Day #65: The Kid on the Playground

I only have one singular terrifying memory from childhood.

It involves being a kid on the playground, and hearing a group of kids near the swings make fun of me.

I turned around and saw them--laughing, pointing, exploding with glee at the expense of myself in that way only children seem to know how to do.

Say what you want, but children can tap into pure cruelty the same way they can tap into pure innocence.

It's pretty horrifying.

I remember turning to those kids, walking up to them, opening my mouth, and not being able to speak.

I stood there, silenced by my own fear, knowing they were ridiculing me. And I couldn't come up with anything. Believe it or not, I'm not very fast on my feet when it comes to quips. I learned to be from people like--

VOICE: Hey!

My friend Sarah at the time. The second grade bitch.

SARAH: Were you all making fun of him?

Sarah loved me because I had black hair. (This was second grade, people.)

Nobody said anything. Suddenly the kids were silenced.

SARAH: Well, you know what I would make fun of?

Sarah then proceeded to go down the line of the four kids that were laughing at me. One had a weird birthmark on her arm. One had a stutter. One cut her hair short and looked like a boy. One she just labeled--

SARAH: Chunky.

And that was that.

It was that day that I thought I figured it out.

I had to be like Sarah.

Life--and especially schools--are prisons. You want to survive? You have to be tough.

And being nice is not being tough.

Thinking back on when I became so bitchy, I think of that moment.

I'm still appreciative to Sarah for standing up for me, but that was the point where my cattiness solidified. That was when I thought it was the only way a scrawny, dorky kid like me could make it out alive.

So I learned to tear people apart.

And to be honest, most of the time it's a lot easier than smiling and showing them they're not getting to you when they are.

The problem is you start forgetting how to discern between the people who need tearing up and the people who are laughing at something other than you.

Part of doing this project was addressing that kid on the playground that never really went away, and letting him know that there was an option that day when he went up to that group of laughing kids.

Looking back, I shouldn't have said anything. I should have just smiled at them and walked away, but when you're a kid, you don't have that kind of assurance in yourself.

Okay, so what's my excuse now?