Funny memory popped loudly into my brain today. It refused to be silenced so here I am. Confessing a memory. Purging it hopefully.

Sixth grade me. New school. New beings. All 5’6” of me present. Role called. Libby. My favorite thing is unique names so naturally after class I felt the need to ask, “Does that stand for Liberty?” Her face was answer enough. Disgusted with my association. I laughed nervously at my failure once more to make a friend as her sour retort rang out, “No, that’s stupid!”

She didn’t know the bullies not far from us standing. I did: from my school bus. Three years they had mocked me for wet curly hair and my height. They saw this exchange and jumped right in. Glad to mock her with the misnomer Liberty. I’m sure they did it even when I wasn’t around. I tried to stop them. Trying to defend with discussion only to be circled around and slapped. What had started as three girls had doubled plus one.

Their abuses continued with me until a teacher found us. My resonance reaching through the halls like the pain from failure gripped in on me. Desperate I was to end the harm I had caused. Not only did I fail to get them to cease but I got sent to in school isolation over it. The vice principal becoming my sworn enemy because my height and voice was enough for her to deem me the bully.

My side never heard. The poor child dragged into my bullied hell changed schools. I hope she found the acceptance deserved. Meanwhile, I wonder why children aren’t spoken to beyond assumptions (ageism). Still, my brain is stuck on the concept that a single mistake from a place of appreciation seeking connection can cause so much harm to spread so far. I seek a social space where someone asks because they want to listen… for everyone. Which means demanding social change.