I managed to watch
Bully a few weeks ago, and was pretty blown away. Going off my last post about recording in schools, this movie makes a strong case for the protection of the students. Even WITH the cameras running, what these kids endured was despicable. I can scarcely imagine what they deal with when the cameras are off... Actually. No, I can relate. I'm going to share a story.
Last semester I was required to write an autobiography. It's a bit on the personal side, but whatever. My life is an open book. It's a little on the long side, but this movie really reminded me about much of it.
"
I remember my last day of high
school. As I approached the large green doors that led into the hallways of
Paramus Catholic, I could feel the hesitation of the coming day overflowing the
emotional barriers I had long since erected in my mind. Looking through the
windows I could see the other students’ excitement as they marched down halls
dressed in their tacky green and blue uniforms. It was as if all the
nervousness the school’s walls were capable of holding was absent from the
classrooms and had taken residence in my stomach. I suppose anxiety is a normal
reaction to one’s last day of school, but that assumption is based on the
standard closing event of the average person’s secondary school - an event I
would not experience that day or any other. Unlike most students who end their
high school careers in the summer months of their senior year and celebrate it
by partying with friends and family, I was entering Paramus Catholic on the
Halloween of my freshman year. This was not my graduation day. It was not a day
filled with lavish parties or overwhelming pride; it was the day I dropped out
of school.
The
bullying began in kindergarten. I’m still not sure why exactly; the fragmented
memory of a five year old boy is hardly the best log for any critical events
that may have opened to door to my torments. If I were forced to guess however,
it was the enormous size of my ears that drew the unwanted attention of any
young alphas that may have been eager to establish their social superiority. It
was in that small classroom in the south-east corner of St. John the Evangelist
school that the snowball of my educational agony began to roll downhill.
Compounding
the issue, my father bought a vacation home in the summer of 1985. Though it
was initially built as his retirement home and summer vacation getaway, it
quickly became a weekend getaway location. From 1985 until 1991 my family
visited our “vacation home” every single weekend and vacation period. The slow
pace of life in such a rural area was torture for my sister and I. There was
little to do, and fewer places to go. A weekend now seems short, but a child’s
sense of time is an interesting thing. Time moves slowly for the young minutes
feel like hours and days feel like weeks when there is so little to do. However, the most insufferable aspect of
having a weekend home are the opportunities that require weekends to enjoy.
Things like sports, boy-scouts, trips with friends – These things were absent
from my childhood. While my would-be friends were socializing and taking
advantage of the free time on the weekends, I was in the Poconos. Even the one
activity I was allowed to do, playing piano, was not an option in the Poconos.
What
few people understand is that the average person is not continually bullied for
the same reason over the course of their educational journey. In my case, the
initial abuses stemmed from my physical appearance. The continued exploitation
of my inequities came as a result of the social ineptitude I had been burdened
with as a result of the first year of bullying. My personal retreats in
kindergarten had only widened the social gap between myself and the rest of my
class, and exacerbated the situation far beyond that of my introductory year of
school. I had traded physical anomalies for social abnormalities. Having been
ostracized as long as I was, I was actively trying to avoid being educated.
From my experience, the potential of a child to learn is directly proportional
to his or her ability to feel comfortable and safe in class. My academic history
is teeming with uncomfortable experiences filled with anxiety and uneasiness.
This extreme discomfort in the classroom was the primary reason behind my
lifelong struggle with truancy.
It would not be
until fourth grade that a teacher would finally catch the students in the act
of bullying me. I don’t recall what I did or did not do, but I do remember
being lowered head first into a garbage can by two of the other students from
my class. They were laughing as they held my ankles and lowered me into the
basket. I only wish I could have seen the terrified looks on their face as the
teacher returned to the room just in time to see me descend into the garbage
can. The school policy of punishing all students involved in a bullying
incident only added to the irony of my life as I was also reprimanded. I
believe this was the event which began eroding my faith in the education
system.
From then on,
school was a caustic wasteland slowly corroding my emotional foundations. By
sixth grade any of the childish naivety that I had sworn to maintain like a
perpetual lost boy had been replaced by my harsh cynicism of an education
paradigm that was either incapable or unwilling to address my problems. In my
experience, the social Darwinism which existed in the classrooms was not
limited to the student population; it extended to the administrative offices
which were far more concerned with outward appearances than internal success.
Those students who were emotionally stable and surrounded by friends would
excel. The rest of us were forgotten.
Having been truant
for years, the school insisted I be tested for any mental deficiencies. Several
doctors later, I was diagnosed as having ADHD and placed on Ritalin. My first
experiences with the little yellow pill were traumatic at best. What should
have mellowed out my manic states of extreme education-related anxiety only
exacerbated them. I was emotionally heightened in my aversion to schools and
the medicine seemed to do no good. Upon consulting with the doctor, we were
told to increase the dosage. Within 6 months I had gone from 5milligrams a day
to 60 milligrams a day, and had only gotten worse. It would not be until
several years later before we learned that Ritalin had the opposite effect for
anyone misdiagnosed. Instead of being a “downer” to mellow out a patient, it
becomes an “upper” similar to cocaine. By the end of sixth grade, everyone in
my family and all of the few friends I had made had become afraid me and my
bipolar side effects of the medication. The sheer embarrassment of the ordeal
left me very uncomfortable returning to that school and once again I
changed. The damage however, had already
been done. I had lost an important year of social development.
When the bullying
followed into high school, I decided I was out. I had had enough of the system
and its students. On Halloween, after being singled out and made fun of yet
again, I left school and never returned. For the next few years I enrolled in
Catholic home schooling and eventually obtained my GED and was accepted to
college. Accomplished as I should feel given the journey, there are some
regrets I still feel and some effects that have lingered on long into my
adulthood.
At the same time
as I rebelled against school, I rebelled against my father and our “vacation
home.” I began to refuse to go to the Poconos anymore and was determined to
build the social life I had missed all those years growing up. My second home
became my local parish. Having grown up in a religious family I felt very
connected to the church and spent an inordinate amount of time there. It was during this time that I met one of my
best friends of that era of my life, Valerie.
In the summer following what
would have been my freshman year, Valerie invited me to come with her and
audition for a summer musical. Guys & Dolls reignited my love for music, a
feeling I hadn’t had since 2nd grade. I began singing every day and
found the first real solace of my adolescence. That musical passion would
spread to the guitar and bass, and would ultimately redefine me and my
direction in life. By the time I was 18 I had performed in over 10 shows and
even sung in a professional opera. I had played in bands, made some friends,
and come to terms with what I was meant to do.
At the age of seventeen I began
singing with a local choir. Their director, Lawrence Constance, took me under
his wing and offered me free vocal lessons to prepare for a college audition.
By this point I was sure of what I wanted to do. I was determined to become a
music teacher. For 3 months Mr. Constance and I worked on my first ever foreign
language solo songs and arias. And with his help, I was lucky enough to be
accepted to Montclair State University as a Music Education major with a
concentration in voice. I was very excited to go to college, it was the first
educational accomplishment I was every truly proud of. However, I had no idea
what it would be like.
Having been
socially maladjusted all these years, college was a serious challenge. It was,
in effect, my high school. I was years behind everyone else in terms of social
skills, making the transition extremely difficult. As my classmates threw parties and
instinctively understood basic body language and social signals, I felt alien
and alone. I was lucky enough to make a few friends, but even around them I
would feel inferior. By the time I reached college, the small snowball which
began to roll downhill in kindergarten was now a large enough to have its own
orbit. Awkward situations seemed to gravitate towards me, and in my naivety I did
not know how to respond. Approaching graduation, I eventually left college,
feeling more like a recent high school graduate than an adult on the cusp of
academic achievement and genuine responsibility.
I’m now thirty one
years old. It took me several years of time away from school to rebuild my
social skills enough feel like a confidant adult. I blame no one for the
unorthodox and profoundly uncomfortable journey of my academic life. However, I
do often wonder what might have been if things had been different. If the ball
had never started rolling, if I grew up with normal social skills, would have
been more successful? Would I be a happier person? But the most important
question still remains, will these accomplishments I am now nearing fill me
with far greater pride knowing the price I will have paid for them? Only time
will tell."
Watch the movie. Look for the signs. And when you get into the classroom, don't pass judgement on a bullying incident on the spot. Find out what really happened.
