What is the worst thing you have ever done?
When I was nine, my parents moved into a new school district. I started 4th grade not knowing anyone at a school where all of the children had grown up together. I carried on, determined to make friends.
Strangely, my newcomer status made me an attraction, rather than an outcast. Kids would crowd around me, asking me questions and talking about my life in the city. Unlike my previous school, I actually attained a degree of popularity. I felt special and valued.
There was a boy in my class. He would come to class with baggy hand-me-down clothes, dirt smeared on his cheek. A few times, he came with bruises on his arms and shoulders. This was a bit odd in the tidy-whitey suburban school district that I'd just moved to. Nobody hung out with him, preferring their own devices.
I'd hang out with him sometimes. At that time, I didn't really understand why others ostracized him. Aside from being a bit smellier and dirtier, he seemed like everyone else to me. He'd even call me at home sometimes just to talk. Looking back, sometimes I wonder if I was one of his only friends at that time.
As other children started to accept me, welcoming me to their circles, they used to mock and tease him. At first, I'd just stand there, a bit befuddled. I couldn't understand their distaste for him. Then I saw how much fun they had, and how they urged me to join. I hesitated, then I told them about how he called me at home and a few things that he told me I don't remember the details, but I'm sure these things veered into the personal side. The other kids told me how cool I was. I luxuriated in the praise.
With this information, their teasing reached new heights. They mocked him about his appearance, family life endlessly. They used the information that I'd given them. He'd run away from us, crying. I'd feel guilty until someone high-fived me.
Strangely, my newcomer status made me an attraction, rather than an outcast. Kids would crowd around me, asking me questions and talking about my life in the city. Unlike my previous school, I actually attained a degree of popularity. I felt special and valued.
There was a boy in my class. He would come to class with baggy hand-me-down clothes, dirt smeared on his cheek. A few times, he came with bruises on his arms and shoulders. This was a bit odd in the tidy-whitey suburban school district that I'd just moved to. Nobody hung out with him, preferring their own devices.
I'd hang out with him sometimes. At that time, I didn't really understand why others ostracized him. Aside from being a bit smellier and dirtier, he seemed like everyone else to me. He'd even call me at home sometimes just to talk. Looking back, sometimes I wonder if I was one of his only friends at that time.
As other children started to accept me, welcoming me to their circles, they used to mock and tease him. At first, I'd just stand there, a bit befuddled. I couldn't understand their distaste for him. Then I saw how much fun they had, and how they urged me to join. I hesitated, then I told them about how he called me at home and a few things that he told me I don't remember the details, but I'm sure these things veered into the personal side. The other kids told me how cool I was. I luxuriated in the praise.
With this information, their teasing reached new heights. They mocked him about his appearance, family life endlessly. They used the information that I'd given them. He'd run away from us, crying. I'd feel guilty until someone high-fived me.
