LibraryLady
Emeritus
I get my nails done, maybe three or four times a year, usually for a special occasion, once in a while just for the luxury of it. This past Wednesday, I needed a treat and went to the manicurist.
I started going to Harriet six or seven years ago, and when I first sat down at her little work station, she stared at me and said, “I know you. I know I know you. Give me time.” I didn’t know her from Eve (well, I’d say Adam, but…). Finally, she exclaimed my name. I still didn’t know her. “Harriet X from Old Court Junior High School!” she said.
I immediately flashed back to one of the worst years of my life, eighth grade.
I was the new kid in school, and they put me in a “slow” class because of the difficulties I had at my previous school. My parents decided to move to the county, after they discovered I was being pushed around, offered drugs, and “losing” my lunch money on a regular basis. My grades plummeted. Seriously, like C’s and D’s. The counselor at Old Court looked at my transcript and allotted me accordingly.
So, there I was, this geeky, bookish, city kid, who didn’t know how to dress cool or talk cool and who wore thick glasses. I was toast. Well done toast.
Our class was actually one half of a larger class which did some of our subjects together. Unfortunately, in the other half of this unit was a girl named Susan N. Susan had bleached hair that looked just like Twiggy’s, great clothes, and a posse. One of the posse was Harriet the manicurist, but she was actually a minor player. Susan took one look at me and I was her target for the next nine months.
I had been bullied before, but this was extraordinary. The verbal abuse, locker sabotaging, tripping as I walked down the hall was bad enough. I couldn’t talk in class, because if I tried to answer a question, the laughter would drown me out. Every time. I had obscene songs sung to me in gym class. To this day, the song by the Box Tops, “The Letter,” brings it all back. I told my parents about it, and they spoke to the counselor, but there didn’t seem to be any action. I was told by one teacher that it was all my fault; I just needed to be friendlier to them.
Luckily, my written work was stellar and I got straight A’s easily. The next year I was put into an accelerated class and told the year before was all a mistake. Um, yeah. I still saw Susan and her little herd in the halls, but had met up with some nice peers and was actually participating in class.
The year after that I went to Milford Mill high school, and happily, all of those girls went to the brand new Randallstown High School. High school was great.
In my sophomore year at Milford, I got very sick and ran a high fever. My mother was sitting by my bed; she was debating whether to call my father at work, and we were listening to the radio. They broke into programming with a news flash; there had been a horrible accident. A car had flown off an overpass and landed on another car on the Jones Falls Expressway. The car had been full of teenagers, and one of them was killed. There was also a kid in the trunk of the car, and drugs were found. They landed on another car and killed the father of a boy I knew. The girl who was killed was Susan N.
And now Harriet was looking at me across a manicurist’s table. After we stared at each other for a few minutes, she broke the silence by apologizing for the abuse. She, as I’ve said, was a minor player, and I had no trouble saying, “Hey, it’s been a long time, don’t worry about it.” Then we talked about Susan.
Harriet told me about a Susan I didn’t know. Her mother was single, and there were three kids, two girls and a boy. The mother had decided that children are perfectly capable of making all of their own decisions. The kids decided when they would come home at night, where they would spend the night, who they would hang with, and what they did. Susan was the oldest. Bear in mind, she was thirteen at the time of the bullying. We know how Susan died. Her brother died of a drug overdose. Her sister apparently got a grip and managed to survive her childhood.
When I saw Harriet the other day, she told me two more members of that group just died of drug overdoses. They were my age, 52.
I understand that now bullying is taken more seriously and the children who are bullies have their home life looked at. At least, this is what I hear from my nieces who are teachers. I hope so.
Are there other victims of bullying on the forums?
I started going to Harriet six or seven years ago, and when I first sat down at her little work station, she stared at me and said, “I know you. I know I know you. Give me time.” I didn’t know her from Eve (well, I’d say Adam, but…). Finally, she exclaimed my name. I still didn’t know her. “Harriet X from Old Court Junior High School!” she said.
I immediately flashed back to one of the worst years of my life, eighth grade.
I was the new kid in school, and they put me in a “slow” class because of the difficulties I had at my previous school. My parents decided to move to the county, after they discovered I was being pushed around, offered drugs, and “losing” my lunch money on a regular basis. My grades plummeted. Seriously, like C’s and D’s. The counselor at Old Court looked at my transcript and allotted me accordingly.
So, there I was, this geeky, bookish, city kid, who didn’t know how to dress cool or talk cool and who wore thick glasses. I was toast. Well done toast.
Our class was actually one half of a larger class which did some of our subjects together. Unfortunately, in the other half of this unit was a girl named Susan N. Susan had bleached hair that looked just like Twiggy’s, great clothes, and a posse. One of the posse was Harriet the manicurist, but she was actually a minor player. Susan took one look at me and I was her target for the next nine months.
I had been bullied before, but this was extraordinary. The verbal abuse, locker sabotaging, tripping as I walked down the hall was bad enough. I couldn’t talk in class, because if I tried to answer a question, the laughter would drown me out. Every time. I had obscene songs sung to me in gym class. To this day, the song by the Box Tops, “The Letter,” brings it all back. I told my parents about it, and they spoke to the counselor, but there didn’t seem to be any action. I was told by one teacher that it was all my fault; I just needed to be friendlier to them.
Luckily, my written work was stellar and I got straight A’s easily. The next year I was put into an accelerated class and told the year before was all a mistake. Um, yeah. I still saw Susan and her little herd in the halls, but had met up with some nice peers and was actually participating in class.
The year after that I went to Milford Mill high school, and happily, all of those girls went to the brand new Randallstown High School. High school was great.
In my sophomore year at Milford, I got very sick and ran a high fever. My mother was sitting by my bed; she was debating whether to call my father at work, and we were listening to the radio. They broke into programming with a news flash; there had been a horrible accident. A car had flown off an overpass and landed on another car on the Jones Falls Expressway. The car had been full of teenagers, and one of them was killed. There was also a kid in the trunk of the car, and drugs were found. They landed on another car and killed the father of a boy I knew. The girl who was killed was Susan N.
And now Harriet was looking at me across a manicurist’s table. After we stared at each other for a few minutes, she broke the silence by apologizing for the abuse. She, as I’ve said, was a minor player, and I had no trouble saying, “Hey, it’s been a long time, don’t worry about it.” Then we talked about Susan.
Harriet told me about a Susan I didn’t know. Her mother was single, and there were three kids, two girls and a boy. The mother had decided that children are perfectly capable of making all of their own decisions. The kids decided when they would come home at night, where they would spend the night, who they would hang with, and what they did. Susan was the oldest. Bear in mind, she was thirteen at the time of the bullying. We know how Susan died. Her brother died of a drug overdose. Her sister apparently got a grip and managed to survive her childhood.
When I saw Harriet the other day, she told me two more members of that group just died of drug overdoses. They were my age, 52.
I understand that now bullying is taken more seriously and the children who are bullies have their home life looked at. At least, this is what I hear from my nieces who are teachers. I hope so.
Are there other victims of bullying on the forums?
