The Strength of Words Growing up I wasn’t the most athletic girl and I definitely didn’t do anything to fix it. I danced for a couple of years, but after that I just let my weight over power me. I had a few friends, I was constantly picked on for my size, I was given nicknames for the gap as wide as the grand canyon on my two front teeth, and worst of all I didn’t do anything to stop it. Third grade started and I had entered a new school and I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t expect such a shift in warmth. At my previous elementary school I had been a fairly favored student by students and faculty also. I was constantly picked on for my outer features such as my weight and I was a bit of a slow learner compared to these students. I had never been around such hateful people, I had never been bullied before and I didn’t even realize I was being bullied until years to come. To make matters worse I’m pretty sure my teacher was racist. She always favored the white kids looking back I realize that now. I was purposely tripped during recess one time and when I went to go tell her what happened and why I was crying she sent me away for snitching, but when this other kid got a little paper cut on her finger she treated her immediately. I believe teachers should treat all their kids equally especially if the student didn’t cause trouble throughout the year. I never felt like I was wanted. That spunk I had growing up quickly went away. I was a closet kid for the first time, an outsider. Going to school wasn’t fun for me anymore it was complete torture. But as soon as I received my choice of school form for the next school year you better be sure I transferred. I entered fifth grade at the school that had started me off. I was so excited to see my old friends from second grade, to have new teachers, and just be around a pleasing environment. Man what I expected was so wrong. About a week into my new school year I came across this group of girls that snickered every time I passed them and I didn’t understand why. Then I overheard one of them say “hah she’s not wearing a bra..” All these emotions were running through me it’s as my life was repeating itself. It was third grade torture all over again, the last thing I wanted was to be picked on. I didn’t understand how people could make an innocent girl feel like such an outsider by the use of a couple of words. I never
understood how uncomfortable words could make you feel or the people that spoke those words. All I knew was I had to get away and get away fast; I didn’t know how to stand up for myself, because I was afraid. I was afraid of standing up for myself, because I was afraid of the outcome and I didn’t know how. Whether they were snickering about me for something as small as not wearing a bra or my physical features, I knew one thing; I needed to be around better vibes. All I could remember was third grade and how insecure I was. I made it my mission to avoid those girls as much as possible. Every time I came in contact with them I would walk the other way or drop my head and continue to walk. I always stuck by my best friend because she never cared what people thought of her. She was a fun, accepting, quirky girl. She was known for two things being the funny one and for being the weird one. I was always jealous of her since she had that natural ability to make people laugh, that bright smile she wore on her face every morning, and most of all her ability to not care of what people thought of her because she was happy with herself. Years to come her fifth grade self would be the inspiration for the person I am today. So sixth grade rolled around, and boy oh boy was I excited. I had just come back from my trip from Ethiopia and I was pumped for a new school, with new people, and new teachers. Luckily, my elementary school was next door to my middle school so I wouldn’t be starting off to new. As my sixth grade year went on I had developed my first crush with a boy. He wasn’t exactly the most attractive person we had, but he man he had the most beautiful eyes and smile I had ever seen. He sadly wasn’t the brightest student or nicest person to be around. He constantly had a girlfriend, and he did call me beaver for the longest time because of my teeth. He made me feel bad about myself and I was always nervous when I was around him. You know that feeling when you’re around someone you like your heart starts to beat really fast and you can’t help but smile a lot. Yeah, well my smile wasn’t exactly the most appealing thing, so I wasn’t exactly the most blessed person. So, I talked my mom into getting me braces so all the mouth jokes would stop. And again with all my assumptions nothing ever seemed to go right. I was called four eyes, train tracks, metal mouth, and someone went as low as to calling me an elephant. Why did people have to treat me like this? I never went on to saying one rude thing about a person, and people
can’t help but say all these things to me. I don’t think a person understands the affect they have on someone with their words. Five years later and I still remember all the negative things done and said to me. I don’t recall the nice things happened to me like a door being held open for me or a piece of candy being given to me, but I remember the things that put me down. Funny how that works isn’t it. And to top it all off my home life wasn’t any better, my parents constantly argued, my dad would insult me and call me fat and lazy, I wouldn’t get all A’s in schools my mom would call me stupid. I came home one day after being picked on and I just sat in my room one time just looking at my charger. I wanted everything to end. I wanted the pain and hate towards me to stop, because I knew. I knew once I was gone they would learn to stop with the name calling. Because once I was gone I knew they would learn. Luckily, something stopped me. I don’t exactly remember what that something was but I remembered my best friend. I remembered her courage and laughter, then I remembered all the people that cared for me, and those people outnumbered the people that bullied me. I think once someone leaves a scar with their words that mark never really goes away, but as the saying is you can let it conquer you or you can conquer it. I decided at that moment I wouldn’t let someone else’s opinion conquer me and let me suffer. I was twelve years old when I taught myself to be brave and stand up for myself, to not care what people say, and most importantly to be happy with myself no matter what anyone else thought. It gets difficult at times when even the ones you love put you down and insults will always feel like knifes on the back. The one thing that bothers me the most about my childhood is not the bullying, but the fact that I don’t even remember a kind thing someone has done for me growing up whether it was a door being held open for me or a candy bar being given to me. I only remember the negative. Its funny how that works isn’t it? The strength of a couple of words is unbelievable. I’ll close with a few wise words from country artist Taylor Swift, “Why you gotta be so mean?”