In the summer after third-grade, I adopted Firestar, my first kitten. Lovingly, I named her after a character from my favorite book series, Warriors, by Erin Hunter. When I started fourth grade, I couldn’t wait to share the news with all my friends, including L. I couldn’t help myself; whenever I thought of Firestar’s cute face, I smiled and talked in a baby voice. L was not impressed, and according to her, “My parents don’t approve of people who talk in baby voices.” In my now offended state, I retorted, “That’s because your parents are too serious!” As soon as I said it, I immediately regretted it. I watched helplessly as the look on her face twisted from slight disapproval to pure anger.
In the moment, I was terrified because I knew she would want payback. She would never let me forget what I’d said, even if it was only in a state of impulsive annoyance. Still, I should never insult someone’s family, that’s a social line nobody should cross. Certainly, I’d be upset if someone made a rude comment about my parents. Then again, L was not my mother, and therefore she had no right to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do, right? Instead of being happy for me or understanding my excitement about Firestar, L made a condescending comment about the way I expressed my joy. I found myself increasingly confused. Endless questions cycled through my mind. Did I ruin our friendship by making an insensitive comment toward her parents? Was she justified in her treatment of me? What was her motive?
“How was your day today, Sophie?” my mom asked. “It was terrible,” I groaned. My mom frowned. She knew something was wrong. Every day since I’d begun fourth grade, she noticed the cloud of sadness that seemed to permanently follow me. “What happened?” she asked. I tried my best to explain the situation. I thought I offended L, but L wouldn’t talk to me about it as if she expected me to figure out what I should do. I could never find the right words, though, to explain how I felt sad and angry but most of all confused. In the meantime, I had a tasty bowl of rice in front of me that ready for consumption. Aside from soup and noodles, rice has always been my go-to food, but this time I was far too distracted to even enjoy the deliciousness of my all-time favorite food.
I felt helpless. If I went to my teachers, L threatened to come for me and call me a tattletale. My parents tried to explain the issue to the school, but my teachers didn’t understand the full extent of the issue or simply failed to take the necessary protocols. My friends couldn’t help either because they were afraid of what L would do if they stood up to her. At the time, my friend group consisted entirely of people younger than me, but I wasn’t close enough or comfortable enough with the other fourth graders to seek their guidance. Therefore, I concluded, that since I couldn’t find any clear allies, I could only put walls up and hope, every day, that I went to school, that L would forget to make my life torture.
The decorations were all set up, and the school was transformed into a haunted house. Normally, I would be happy it was Halloween, but today, I couldn’t be more miserable. I was being tormented, not by a ghost, but by her: L, which arguably, was even more terrifying than any supernatural being that one might find wandering the street on Halloween night. Meanwhile, I was anticipating and dreading the interaction that would occur once she’d spotted me. When the moment came, however, I was surprised. She smiled at me–were we friends? My other friend, A, assured me that L had forgiven me, but I wasn’t convinced. Her behavior was too strange to be genuine. I couldn’t explain exactly what was up with L, but I couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in my heart that she was only being nice to play mind tricks on me. Acting friendly again meant that when she decided to resume her role as a bully, it would hurt me more.
For a long time, she had almost convinced me it was my fault. I thought it was normal for her to behave that way because I had deeply offended her by “insulting” her parents. When she told me, “How does it feel to not have any friends?” I even found myself thinking that I deserved to have no friends. But two years later, when I was about to begin my first year of middle school, I finally began to understand. She was not behaving in the way a friend should. A real friend would talk to me about how she felt and would eventually forgive me. After the day I told her that her parents are “too serious,” though, L began acting as though our friendship had never existed. I’d always been aware that bullying was a common occurrence in many schools, but I wasn’t at all prepared for her mental abuse.
Although my entire fourth-grade year was a living nightmare, if I had the chance to change what happened, I wouldn’t because I learned an important lesson. I found my inner strength and realized that while I should always err on the side of kindness, I should also expect people to respect me in return. Anyone who doesn’t forgive me after a prolonged period of time and instead attempts to make me feel worthless doesn’t deserve a second thought. Luckily, I’ve had positive school experiences ever since, but when necessary, I am capable of being my own self-advocate. If people don’t return my kindness, it is their problem, not mine.