. No doubt they were frustrated, angry, and powerless. They were just children, after all. I can only hope they got the help they needed as adults.
Which brings me to you, Mr. Putin. Please listen, because I have something to say to you. What's your excuse? I understand you are terribly disappointed the cold war is over. I know the world dynamic has not gone the way you wished. I get that you are mourning the loss of the massive Soviet Empire with its attendant satellites. Stop pouting and grow up! You are an adult. You should know better. People can talk the way they want, dress the way they want, live where they want, eat what they want, choose the government they want, without being bullied by the likes of you. Get over it, get out, and leave the world the hell alone.
Thank you.
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| 8th grade me |
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| Mr. Putin |
