Bullies

People pay great lip service to overcoming bullies and bullying; schools have "bullying prevention programs," but the reality is that bullying occurs each day, in schools and in varing professions. My own son is currently being bullied, which reminds me of the bullying I experienced in school. I'm having difficulty in remaining an objective guide throughout this experience. Eventually, this is what I want him to know:

Dear Son,

I couldn't sleep last night, thinking about the names you're being called. I have been called those names for years. Each one is like a knife, puncturing my skin, leaving another scar. In addition to "fatty," "fatso," and "fat ass," I have also been called, "fucking bitch," names you have also experienced. While I'm listing names, let's remember "hungry, hungry hippo," a name so scarring, I have never wanted to go near the game.

As each name penetrated me, I found myself identifying with it. I realized I was fat, I was a bitch. I adopted an "I don't care" attitude and began eating myself to death. I walled up my pain, hid behind a facade so seeingly normal, no one would know the pain I've felt and continue to feel today. I knew I was ugly; I was sure no one would ever love me. I saw myself through the eyes of others rather than my own. I overlooked my talents and abilities because others never saw them. They saw a fat, homely girl. So did I when I looked in the mirror.

I stopped looking, really looking, at myself. I let others control my thoughts and emotions. I knew I was never good enough, smart enough, pretty enough, thin enough. My self didn't exist unless others validated it. Without validation, I simply didn't seem to exist. I faded into classrooms, hid behind books, wore frumpy, lumpy clothes thinking they disguised me. I wore a "leave me alone" expression, forbidding any hope of closeness. I shut myself down, immune--or so I thought--to the opinions of others.

What I've come to realize, however, is that I have to define and acknowledge myself; no one should or has the right to do it for me. I'm intelligent, attractive, healthy. I have a nice smile and pretty eyes. I am a hard worker, seeking to challenge and improve myself. I don't need others to define me, to give me form and shape. I can do that myself.

Letting down some barriers has helped me tremendously with self-acceptance. I will never be perfect in the eyes of others. I can be myself. I validate myself. And I encourage you, my sweet, funny son, to do the same. Never will you be 'right' or 'perfect' in everyone's eyes. But you can embrace who are are and love yourself with all your imperfections.

Those who feel the need to criticize you, to bully you, are lacking their own sense of self; they often feel insignificant. They look for those whom they can hurt, just as they are hurting inside. They want others to feel that pain. Their pain is not your pain nor mine. You  have much to offer the world as well as other people. Too bad for those who can't see you for you.

I love you, my handsome young man.

Semester slump

It's the latter part of the second semester of school, and I'm tired. I'm tired of whining students, demanding parents, teachers, and administrators. I'm tired of grading papers. I'm tired of not being able to see my desk. I'm especially tired of going to bed early and hearing the alarm at 5:20.  I could barely function today.

My students are thinking of summer rather than focusing on class work. If education were up to them we'd watch movies and take field trips rather than do any type of work that requires thinking, reading, and writing. It's discouraging. In trying to ready them for their ACT test, I prepared different practices. Instead of thanks or even compliance, I've heard nothing but complaints: "Again? We have to do another practice?" The ACT is about them and for them, but listening to them bemoan practice really bugged me.

It isn't any rosier with my Advanced Placement students. Reading their essays causes my blood pressure to rise as they continue to make mistakes. It would be different if their mistakes were different but they still don't write complete thesis statements; they still use past AND present tense; they still make unsupported and irrelevent comments. Sigh. I am in a slump.

What bothers me most is watching others allow students to slack at this point in the year. Standardized testing is over for all subjects but AP, which apparently means it's field trip season, playing outside season, and movie season. My colleagues frustrate me nearly as much as our students frustrate me.

I'm astounded by students who miss class and then are shocked when they find out they missed work; usually two or three weeks after an absence. I'm shocked by students who have missed more than 10 blocks this semester, a semester that wasn't too horrible with cold and flu season. I have students who have missed 40 or 50  or more blocks!! And then their parents wonder why the kids are failing.

It's obvious that I'm in a slump. I'm not having fun, and I'm certainly not enjoying the kids. At this point, all I can do is pray for May!

Difficulties of forgiveness

I believe greatly in the power of forgiveness. We are human, and we make mistakes through our own selfishness or through our own carelessness. Because we easily make mistakes, we often humble ourself and ask forgiveness of those we hurt. There are times we are hurt, and while those who hurt us may not or cannot realize what they've done, we find peace through forgiving them and moving forward.

However, as much as I try to forgive one person in particular, I find I cannot. Just as I think I have forgiven all she has done to me, I am reminded of another action she has done, and I'm angry again. I often think I've moved past the hurtfulness, but then I know I haven't. I'm still angry, still resentful about being hurt. I can barely stand to be in her presence because I cannot believe one person can be so unaware, so careless, and so selfish about the hurt she has caused me.

Forgiveness is important, but I cannot find it in my heart to forgive her. My anger eats at me and slips out when I least expect it. I know it is unhealthy to hold onto my anger, but never has there been a single apology for the hurt she has caused and continues to cause.

The hardest part is that I cannot distance myself enough to work through my anger, to find forgiveness within me. Instead, I continue to keep score; I hoard past hurts as some sort of vile treasure to be brought forth whenever another hurt is delivered. And there's bound to be more. We see one another too often for me to have some respite, to recover my equilibrium, and to find forgiveness in my heart.

I am bombarded with messages about forgiveness everywhere I go. Billboards, meditations, homilies in church speak to the need to forgive one another. But so often, forgiveness is meted out when someone recognizes the hurt they have caused and ask forgiveness of another. In my case, there has been no recognition of hurt, no apologies for being hurtful.

So the questions remain: how do I forgive someone who blatantly and regularly hurts me? How do I move past this anger and resentment? How do I continue to interact with her, when really, all I want to do is cause pain to her? How do I move forward?

Bike helmets and life's meaning

Lately I've been wondering about my life's purpose. I haven't been having much luck at school, especially since I've had nine students drop out this year, all juniors. I have nine students who rarely if ever show to class, and all are failing. My AP students don't seem to put effort into the work required, and their work is frustrating to grade. It just seems like I'm spinning my wheels, and my time and effort would do better elsewhere.

I headed into the weekend with these thoughts. I was mopey and weepy Friday and Saturday, not much company at all. As my pity party grew, I began wondering about other aspects of my life. Am I a good mother and wife? A good daughter? A good godmother? Do I make a difference to anyone?

And then we went to church. I seldom remember homilies, but yesterday, the priest said something that made all the difference to me. He said that our life has meaning and we will live forever. I felt as though God was speaking directly to me. My life does have meaning! I do have eternal life.

I walked out of church renewed, spiritually and emotionally. My life has meaning and purpose. My heart lifted, and I felt as though I could face anything with equanimity. Good thing too, because my son hit a parked car and fell off his new bike. Thankfully, he was wearing a helmet, something we've always lectured him to do. The new bike and the car were okay as well. My son, however, was another story.

He kept moaning in pain (and yes, I know he's a bit of a dramatic), and I began to truly worry. Within 40 minutes of the accident, I decided to take him to the ER to make sure all his parts were okay. Quickly, my life had meaning and purpose because he needed me. It always amazes me how quickly life can change.

The bike helmet saved him from a concussion. His parts are sore and bruised but okay. My child needed me, and I was there. My life has meaning and purpose. I have eternal life.