If you've been following this edition this is the continuation, if you haven't been following this one I WOULD recommend you checking out the earlier Editions
Having know one to be partners with
This incident happened in the Fall or Spring. I say this because it was very windy out. The teachers announced we were going for a nature walk and that we should pick a partner and hold their hand. I quickly turned to Paula, but she was already paired up with her new friend, Erin. I started to turn around and look for another child alone, but everywhere I looked, people were pairing up. I felt a panic that I would feel for many years to come. “Maybe nobody will pick me”, I worried, and that’s exactly what happened. The class was an odd number and I was the only child without a partner. I had
to hold hands with the teacher. I felt very embarrassed about this. I remember I was grateful that the teacher and I were at the end of the line, so maybe the other children wouldn’t notice who my partner was.
This was the first feeling of exclusion and helplessness that I remember. I realized there was nothing I could do that would get me a partner. I started to worry that it would always be like this. From that day on I dreaded “partnering up”. This is something that tinges my adult life. When in a class or group and asked to pair up, I still feel panicked and helpless. I am sure no one will pick me. It is always a nice surprise when someone asks me to be their partner. This incident is not the only time I was left out in kindergarten. Often, I would ask to join other children playing and they would say, “no”. My most vivid memory of this was the day the class was to make face masks.
Sharing doesn’t help
I remember the day before we made the masks, our teacher told us we should bring paper grocery bags to make them from. My mother gave me two bags to bring, in case I made a mistake. When I got to school, one little girl, Fiona, had forgotten her paper bag, so I gave her my extra bag. I felt like I was very generous and hoped that maybe I had forged a new friendship. After the class made the masks, everyone started playing. I ran over to Fiona and her friends and asked to play and Fiona flat out refused me. I recall feeling really shocked. I was not expecting this! After all, I had helped her out. After the shock wore off, I felt deeply hurt because I was realizing that no matter how nice I was, nobody would play with me. I felt there was nothing I could do to change this.
Not being allowed to play may not sound like the end of the world to an adult. But in kindergarten, that is the most important thing. In her book, You Can’t Say You Can’t Play, Vivian Paley (1992) describes being told you can’t play in kindergarten as a harsh and overbearing prospect. Paley (1992) states that this is where the game of exclusion is played for the first time, and this game continues throughout school with the same children being excluded over and over again. What hope is there for a child beginning this cycle of exclusion? After you are left out so many times, you stop hoping, you become resigned, and realize you are helpless to change things. Kindergarten was the beginning of the sad little girl growing inside me.
When I started first grade, I had a shred of hope that things might be different. After all, this was a new school and an opportunity for a fresh start. Kendra would be there and perhaps she would introduce me to her friends and we would all play together at recess. Grade one is where my last shred of hope was destroyed and all because I started gym class
Gym sucks or I sucked at gym
I had a coordination problem. I wasn’t very good at large or fine motor tasks. This made grade one very difficult for me. I was bad at printing, cutting and pasting, drawing, and all the games played on the playground at recess. The worst of it was gym class. I can remember always being the last child picked for teams. Children would moan and groan if they had me on their team. I felt no motivation to try once I was on a team because I knew I wasn’t wanted. I remember playing baseball, and how my team members would position me in far left field so that I was out of the way of the game. It felt very isolating to be on the outside of things. It seemed that, in or out of the classroom, I wasn’t good at anything and no one wanted to play with me at school. I started to hate school.
Looking back, I note how important it is in elementary school to be good at physical tasks, whether it be in gym or on the playground. Because of my problem I was never going to be good at these important social activities. There was nothing I could do. I stopped trying at these activities. There was no point. I had learned "helplessness”.
By the time I was in third grade, things were going down hill fast. I still had nobody to play with at school, and I was starting to experience physical abuse for the first time. Although I was lonely at school in the first three years, as least I still had all the neighborhood kids to play with after school. But something happened in grade three that changed all that. What happened was a bully named Marvin.
My first bully
Marvin, who was older than me, moved to my neighborhood about a year before I started third grade. Over this year he established himself as the neighborhood tough guy. He would steal toys and punch little boys many years younger than him.
By the summer, just before third grade, I became his specific target for abuse. The troubled started when Marvin noticed I had two small warts on my nose. From that moment on he called me “Wart Woman”. Eventually most of the kids in the neighborhood started calling me that, except for my friends Paula, Kendra and Ruby. Marvin used to ride his bike up and down the street past my home, repeatedly singing “da na na na na, Wart Woman!” If I dared to go outside, he would try to run me over with his bike while singing this tune.
When school resumed that fall, the harassment escalated. He would sing his little tune on the school bus. At some point during the year he started to beat me up. I remember that as soon as I got off the bus he would jump on me and start punching me. I wasn’t even safe at school because sometimes he would wait for me at recess. It was around this time that I went from hating school to dreading it. School was the one place I couldn’t avoid Marvin. I remember I would walk to the bus stop every morning and my stomach would be so upset because I never knew what the day would hold. This is when I first remember associating physical symptoms with my feelings. For the next few years, I went to school every day with a stomach ache. The worst of it was that nobody ever tried to stop him. The other children would just watch. I remember one time Kendra picked me up and help me straighten up after. I think every one was terrified of Marvin and they were glad that I was his target instead of them.
After weeks of this torment, I told my parents and my Dad went to talk to Marvin’s Dad. Nothing changed. He still beat me up, only worse now that I was a tattler. I was learning that even adults couldn’t help. I felt physically ill and terrified, helpless in the face of Marvin’s bullying.
The abuse continued for a year until I asked my older cousin Warren to intervene.
Why did Marvin pick on me? Marvin was living in my neighborhood for a full year before he started his harassment. This year gave him time to access the situation and figure out who was the most vulnerable. I guess I was the obvious choice. I was openly rejected by my peers at school and because of my “learned helplessness”, I rarely did anything about it. I was the perfect target. Other children probably wouldn’t intervene because I was not popular. I probably wouldn’t fight back.
Why didn’t anybody help me? These people who witnessed Marvin abusing me, but didn’t say anything. According to Hazler (1996) bystanders do not intervene for two reasons. First, it is painful to see someone get beat up and not know how to stop it, and second, they may fear that the bully may turn his or her aggression on them. For the bystander, avoidance seems the safest route.
And so, by grade three I was deeply entrenched in a cycle of peer rejection. There seemed to be nothing I could do to stop it and my friends and parents could not help me. My experience with Marvin had taught me I was on my own. This was the treatment I could expect and I was helpless to stop it. My only way out was if my parents moved us far away where nobody knew me. I fantasized about this a lot. My rejection was like a prison: All I could do was serve my time (until graduation), and try to befriend those higher ranking students who might make my stay more tolerable.
It was around this time that I started to feel closer to Kendra. Even though a lot of her school friends didn’t like me, Kendra made sure, in some way, they included me in their games. Many times I would only be allowed to watch and when I was included, I was only allowed partial participation
Steady Ender
One day in the late spring of fourth grade, Kendra and I arrived at school and we approached some of Kendra’s friends who were playing skipping. Kendra asked if she could play, and the children said, “ yes”. When I asked if could play too, a resounding “no” was my answer. Kendra told the children she would skip with them only if I was invited to join. The others told her it was no fun to play with me because I wasn’t very good at skipping. Finally, they agreed to let me play if I was steady ender (I just swung the rope, not being allowed a turn to skip). I agreed to their terms, as it seemed better than not playing at all. I also hoped my fourth-grade classmates would see me playing with the fifth-grade children and would be impressed.
And so it was that I learned to settle for shabby treatment from children in order to be included. I think this is something a lot of rejected children go though. It seems better to take a little humiliation than to be alone.
Kendra always had time for me wherever we were. Paula virtually ignored me at school, but always played with me outside of school. This is why I chose to be closer with Kendra, because at least she didn’t leave me out. She wanted to play with me all the time, in school and out, but at a cost. She would only play the games she excelled at and she had to have the final say in everything. This was clearly exemplified when we played games one-on-one.
That damn egg game
Kendra always wanted to play a game of mine called “Lay an Egg”. In this electronic game, a hen with eggs inside it would circle around the board. When the hen passed the player, the player would hit their button. If your button hitting was precise, you would be rewarded with an egg. The player with the most eggs would win. Since I had a co-ordination problem, this game was quite difficult for me. I’m sure my parents bought this game to help me work on my hand-eye co-ordination, but instead of being a helpful tool, it ended up being an instrument of emotional frustration. I still feel agitated to this day remembering that wretched game. When I played, I would never get more than a couple of eggs. Kendra would always win and demand to play again. Halfway through these games I would be crying in frustration, but still Kendra would press on. The game would go on until Kendra was tired of it or I was crying too hard to play any longer.
Looking back, I reflect I hated playing that game because it made me feel like a loser. We think of ourselves as losers when we internally compare ourselves to another’s ability even if they are more skilled in this area (Morrison, 1998). I dreaded playing the game, but felt helpless to get out of it. I guess I could have refused to play those games with Kendra, but than I risked losing her as a friend. I felt it was better to be a loser than to be alone. To this day I can not emotionally handle playing competitive games with those I am close to. I feel deeply frustrated if I lose a game. I still feel like that eight-year old who never won a single game of “Lay an Egg”.
Another BIG thanks To Catherine for sharing her papers with me, we'll continue with part 4 tomorrow! Also as always want to thank Nate for our Logo! Remember if you have something to contribute to the Anti-Bully Blog Series FB OR e-mail me nancy.wood@mbsradio.com and feel free to TOTALLY snag the link and repost to your hearts content :)
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