School file #2
But then there was the shocker from the hippie school:
Acceptence by, interaction with others:
Well liked-- lately her disagreements with others tend to erupt into hitting or pushing, but we are working on this."
There were three of us the same year at the hippie school-- everyone else in the school was younger. Hippie school was the kind of place that had 2 hour recess (we made forts), and in the summer, both the little girls and boys didn't wear shirts. Everything was fine, even idyllic for the first half of the year, and in the second half, my body decided to develop. I was 9.
At one point in college, I was in the computer lab typing a paper. Frame609 (were we dating at the time?) was sitting in a different row, typing away until a funky boy said hello to him. Frame pointed me out. The boy looked at me, wide-eyed, and kept giving me strange, poignant looks.and I thought he was just weird.
He came up to me and said "Are you G Lib?"
"Yes-- who are you?"
"I'm StrickenTodd. You went to Hippie School for a year. You never came back. I've been feeling guilty ever since then because we drove you out."
"What?!? I left hippie school because my parents thought I wasn't learning enough math, not because of any other reason. I have good memories from that year, in fact, it meant a lot to me."
"But we made fun of you, all the time! We called you 'biggie', because you were a foot taller than everyone else in the school and were developing. We were relentless! We were mean."
"Honestly, I don't remember this at all."
I lied. The memories were washing over me-- the hurt, the desperate feeling of failing to fit in, feeling trapped and like there's no other choice. I think that I, being a Pollyanna-type, fooled myself into thinking that they didn't 'really' mean those mean things, they were just joking. But deep down, I knew that I was just fooling myself into thinking this. But now I was in college, was a bad, bald girl in combat boots, and so I had to be tough and not let on that he had hurt me.
StrickenTodd got down on his knees and took my hand.
"Can I just apologize? I'm so sorry we were so cruel to you, and I felt bad for years. We excluded you from our games. I'm so sorry!"
The entire lab is staring at us.
"That's fine, I forgive you, it's okay."
We hug, we chat about what dorm we each live in and random things, and StrickenTodd leaves.
Last night as I read that school comment, my sister said,
"There it is! I've been telling you for years that you used to hurt me, and you never believed me! Here's the proof!"
I don't remember hurting her. I do remember not knowing my own stregnth. I do remember having no idea how to deal with things anymore-- my body was betraying me, hormones were coursing through me, the kids at school making fun of me, putting baloons in their shirts and pretending they have breasts like mine.
So I just lashed out-- at her, at the kids at the hippie school, probably even at my parents. It didn't last very long, but it was the start of a three-year period of my life that I didn't have a friend in the world. Not one.
This is probably one of the ways in which I have changed, very much-- in the opposite direction. It's probably why I am very protective of my friends, and need them (you) so much-- I remember what it's like to have none.