Bullying Part I: Introductions

Awhile ago, a good friend of mine asked if I could do up a blog post on bullying. So naturally, I said I would make it my number one priority!

So naturally, I didn’t…but I thank her so much for being so patient with me!

Growing up, I was extremely luck, for I wasn’t really ever bullied. Of course I get made fun of and picked on every once in awhile, especially for being a Christian, but who doesn’t?

Even bullies get made fun of.

I know that most were not as lucky as I was during school, but this blog post is not about me, it’s about the one’s whose stories need to be told, whose voices need to be heard. Throughout this post, we are going to take a journey through the lives of the bullied…and the bully. Let’s get started with the bullied, shall we? Warning! This blog post is kind of long! Not up for a little heavy reading (in my opinion, not a reader so heavy reading for me is like ten minutes), then come back later.

     

This first story is from the NOPLACE4HATE website. Everything is from the original author.

“Hi

My name is Elizabeth or Eliza or sometimes even Lizzia.

Where do I start....well from as far back as I can remember I've been bullied. From teachers to students to my own next door neighbours. I was born in Glasgow, Scotland but then moved to Norway when I was two. I lived there for almost five year and came back to my home in Aberdeen, Scotland when I was six. Now I lived, breathed and spoke Norwegian even my ancestry is Norwegian (or Danish still not sure about that) so when I came back to Scotland I was a scared six year old (older then everyone) starting a new school where nobody would understand me.

The bits I remember was this girl (I'm gonna call her Zoe) decide to pick on me because I was friends with the only other Norwegian girl Sunivia (pronounced Sun-eve-a). The bulling got worse when another girl (called Flora) left me when she found out I was still in nappies (diapers for you Americans) because I wet the bed. Anyway Sunivia left after my first year and the picking on got worse. When I was 11 my teacher made me take a Dyslexia test and I was told that I had Dyslexia and Dysgraphia (don't ask). It took them seven years to know that...seven years of hell and comments like:

'Why are you so stupid.'

'Your a year older.'

I left when I was twelve leaving my friends after the Headmistress kicked me out and any other student who had a mental health problem or was diagnosed with a learning disability (unless like my BFF Frieda who's mum worked at the school). I was angry and cried because I didn't know what I did wrong. Then I was moved to a new school and I knew from the moment I went there that I was gonna HATE it. The bulling that I'd tried so hard to escape from was back. And this time in a form I had not had since Kindergarten...boys. I had lived in a all girl school in Aberdeen for seven years and Zoe was back.

The boys thought it was funny that I was a book nerd and loved writing (which is probably why this is so long). My friend Amy was emotionally unstable and kicked me when see got made (she's stopped now and we're still firm friends). When I dyed hair for the first time they said:

'Burn the Witch'

'Burn the child of Satan.'

'Left handed Witch!'

'Burn the Faery Know!' (fairy child of Scottish myths).

That last one was extremely offensive because my ancestor was burned at the stake for being a 'Faery know' in the Witch burning rave in Scotland. When I entered my third year of senior school (8th of 9th grade) he boys started to touch me in inappropriate places, chuck my stuff against the wall, rip my things out of my hands and rip to shreds. The girls in my dorm (boarding school) were just as mean. I was often sick because I was scared to go to school. They took my clothes, school books and then took my shampoo and squeezed out the contence on my bed and left it there. They also his my stuff and stole my hoodies so I was left in a freezing castle by the sea with nothing to keep me warm. The teachers didn't help. I was off school more and I was scared for my mother.

My dad was in the army and his father was in the army and so on. They were all military officers with medals galore and a short temper. My father owns his own business and when I was 'sick' I was really watching out for my mother who is small, extremely skinny (almost anorexic) and I felt VERY OVERPROTECTIVE of her. As my grades slipped more arguments happened and more screaming matches between my father and I happened. Until my body couldn't take it anymore and I really was sick. As it turned out I had something called 'Viral Labyrinthitis.' If anybody had had this you know it is hell. You can't move without vomiting, I couldn't shower and I didn't eat much. The school kept pestering my mother sent me back. This lasted for a month before I was well enough to go back. I then had to see a Social Service lady who was trying to sort out the s- - - at home. I went back to school and the same boys then said to me

"Why don't you just stop being weird Bromby!"

And then I realised. Keep reading E. Keep watching Harry Potter and raving about it and how Sirius should not have died. Keep being wanting to be a red head like your grandmother and your first cousins once removed and second cousins. Be proud that you are a descendent of a 'Faery Know!' and that you are the granddaughter of the dead Kenneth McKenzie the person in charge of most of the Scottish Whiskeys distilleries in Scotland, be happy that your Great-Great-Great Grandfather Daniel Adamson manufactured the Manchester Ship Cannel in 1880s. Be happy that you have thousands of cousins who love you. Be happy that your Aunt gave birth to two amazing first cousins you see as your siblings.

After that year I moved schools again. I didn't know which school id move to but I knew I'd be put down a year again. I'm now sixteen years old and turning seventeen in December 2015 and I couldn't be happier. So my advice is to people (if your still reading) that never EVER give up on who you are. Never bottle up you emotions like I did. Let them out. Let them be known. Tell those bullies to stop it. Lead your own life. After all we only have one shot at it...

Love

Elizabeth "Eliza, Lizzia or E" Alison Bromby (16, Scotland, Kilgraston School of Girls, Perth).”

    

  The next story, on the bully’s side of the story, is from People.com “Confessions of a Bully”.

     

     “The teasing began in fifth grade, after Daniel Harrison and a neighborhood pal had a growth spurt and Courtney Kondor did not. "We were taller and just naturally started making fun of her," says Daniel, now 15 and a sophomore at Mattawan High School, near Kalamazoo, Mich. "When she didn't do anything about it, we drove in more and more. Like I would see her in the school hallways and shout, 'Hey, shorty!'" By seventh grade, on the school bus, "I used to mess up Courtney's hair," Daniel says, while his pal continued to provide the laugh track. "It felt cool to not be made fun of and to be the one making the fun." At no point did he think of himself as a "mean bully," he says. "I thought of myself as a playful bully: I bullied with a smile on my face."

One morning in December 2007 Daniel ramped up the bus "fun" by snatching a hat from Courtney's head. Daniel tossed it to his sidekick, who passed it to another girl the two boys liked to tease, who in turn threw it back to Daniel. "I put the hat down my pants," he says, then clarifies, "Uh, the front. It wasn't under my boxers." As he got off the bus, Daniel says he noticed that "Courtney was devastated" and realized that he'd gone "definitely a little too far." The next morning he was summoned by his middle school dean to talk with-and apologize to-Courtney. He was also told to report to detention the following day. None of that made much of an impression on Daniel. "I was worried about getting grounded," he says. "I wasn't worried about hurting Courtney's feelings."

Then his parents received a phone call from the dean. Until that moment, the worst his mom, Yvette Harrison, a juvenile probation officer, and dad, Stanley, an electrician, had heard about the younger of their two sons was that he was a "class clown" and a charmer. "I was furious with Daniel," his mom recalls. "I was embarrassed. Where did I go wrong in raising him?" She grounded Daniel from playing his beloved video games for two weeks and insisted they go over to the Kondors' house to apologize. "Daniel was very nervous," she says, "but he didn't fight me on it."

There, Daniel came face-to-face with not only Courtney but her mother, Kim Kondor, whom Daniel had known for years. "As soon as Courtney's mother came to the door, we could see the anger on her face," Daniel's mom says. Kondor accepted Daniel's apology, then described how Courtney had returned from school the previous day "crying so bad she couldn't hardly get the story out." And that wasn't the only day Courtney had come home upset. "It was really shocking," says Daniel. "I thought it was, like, hurting her feelings that day and then moving on."

In detention the next day, Daniel chanced upon Ben Mikaelsen's Touching Spirit Bear. "It was just perfect timing to read that book," he says of the story about an angry teen who torments a white bear. The following school year, assigned by his language-arts teacher Laurie Hogan-McLean to send a letter to an author describing how a particular book had proved inspiring, Daniel wrote to Mikaelsen that, while reading Bear, "I realized who I was, and I hated it." A few months later his letter took top state honors in the national Letters About Literature contest. "Daniel opened a door to help kids reflect," says Hogan-McLean.

Today Daniel is a leader in his school's chapter of Peace-Jam, a nationwide student organization that studies the deeds of Nobel Peace Prize laureates. With Courtney, 15, Daniel says, he gave her "the power" to choose what would become of their relationship. "If she wanted to kick me out of her life, so be it." Her choice: to resume their friendship. And he has become a champion of those in need. "I always end up befriending the people being bullied," he says. "It's satisfying to help people out."”

     

     You know how I said that this blog post wasn’t about me? Well, I wasn’t lying, but I didn’t tell the whole truth either. Part II will include my story and a bit more on these two sides of two different stories. In the mean time, as I take forever to post Part II, I would like for anyone reading this to just kinda think about these two stories. Were you bullied? Were you the bully? Are you not sure?

Just think about it. For me, please? *Bats eyes*