See, I loathed school. With a passion.
One major reason school wasn’t for me was the fact that I was regularly beat up at school by mean bullies.
I don’t particularly know why I was a target for such bullying. perhaps it was because the other kids were jealous of my sartorial elegance. Each morning, Mommy would have a perfectly pressed suit and tie for me to wear. on hot days, I wore knee-length trousers and carried an umbrella for shade, and in the winter, a sweater vest keptme snug and warm underneath my blazer. but the other mean students continually mocked me for my stylish wardrobe. Many days, I came home with my umbrella wrapped around my neck or my tie cut in half. Now, of course, I can understand theirrage. I mean if I had to wear a raggedy t-shirt with AC/DC across the front and denim pants, I would have had nothing but envy for someone with such a stunning taste in fashion as myself.
I was also bullied because my Mommy walked me to class every day without fail. sure, some kids might have thought it odd that Mommy walked with me each morning, but deep down, I’m quite certain many of those students would have secretly loved to have had their mother walk them to the schoolroom door, kiss them on their cheek and straighten their tie. it was simply a wonderful way to begin the day — particularly during the stressful days of high school. Yet after Mommy had walked back to her car, a group of fellow students would then pounce on me like a pack of starving kids hitting a piñata.
It was of no use to complain to the teachers because many times they were in on the action, as well. I vividly remember one time when I told my accounting teacher that a certain pair of slacks enhanced her cellulite. Of course I thought I was doing her a favor, but when she asked me to stay after class, she slammed an abacus over my head.
Physical education class was also a nightmare. Mommy had specifically told the coach that any type of strenuous activity could possibly cause me to have shortness of breath and/or perspiration. Yet the coach seemed to ignore her instructions and purposefully instructed me to double the required exercises, viciously yelling at me all the while. The other kids would laugh and cheer on the coach while I tried with all of my might to do a push up. Mommy and I told my Papa that some type of legal action should be taken against the coach, but Papa ignored our pleas. so, each day after P.E., some girls I had befriended in chess club would help carry me to the school nurse to have a cold washcloth placed on my forehead.
Speaking of girls, I was regularly beaten by them as well. I remember Sandy Kristopher and her ugly face, in particular. once, in the third grade, she was wearing this horrid Garanimal ensemble that did nothing for her lumpy body. “oh dear, Sandy,” I said as I looked her up and down. “Did your mother paint that wretched outfit on you? you look like a walrus in Saran Wrap.” The last thing I remember before I passed out from the pain is Sandy successfully shoving my Mead Bee Gees three-ring binder up my bottom.
So, yes, my school years were not memorable. I’ve been in therapy ever since, and I break out in hives whenever I run across my P.E. coach in the grocery store. but, overall, I think I’ve managed to put it all behind me. I must say, though, that I am disappointed my children will not allow me to walk them to class.
I tried that with my daughter when she went to first grade, but I could tell she did not like it.
Because, in her innocent little girl voice, she said she would — quote — “kick my ass” if I ever did that again.
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