My 6th Grade Punishment
In the 6th Grade, in a good private school, I got into serious trouble which was not my fault. I was punished harshly and unjustly and it scarred my personality permanently.
Here was the situation: For 3 years I was the primary and almost daily target of the school bully, a girl I'll call Lynn who had been expelled from the regular school system for her aggressive and violent behavior toward other students. Her parents didn't want her to undergo corporal punishment (paddling) which was the norm in public schools back then so they found our private school which did not have a paddle in the principal's office.
This girl's father was, literally, one of the richest men in the LA area. The school we were enrolled in charged according to income so our school was highly motivated not to expell this girl. Her 3 older brothers were all gym rats and involved in various kinds of martial arts plus boxing. They taught her how to fight so winning a fight with her was not likely unless you took lessons and went into some kind of training. She was muscular, clever and very swift with her moves and very sure of herself.
She had her own limousine and chauffeur so she could arrive at school whenever she wanted. My mother dropped me off at school about an hour or so early in order to get to her job on time. I dreaded coming to school because no one would be there yet except Lynn who would wait for me in front of the classroom door (the door and school were locked up at this point).
She usually began her torments by teasing me, often because of my out of fashion clothing (we were quite poor, I was on a scholarship, and my mother got my clothing as hand me downs from other parents). Then Lynn would add poking, pinching and eventually blows. Whether I fought back or not, I would always lose these fights, bleeding, bruised and in tears of rage and humiliation. Then others would arrive and it was time for school. Not a happy beginning to my day. Since my mother was very abusive and bullied me at home, it seemed as if my life was pure misery weekdays, weekends, days and evenings. I never felt safe or cared about. Both my abusive mother and the school seemed to pretty much favor the bully, not me. My father and mother were divorced, a huge social stigma back then, and Dad lived in New York City while Mom and I lived in southern California. When I phoned my dad and told him I was being punched every day and night at home and in school, his answer was, " Then you need to learn how to take punches better." My mother said, "It keeps happening because you have a lousy personality." Then she would go off into a raging temper tantrum about everything she thought was wrong with my personality.
At school, the teacher asked Lynn why she kept hitting me. And Lynn told him it was because she didn't like me and when she told me what she thought was wrong with me, I would run away from her. In other words, the problem was my inability to accept criticism.
Meanwhile, I had discovered a way to escape the bully when she chased me. The school was located in an old lemon grove which bloomed year 'round. The bully was terrified of bees. So I'd run through the lemon grove reaching out my hand to grab a bee from one of the lemon blossoms and then turn and toss the bee at her when she caught up with me. Then she'd run back to the school with the bee chasing her. And I'd look for a place to hide until the teacher rang the bell summoning us to the classroom.
Once I even put a bee into my lunch box and when my mother opened it to clean it after school, she got stung. I was both delighted and extremely guilty about it for a long time. My conflicting feelings tormented me but, until now, I never told anyone about it.
The bully complained to the teacher, saying she felt rejected when I ran away from her. So the school had a meeting (my mother attended) and the next day they passed a rule that no student was allowed to run away from another student. Also, the new rule mandated that if a student was challenged to a fight, that student wasn't allowed to run away; the challenged student had to fight or talk the other student out of fighting but no running away. Since Lynn had spent her life taking fighting lessons, it seemed unfair to me. I thought that if the school insisted you had to fight, they should offer fighting lessons perhaps as an after school activity. However, as I was neither popular nor rich no one cared what I thought. Since Lynn only picked on me most of the time, the other students were not inclined to support me or my point of view.
I followed the rule as best I could but I never found a way to convince Lynn not to fight with me. I began to long for the days when nature (the bees) had been my friend. One day, unable to stand it anymore, I ran from Lynn to escape her fists and got caught when Lynn reported me to the teacher first thing when school started.
The teacher questioned me and I admitted I had run away to avoid a fight. The teacher (who was usually a very good teacher) decided I had to be punished. The belief was that I'd hurt Lynn's feelings by runnibg away thus making her feel rejected.
My punishment, designed to teach me to accept criticism: I was made to stand in front of the class while each student told me what they didn't like about me. The bully went first thus setting a very negative tone to the procedure. I was up there in front of the class for an hour and a half of hearing why I wasn't a very popular student and why no one liked me. Two students, two boys, refused to participate. One of the boys even said, "I don't have anything bad to say about her; I like ______[my name]." I was stunned and even today consider his defense of me one of the best and bravest examples of moral courage I've ever witnessed. I stood up there in front of the class holding back my tears, but many years later, I cried long and hard when I read my defender's name in the newspaper on the list of those killed in the Pentagon air crash attack on 9/11. He was a decorated Army combat veteran (Vietnam) who was there petitioning for veteran's rights when the attack happened. Wrong place, wrong time. Maybe it's true that the good die young.
After that school punishment, my antisocial tendencies greatly increased and I stopped trying to make friends at school or anywhere else. I lost all confidence in my ability to have friends.
I am still a very antisocial person. My confidence and self-esteem, already quite weak, were shattered. Life became an even colder place for me. I'd already accepted the idea that I would not be loved, and didn't deserve it, but now I realized I couldn't even be liked. It still seems like a lonely world to me even today. Remembering when I felt worthy of love, liking and affection (before the age of 5) is like remembering an old black and white movie you saw a long long time ago. What little I remember was good, but it's very hard to remember.
Here was the situation: For 3 years I was the primary and almost daily target of the school bully, a girl I'll call Lynn who had been expelled from the regular school system for her aggressive and violent behavior toward other students. Her parents didn't want her to undergo corporal punishment (paddling) which was the norm in public schools back then so they found our private school which did not have a paddle in the principal's office.
This girl's father was, literally, one of the richest men in the LA area. The school we were enrolled in charged according to income so our school was highly motivated not to expell this girl. Her 3 older brothers were all gym rats and involved in various kinds of martial arts plus boxing. They taught her how to fight so winning a fight with her was not likely unless you took lessons and went into some kind of training. She was muscular, clever and very swift with her moves and very sure of herself.
She had her own limousine and chauffeur so she could arrive at school whenever she wanted. My mother dropped me off at school about an hour or so early in order to get to her job on time. I dreaded coming to school because no one would be there yet except Lynn who would wait for me in front of the classroom door (the door and school were locked up at this point).
She usually began her torments by teasing me, often because of my out of fashion clothing (we were quite poor, I was on a scholarship, and my mother got my clothing as hand me downs from other parents). Then Lynn would add poking, pinching and eventually blows. Whether I fought back or not, I would always lose these fights, bleeding, bruised and in tears of rage and humiliation. Then others would arrive and it was time for school. Not a happy beginning to my day. Since my mother was very abusive and bullied me at home, it seemed as if my life was pure misery weekdays, weekends, days and evenings. I never felt safe or cared about. Both my abusive mother and the school seemed to pretty much favor the bully, not me. My father and mother were divorced, a huge social stigma back then, and Dad lived in New York City while Mom and I lived in southern California. When I phoned my dad and told him I was being punched every day and night at home and in school, his answer was, " Then you need to learn how to take punches better." My mother said, "It keeps happening because you have a lousy personality." Then she would go off into a raging temper tantrum about everything she thought was wrong with my personality.
At school, the teacher asked Lynn why she kept hitting me. And Lynn told him it was because she didn't like me and when she told me what she thought was wrong with me, I would run away from her. In other words, the problem was my inability to accept criticism.
Meanwhile, I had discovered a way to escape the bully when she chased me. The school was located in an old lemon grove which bloomed year 'round. The bully was terrified of bees. So I'd run through the lemon grove reaching out my hand to grab a bee from one of the lemon blossoms and then turn and toss the bee at her when she caught up with me. Then she'd run back to the school with the bee chasing her. And I'd look for a place to hide until the teacher rang the bell summoning us to the classroom.
Once I even put a bee into my lunch box and when my mother opened it to clean it after school, she got stung. I was both delighted and extremely guilty about it for a long time. My conflicting feelings tormented me but, until now, I never told anyone about it.
The bully complained to the teacher, saying she felt rejected when I ran away from her. So the school had a meeting (my mother attended) and the next day they passed a rule that no student was allowed to run away from another student. Also, the new rule mandated that if a student was challenged to a fight, that student wasn't allowed to run away; the challenged student had to fight or talk the other student out of fighting but no running away. Since Lynn had spent her life taking fighting lessons, it seemed unfair to me. I thought that if the school insisted you had to fight, they should offer fighting lessons perhaps as an after school activity. However, as I was neither popular nor rich no one cared what I thought. Since Lynn only picked on me most of the time, the other students were not inclined to support me or my point of view.
I followed the rule as best I could but I never found a way to convince Lynn not to fight with me. I began to long for the days when nature (the bees) had been my friend. One day, unable to stand it anymore, I ran from Lynn to escape her fists and got caught when Lynn reported me to the teacher first thing when school started.
The teacher questioned me and I admitted I had run away to avoid a fight. The teacher (who was usually a very good teacher) decided I had to be punished. The belief was that I'd hurt Lynn's feelings by runnibg away thus making her feel rejected.
My punishment, designed to teach me to accept criticism: I was made to stand in front of the class while each student told me what they didn't like about me. The bully went first thus setting a very negative tone to the procedure. I was up there in front of the class for an hour and a half of hearing why I wasn't a very popular student and why no one liked me. Two students, two boys, refused to participate. One of the boys even said, "I don't have anything bad to say about her; I like ______[my name]." I was stunned and even today consider his defense of me one of the best and bravest examples of moral courage I've ever witnessed. I stood up there in front of the class holding back my tears, but many years later, I cried long and hard when I read my defender's name in the newspaper on the list of those killed in the Pentagon air crash attack on 9/11. He was a decorated Army combat veteran (Vietnam) who was there petitioning for veteran's rights when the attack happened. Wrong place, wrong time. Maybe it's true that the good die young.
After that school punishment, my antisocial tendencies greatly increased and I stopped trying to make friends at school or anywhere else. I lost all confidence in my ability to have friends.
I am still a very antisocial person. My confidence and self-esteem, already quite weak, were shattered. Life became an even colder place for me. I'd already accepted the idea that I would not be loved, and didn't deserve it, but now I realized I couldn't even be liked. It still seems like a lonely world to me even today. Remembering when I felt worthy of love, liking and affection (before the age of 5) is like remembering an old black and white movie you saw a long long time ago. What little I remember was good, but it's very hard to remember.
70-79, F
