I watched this video this morning and it got me to thinking about the things I have carried to this day.
Seventh grade.
2001.
12 years and half my life ago
I was in art class. In my school P.E. was really basketball practice and if you didn't want to be on the team you took art with the Jr. High boys and the few other girls whose athletic ability was minimal.
I tried playing basketball in grade school. During a tournament we had a substitute coach who believed everyone deserved playing time so he let me in after half time. The moment someone passed me the ball, even though we were on the wrong side of the court, I tossed it to the basket and heard the screams "AIR BALL!" Lucky, though. If I would have made it, it would have been a point for the other team. I liked the other regular coach better. I would rather be cheering from the bench.
Moving on.
On the first day of art class I took a seat at the middle of a long table. Groups of boys formed around me. It was innately clear, in the beginning at least, I was not part of the group. And being quite shy, it took awhile for me to converse with the popular eighth grade boys surrounding me. Yet after several months I believed I had infiltrated the pack and now I was considered a friend.
Until one day. This one day I remember to this day.
It's one of my most vivid memories of that year, with the only trumping memory being that of the 9/11 attacks.
I came in to art and sat at my normal seat. The rest of the class was coming in and on a whim, it seemed, the leader of the pack sat at a different table. This was odd. He started motioning at his friends to come, and sit with him. They followed. I looked around with expression of confusion on my face. I slowly got up, gathered my things, and moved to this new table. Everyone looked at me. The leader of the pack gave me a look of disdain. He got up, and while looking at me said "We can have our table back, now." And the entire group left the table and sat at their normal seats. The art teacher looked at me and laughed.
I sat there with my back to them, working furiously on my art project, silently yelling at myself, "Do. Not. Cry."
This one day I discovered that what I thought was a budding friendship all this time was simply tolerance. A tolerance they can choose to revoke at a moments notice.
It was the lack of character and kindness of Jr. High boys that gave me a complex.
When I went to a new school in the tenth grade, I refused to eat in the cafeteria for days. In my eyes it was a crowded room filled circle shaped tables that were already full with cliques who despised uninvited guests.
To this day when I walk into a crowded room my chest is filled with anxiety.
I find it difficult to trust people.
I despise shallow friendships.
All because some Jr. High boys that lacked integrity and kindness told me, not with words, but with actions
you're pathetic.
you're not likable.
you're not interesting.
and mostly, you're not welcome.
But Today this is what I will say:
They
Were
Wrong.
