I joined Facebook to market my book, Not of My Making: Bullying, Scapegoating and Misconduct in Churches. First, I added my family and current contacts to my circle. That was easy but when Facebook suggested I add classmates from my high school I hesitated. I was never part of the in crowd and was often cruelly treated. Would people who had refused to be my friend 38 years ago really accept my invitation to be friends now? I had little to lose and lots of books to sell so I clicked ‘send invitations’ and went to bed. The next morning my in box was filled with replies. They didn’t remember me. That was okay. I didn’t remember them either. Why would we? Although we shared a hometown and school, we hadn’t seen each other since graduation.
My high school experience was radically different from my classmates who were now corresponding with me on Facebook. Almost every day in high school was a torment. Nothing I did stopped the bullying. In school I focused on my studies and avoided my tormenters. I walked to and from school by myself. At home I spent my afternoons and evenings alone in my bedroom. I didn’t attend school dances, proms, or sports events.
It took several decades and a series of traumatic experiences with local churches before I understood the bullying wasn’t my fault. I was an easy target. Short, introspective and shy, I didn’t know how to defend myself. No one, not my parents nor my teachers, offered any useful advice or help. Some of that was ignorance on their part. Some of it was neglect. My father often told me how stupid and selfish I was. There would be no help from him. My mom wanted me to be popular and had no understanding why I wasn’t.
One of my classmates lives an hour from my current home. Over the holidays I had lunch with her. She told me she was bullied in high school. I didn’t remember that. I had been so caught up in my own misery I hadn’t noticed hers. Sitting at the restaurant we browsed through our yearbook. My classmate identified who she thought had bullied her. I was surprised I couldn’t name my tormenters. Although I have some specific memories of being bullied I have no memory of who the culprits were. I remember vividly the people who showed me a kindness here and there. I figure the rest were either guilty of bullying or were passive bystanders. I was certain most of those who had done the bullying would not remember us nor would they realize how much damage they did. My classmate agreed.
When I arrived home in the late afternoon I found a classmate had written a public apology on Facebook while I was out. I admired his integrity. People rarely apologize for bullying others. At least no one has ever apologized to me. It was a blessing and took some of the sting out of the old wounds.
I was not completely blameless. All of us could have behaved better. There were times I witnessed bullying and did nothing to stop it. I just watched. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid the bullies would turn on me if I said anything. One of the strange blessings of the Columbine shootings is it spurred research into the problem. We understand more about where, when and why people are bullied. Schools have implemented programs to stop bullying. The better ones assist the bullied to build friendships with other children like themselves, teach bullies how to be compassionate leaders and encourages bystanders to stand up for the victims.
Facebook has given us all a chance to redeem ourselves and build a caring, inclusive community. As one classmate wrote, it is like finding long lost family members. We not only went to high school together but many of us knew each other in grade school. Some of us had a blast in high school, others were miserable. If our teachers understood the dynamics of bullying back then as they do now, things might have been different.
Who did what to whom thirty eight years later is not important to me. What matters is how we behave today. We are all saints and sinners. I want to do what God has commanded and let go of the past hurts and move on. I wrote my book, Not of My Making, to inform others about the long term impact of bullying and to help the victims recover, the bystanders take action and the bullies to reform their behavior. This is my survivors mission and what God has called me to do.
My book, Not of My Making, is available from Amazon or directly from www.pluckpress.com
Wow…this rings so true. I can remember witnessing an incident was occurring to some poor classmate. The correct thing to do would have been to stand up for the victim and tell the instigator to knock it off, or grow up…but the fear was that they would then turn on you. Word would get out and instead of being hailed the hero, you would be branded a sympathizer. With confidence and self-esteem already challenged, it was usually easier to keep moving and hope a teacher, or the proverbial “someone else” would step up and end it. I don’t think many of us stopped to realize the deeper right and wrong issue we were actually facing during those moments. And I think many of the teachers had the attitude of, “kids will be kids”. Certainly, the larger long-term issues were never considered by anyone…including the school and district administration, who should have enforced an absolute zero tolerance policy towards bullying of any kind. Looking back on incidents directed at me, I didn’t fault the bystanders because I knew the instant choice they were facing.
I certainly had some really great times in school, and I hope we can all say that. For me, the bullying seemed to come in waves…there were periods of relative calmness, and periods of what seemed like never ending torment. There were days I actually dreaded going to a certain class or even to school at all. At one point, I dreaded gym class. Not being a stellar athlete, I had to look forward to being picked last if sides were chosen, or being an easy target in dodge ball, and being humiliated by having to wear the shorts and tee shirt. Forget having to be naked in the shower! And, my God, what if the gym divider was open and the girls were there! Being screamed at and having my failures and inabilities pointed out to all by the gym teacher didn’t help, either. A little encouragement might have been appreciated….”Good job, Jeff…attaboy”. The only gym teachers I remember who used encouragement at all were Mr. Lapar and Mr. Scanlon.
After graduation, when the notice came about our reunion, I was excited at first. Then, I envisioned it as a Gathering of the Beta Crowd, and I thought, this bunch did nothing but laugh and make fun of me. Why would I want to show up 10 years later to allow them to continue? I couldn’t show up and say I was a lawyer. I couldn’t show up and say I was a doctor. Ten years after graduation, I had been married and recently separated…so I couldn’t even show up with a “trophy wife”. I was a two-bit radio announcer who had yet to hit anything remotely resembling the “big time”. What could I possibly bring to the reunion to shock and awe anyone? So, I passed on each and every one.
As scarred as I became from those incidents, I sadly think they pale when compared to what you had to go through, Margaret. As you said, I can’t remember any specific instigators or even incidents either. But I must confess that I can remember a prevailing attitude among guys that “Wandel” equated to the undesirable girl, the poor ugly duckling that no one wanted to be associated with.
Obviously, the recent pictures of you proved all of that was dead wrong…and despite your cruel treatment and horrible memories, you became the one who ultimately pulled us all back together.
Redemption, indeed!