The Unbearable Weirdness of Being
The recent Ozzy and Mille story arc has me feeling a bit nostalgic.
As one-third of the female half of the Nerd Squad back at the old circle of hell public school I attended at one time, I can deeply sympathize with the kids bully issues.
With getting picked on both verbally and physically on a daily basis for seven hours at a stretch; one either tends to take the Zen approach like Ozzy, or like Millie, attempts to take a stand.
Either way, the authorities (during the mid-90s anyway) tended to either be less than helpful, or part of the problem.
I too was given detention for attempting to defend myself. It was the second detention of my life. (The first was for forgetting to turn in a homework assignment. It was complete and without error, but I'd accidentally left it at home and so I was chucked in detention along with kids who never EVER bothered to do their homework let alone bring it to class.)
Like Ozzy, I did nothing to draw attention to myself other than simply BEING myself. I existed. That was offense enough.
Back to my story:
I was getting compressed between a metal guard rail that divided an open set of stairs and the much larger body of one of the half-dozen male bullies that liked to give me grief. Said bully had about 8in and 65lbs on me. All I could ever do was cower behind a 75lb backpack (I know, I weighed it one night; dude, ARMY SOLDIERS do not carry a pack that heavy) and hope they lost interest quickly. I was screaming bloody murder as well as I could with a constricted diaphragm. Two teachers STOOD THERE AND WATCHED (this being the era of no-interference). He finally backed off when I started choking and as soon as I could breathe I pushed him off of me and ran up to the teachers.
I was sentanced detention that afternoon for shoving. The bully simply went to class without so much as a light scolding.
W.
T.
F.
I am not angry about this per se, I do not hold a grudge, but injustice tends to linger in one's memory.
One can only achieve zen for so long. Verbal insults can be tuned out; a fist in the gut is a little harder. In the wilds of public school, if one turns the other cheek, all one gets is TWO black eyes instead of one.
I don't want to hear about the self-esteem bullshit either. The bullies ruled the place and they knew it. They had the power, were in control, and liked to watch the little kids cry and hurt them BECAUSE THEY COULD. It was fun.
Except it wasn't very fun to us.
I suppose in a perverse way I'm grateful. I wouldn't have been as focused a student without such torture. Nor would I be as indifferent to Stupid People as I am today. In the adult world, at least no one tries to punch you out while sober. One good thing, I suppose, about getting older.
As one-third of the female half of the Nerd Squad back at the old circle of hell public school I attended at one time, I can deeply sympathize with the kids bully issues.
With getting picked on both verbally and physically on a daily basis for seven hours at a stretch; one either tends to take the Zen approach like Ozzy, or like Millie, attempts to take a stand.
Either way, the authorities (during the mid-90s anyway) tended to either be less than helpful, or part of the problem.
I too was given detention for attempting to defend myself. It was the second detention of my life. (The first was for forgetting to turn in a homework assignment. It was complete and without error, but I'd accidentally left it at home and so I was chucked in detention along with kids who never EVER bothered to do their homework let alone bring it to class.)
Like Ozzy, I did nothing to draw attention to myself other than simply BEING myself. I existed. That was offense enough.
Back to my story:
I was getting compressed between a metal guard rail that divided an open set of stairs and the much larger body of one of the half-dozen male bullies that liked to give me grief. Said bully had about 8in and 65lbs on me. All I could ever do was cower behind a 75lb backpack (I know, I weighed it one night; dude, ARMY SOLDIERS do not carry a pack that heavy) and hope they lost interest quickly. I was screaming bloody murder as well as I could with a constricted diaphragm. Two teachers STOOD THERE AND WATCHED (this being the era of no-interference). He finally backed off when I started choking and as soon as I could breathe I pushed him off of me and ran up to the teachers.
I was sentanced detention that afternoon for shoving. The bully simply went to class without so much as a light scolding.
W.
T.
F.
I am not angry about this per se, I do not hold a grudge, but injustice tends to linger in one's memory.
One can only achieve zen for so long. Verbal insults can be tuned out; a fist in the gut is a little harder. In the wilds of public school, if one turns the other cheek, all one gets is TWO black eyes instead of one.
I don't want to hear about the self-esteem bullshit either. The bullies ruled the place and they knew it. They had the power, were in control, and liked to watch the little kids cry and hurt them BECAUSE THEY COULD. It was fun.
Except it wasn't very fun to us.
I suppose in a perverse way I'm grateful. I wouldn't have been as focused a student without such torture. Nor would I be as indifferent to Stupid People as I am today. In the adult world, at least no one tries to punch you out while sober. One good thing, I suppose, about getting older.