You hear so much about how kids are bullied at school, and I was no exception. I loved school itself, but hated going because there were so many other kids that went out of their way to make my life even more of a living hell than it already was. I started grade school when I was four. My birthday came late in the year, and my parents opted to go ahead and send me since I would turn five in the fall.
There were two boys (Tyrone and JJ) who would follow me after school until we reached a garden plot next to the sidewalk. They pushed me into this garden every single day. One day, they got arguing about whose turn it was to push me in and I kept walking. By the time they noticed, I was a good distance away from them and managed to run full out to my babysitters house before they could catch me.
I played hopscotch with three girls (Luann, Margaret, and Robin; I can still see their faces clearly, and this was a good forty years ago) who sang a song of their own composition in three part harmony as we played. Whenever it was their turn, they were alright; when it was my turn, I was all wrong. I was shoved off of swings into the gravel and had my face pushed into the snow more times than I can count by twins Sandy and Barbara. I refused to defend myself. I didn't want to stoop to their level. It made me an easy target; a sitting duck.
One of the most painful things that I remember came when we were having a Valentine's Day party in our classroom. We made pouches for the valentines out of construction paper and put our names on them. The valentines were put into each child's pouch. I had collected mine with the rest of the class and sat down at my desk. I went through and opened up each one. I turned one card over to find the words "You're a pig, find out" written on the back. Tears slipped down my cheeks. The teacher came over and I handed her the card. She flipped it over and read the back of it without a word. I could see that she was very angry, but she had no way of knowing who had done it.
My dad wasn't much help with any of this. He was disgusted by my weakness and was always trying to toughen me up. He actually forced me to go outside and fight a girl from our neighborhood. I refused because there was no reason for me to fight her. Angela wanted to kick my ass even though I had never done anything to her. Dad warned me that if I didn't get my ass outside and fight her, I would wish that I had. Either way, I was going to get a beating. I went outside and did what I'd always done; I turned the other cheek. She beat the living crap out of me.
I limped back to the house, tears streaming down my cheeks, choking on sobs. I reached for the screen door. My dad held it shut and scowled down at me. "You're no daughter of mine" he spat. He slammed the door shut in my face and locked me out of the house. I don't know how long I had to stay outside before I was finally allowed to come in. Dad would not even look at me. He spent the rest of the day giving me a snide comment here, a humiliating insult there. He never once asked me if I was alright, put his arms around me to comfort me or showed me any compassion at all. It was made very clear to me that I was an embarrassment to him.
To know that my own dad didn't want me...it demolished me. He wanted me to be someone that I just couldn't be; he refused to accept me as I was. He was going to make me the daughter he'd always wanted; a daughter he could be proud of, even if it killed me.
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