I’ve not thought about my grade school years in a long time. Nor have I thought of all the hateful things kids said to me or how I – and what was actually sometimes worse for me – my friends were bullied. I applaud everyone who, in recent months and in light of the tragic deaths caused by bullying, have shared their experiences in hopes of educating people. Here is mine.

In second grade my best friend was a very tall black kid named Kobe. He was, I think, the only black kid at my school. Honestly, I didn’t notice that. I just thought he was super cool. I liked hanging out with him. We’d run to the handball court as soon as the recess bell rang. He was far better than me, but he was kind and sweet and looked after me. I was a loner myself, and we found solace with each other. Because I was friends with him, I got the nickname “(n-word) lover.” I didn’t even know what that meant. I knew it meant something bad, because the other kids would chant it at me with a sneer. They said far worse things to him, if you can imagine anything worse. I didn’t care what they called me, but I cared about him. And I know it hurt him deeply. The kids hating me because I was friend with Kobe didn’t make me stop being friends with him. I defended him and yelled back at them. I still played handball with him every day. He left school at the end of that year. I don’t know where he went. And I swear I still miss him. He was my best friend.

A few years later, my best friend was a transfer student from Nigeria. She earned the same taunt as Kobe. If I recall correctly, I remember taking a swing at some kid who tired to push her in the dirt because “that was where she belonged.” She also left the school after one year.

After she left, the kids had to find something else to torture me about, so they decided to use my family. My father’s first name was Ray. So once the kids figured that one out, every day they’d chant “gay Ray” when I came to school. Again, I didn’t know what it really meant, only that from the way they were saying it, it was supposed to be an insult against my father, who was my everything. I remember asking my mom. She told me what ‘gay’ meant and that there was nothing wrong with it and that it was something to be proud of, but that Daddy wasn’t actually gay. She also pointed out that ‘gay’ also means ‘happy’ and that I should say back to the kids, that yes in fact “Ray is gay”! (I love my mom.)

At some point, I stopped fighting back, and literally spent my lunch and recess periods sitting in the shade of a large beautiful oak tree. I’m not kidding when I say this, that tree became my best friend. I felt safe under its branches.

When I was about 11 years old, my new torturer was a friend/enemy. She said she was my best friend, but then she would share all my secrets with everyone, make fun of me, and ostracize me. It was nothing short of being in hell. I cried alone in the bathroom every day. I remember I called my mom from school once in tears. She said, “Honey, I know how much it hurts. Don’t cry baby. If you cry, they will be meaner. Laugh it off. You are better than them.” I did. It got better, but I was still alone. I know mom, despite my protests, went to the school and talked to the principle, but nothing changed.

I did find comfort in writing (I wanted to be a writer from the time I was 10 years old) and music (I started playing piano when I was four years old). But, both are insular activities.

I was lost. I was just looking to belong and I thought if the kids accepted me, my life would be great. I tried to become more like them. I tried to be ‘cool.’ But I couldn’t. I was simply stuck being me.

I’ve done a lot of things in my life. And there have been many victories and some defeats. But truly the biggest turning point in my life, and I swear I would not be where I am today if I’d not done this, was standing up to my bully.

I was 13 years old. My friend/enemy was in the midst of torturing me in front of my entire class. I don’t even remember what she was saying, but something about what a loser I was and how nobody liked me and how I should just vanish off the earth. For some reason, it finally occurred to me how pathetic she was. Maybe out of fear or nervousness, or maybe out of not giving a shit anymore, I started to laugh at her. I started laughing so hard I couldn’t stop. The more she yelled, the more I laughed at her. Somehow, I had turned the tables. The kids got confused. Some of them looked at her and saw her the way I did, simply pathetic and mean. I kept laughing and slowly the crowed moved away from her side and migrated behind me, like I was a team captain or something. In that moment she lost power not only over me, but over the entire class. Her reign was over.

I know it may sound silly, but that moment defined me – I laughed in the face of my archenemy and survived with my head held high. From that moment on, I proudly walked to the beat of my own drum. 

These are painful memories. And mine are so mild compared to the horrible things that are happening in our society today.

The oddest part of this story is that years later I ran into my old enemy as an adult. She didn’t even remember torturing me. I don’t think the little girl in me can ever forgive her, but the adult I am now can. I do thank her for making me stronger.