*As always, names and details are changed to protect people's privacy
In my last blog post, the latest in a series about my middle school nightmare of loss of friends and incessant bullying, I talked about my decision to contact Ivy and Torey, two friends from those years who turned on me in 9th grade (again, I remind you, middle school in my district). One of the reasons I reconnected with them-- despite the fact that they were the ones who had shunned me, not vice-versa-- was because of my long-held philosophy that you cannot hold adults accountable for bad things they did as kids, unless it's something as extreme as rape or murder. This philosophy is a large part of why I have completely forgiven them. Teenagers' brains are still very much in development, particularly in the prefrontal cortex, the region responsible for executive function, risk and consequence assessment, impulse control, and moderation of social behavior. In most people, this part of the brain does not finish developing until around age twenty-five; during the teenage years, it's a hot mess. Is it really any surprise that when adults look back on parts of their life with regret, they often talk about stupid things they did when they were teenagers?
This is not to excuse the behavior of Torey, Ivy, my other former friends, and the kids who were bullying me from day one. Rather, it is to illustrate that because of their very much in-progress brain development, teenagers are notoriously bad at conflict resolution and handling discomfort. They always form their own societies in school-- biological human evolution practically mandates it-- but they are ill-equipped to run them successfully without adult guidance. The problem is, is that there was almost no adult mentorship at our school. In the '90s, the teacher's job was only to teach, and whatever kids did when interacting with each other, so long as they didn't openly disrespect teachers or damage school property, was their business. In the best case scenario, teachers looked the other way when kids bullied each other. But in the worst case, sometimes the teachers actively perpetuated it. As for the guidance counselors, my experience was that they offered vague advice that didn't even approach the heart of the issue.
In the process of clearing the air with Ivy and Torey, I came to realize that I wasn't the only one whom the system had failed. It failed them too. Both Torey and Ivy revealed that they were also bullied-- which I somehow wasn't aware of-- because of their weight. They hated middle school and eventually threw away their yearbooks (I didn't throw mine away because I save damn near everything). Ivy, in particular, described the school as a "toxic combination of students and teachers." She also noted how amazing it was that decades later we could both clearly remember mean teachers and kids who tormented us. The most toxic teacher, no doubt, was our 9th grade history teacher, Mr. Frank, who was popular among the "cool" kids.
I said at the end of my last post that I believe Mr. Frank played a role in ending my friendship with Ivy, and I strongly believe he set the tone in the beginning of the year. One particular incident, I would eventually learn, was a huge turning point for Ivy. That year, for the first time, our school district started before Labor Day, while not moving the last day of school to an earlier date. Somehow, the topic came up in Mr. Frank's class one day. I had already assumed, possibly incorrectly, that we had a longer school year than before, so I said something about it. Mr. Frank said no, it was still the standard 180 days. I kept insisting that it was a few days longer. I don't recall exactly what was said, but at some point I began to find the interaction funny and started to make light of it. It went back and forth like this until Mr. Frank left the room to get the calendar. According to Ivy's recollection, Mr. Frank was pissed: he slammed the calendar on my desk. I remember that he said, "Here you go, Bucket Mouth!" But, story of my fucking life, I thought he was playing along and being silly, not that he was upset. I turned to offer a high-five to Ivy, who accepted. As her hand slowly connected to mine, I remember thinking, "Oh shit," because I could sense some reluctance. A boy in class called out, "Handshake of the nerds!"
When I came to school the next morning, Ivy ignored me and walked away when I tried to say hello. Perplexed, I asked what was wrong, but as typical with middle school girls, I had to get the answer secondhand, in this case from our friend Aviva. I, of course, learned that Ivy was upset about what had happened in Mr. Frank's class the day before. A few days later, Ivy started talking to me again, but our friendship, which had already been somewhat strained since the middle of eighth grade, would never be the same. It was only when I recently reconnected with her that I learned that after class the day before, she was body slammed into a locker for having the temerity to high-five the school loser in front of everybody. Needless to say, she did not report this assault. Why would she? Every bullied kid knows that reporting incidents like this only makes things worse. The kid is labeled a snitch, and the bullies torment them more aggressively. And it doesn't help that Mr. Frank played a direct role in creating the situation. He made it clear to the entire class that he did not like me, further validating my position as a perpetual target, and communicating with his students that there would be no consequences for harassing me-- or anybody who associated with me.
Toward the end of the school year, Ivy, Aviva, and I worked together on a ten-week-long group project in Mr. Frank's class. At this point, my friendship with both girls was hanging by a thread. The three of us fought constantly-- more specifically, I fought against Ivy and Aviva, and they fought against me. Unfortunately, I don't remember many details of what we argued about, but I do recall feeling like there was a constant severe breakdown in communication among us. I also remember that Mr. Frank's idea of intervening was, at best, to tell all three of us to grow up or, at worst, to automatically blame me for whatever was wrong. Between Mr. Frank failing to de-escalate and redirect the situation during the calendar incident in the beginning of the year, berating me in front of the class throughout the year, and not constructively intervening during fights in our group project, he played a huge role in hammering the final nail in the coffin of my already-tenuous friendship with both Ivy and Aviva.
I wasn't the only student that Mr. Frank was a jerk to. I have no recollection of this, but Ivy told me that Mr. Frank started calling her "Poison Ivy" in class, thinking it was funny. The other kids started calling her that, and despite her obvious discomfort, Mr. Frank never told them to stop. The nickname apparently stuck with her even when she moved on to high school. As Ivy and I talked about this and the other aforementioned incidents, she said, "Mr. Frank was a bully. He never should have been teaching."
And then there was the principal, Mrs. Hayden-- also known as Sergeant Hayden, because of the no-nonsense, authoritative way that she carried herself, and the fact that she put the fear of God in the student body. She had no trouble calling out students for bullying which, on the surface, would seem to be a refreshing change from what I was used to. But a critical detail is that she never seemed to hold teachers accountable for looking the other way and/or encouraging the behavior, as was the case with Mr. Frank. Therefore, problems with bullying were never addressed constructively, let alone truly solved. A teacher sets the tone for the class by how they respond-- or don't respond-- to bullying. They can either enable it or disable it. I can't recall any teachers taking steps to disable it. Did Mrs. Hayden ever implore them to do so? I doubt it.
The ongoing conflict with my former friends reached a crescendo one day at lunch when Aviva and Khalia intermittently walked past me, pulling out loose strands of my hair. Because I knew teachers would tell me to "just ignore it," I did just that for several rounds-- and of course it didn't work. As I was sipping a can of Coke, Aviva pulled yet another strand of hair-- and I reached my limit. As if on autopilot, I whipped around and hurled the can of soda at her, but I missed. During class after lunch, Aviva told everybody who would listen that I could have killed her had I not missed, making me sound like I was unhinged and dangerous, when the reality was that I was desperate for the constant bullying to end.
It was because of this incident that my mother called Mrs. Hayden and demanded a meeting with Ivy and Aviva (because of the project conflict), Torey (because of her role in exiling me from the group), me, all of the parents and, of course, Mrs. Hayden. The next day, Ivy came up to me in tears and said, "You got me suspended. Thank you very, very much!" I remember very clearly being at a loss for words. I didn't know what to say. I wanted all these problems to stop, but I didn't want to get anybody in more trouble than necessary, and I was desperate to salvage the friendships, even though I knew deep down that there was no hope. I even recall going to Mrs. Hayden and telling her not to suspend Ivy.
After reconnecting with Ivy, I learned that for some reason Mrs. Hayden had assumed that Ivy and Torey had done the hair pulling at lunch. She approached them during an ice cream social after school to tell them that a meeting was coming soon, and threatened them both with suspension (ultimately, they weren't suspended). In any case, it frightened both of them so much that to this day they still remember the incident very clearly. Mrs. Hayden's approach of addressing the issue during an after-school activity was completely inappropriate and counterproductive, making things worse for everyone involved and not solving anything. As for when I told her not to suspend Ivy, as she wasn't one of the girls pulling my hair, her response was a dismissive, "I am so sick of this crap."
Ivy recalls another time, during our group project, she and Aviva went to a far corner of the library to work. I apparently thought they were hiding from me, and I told Mrs. Hayden, who was in the room at the time. She yelled at them without trying to get their side of the story. When Ivy told me about this, it didn't ring a bell, but upon further reflection it sounds vaguely familiar. Again, as with the incident of threatening Ivy and Torey with suspension, it only made both girls angrier with me and furthered the rift between us. Rather than get clarification from the girls about their intentions while helping them see why I might have thought they had been hiding from me, she acted accusatory and aggressive. In hindsight, it seems as if Sergeant Hayden's main concern in these situations was that her side of the story-- whether it worked in my favor or someone else's-- was seen as the correct one. This approach is completely ineffective when working with teenagers, whose brains are not yet mature enough to handle such protracted conflict unassisted.
And finally, as you have seen from previous posts, I dealt with a lot of victim blaming when I was bullied. But Ivy also got her share of it. At the very end of the year, one of the boys in our grade got ahold of Ivy's yearbook and wrote some vicious messages in permanent marker all over the inside. When Ivy's mother went to the school to complain, Mrs. Hayden told Ivy that it was her fault for not keeping an eye on the yearbook. Only when her mother screamed at Sergeant Hayden did the principal relent and give Ivy a replacement.
As you can see, the situation at school was dire-- not just for me, but also for Ivy, Torey, and Aviva. So what ultimately happened at that meeting that I alluded to? Did it solve anything? What could have been done instead?
Stay tuned.
