The End of the School Days


Yesterday I did something that made me realize how lucky my oldest son is. I put his last school picture in the frame that holds his 1st through 12th grade pictures. There it was complete and in each picture he is smiling and happy. There are many days that I feel like it was just yesterday that I took him to the bus for his first day of school. I recall both the excitement I had for him and the fear I had that he would have a similar experience as I did.

So now I put up his twelfth grade picture and realize that he did not have the experience I did. He did not get bullied. He was lucky. While there was certainly some times when friends weren’t exactly friendly, he never dealt with a bully and he always stayed positive throughout. I wonder what it was about him. Certainly he is a laid back kid. He always was. Things just roll off his back and he doesn’t get emotional about many things.

Also, he was willing to talk his mind to people and not let them get to him. He was always willing to defend his opinions with confidence. Maybe these were the things that worked for him. Maybe his personality helped him where it didn’t help me. I know for him this was a good thing and I am happy for him, but at the same time I am sad for some of his friends that didn’t have it so easily.

I remember stories he shared of friends that were being picked on. One time I helped mentor one friend and hopefully he felt better afterward. I guess in some ways I am just glad that the end of High School is near for him without incident. But not a day goes by that I don’t think of the others that I share this site and stories with. Those that didn’t have an easy time. Maybe one day I will interview my son to see why he thinks he was so lucky. But for now I will put the last picture in his “School Days” frame and be happy that I can look at it and know that his school days were not like my school days.

7 thoughts on “The End of the School Days

  1. Bullying Stories, I am being bully right now. I love your site and have commented many times on your sites and on sites like these and I have always appreciated the smart-discussions your site offers. Right now, I have two different trolls ruining blog-sites by creating false-comments and attacking other sensible-bloggers like myself in their attempt to over-throw the blog-topic. The names they are going by today on WordPress are “John” who is a she and an identity thief, and “Janel” who stole my name several months ago. Troll-Trackers reports that 94% of confirmed-trolls on WordPress use only a single name with less than five digits to minimize their “tractability” by viewers. I love your sites and simply do not want to see them disrupted by their trolling. They are being tracked currently by a professional organization as well as one of the two is being monitored by the authorities for further possible criminal actions. What they do is to Google my name (JanCorey) and see where I have placed comments, then “they” John blasts the site with his rants. He teams up with some of her Troll-buds, exchange links and saturate the link I visit and comment upon with similar attacking-comments directed against those they are collectively jealous of believe their volume of attacks establish a form of uniformity which is typical of their psychosis according to the T.T.Experts. Fortunately, I am told, John happened to violate the criminal code and the prosecution is now conducting an investigation of John and charges will be coming against “John” soon I am told. While that’s a relief, it still remains that “John/michellefrommadison/Janal/Jyson/Sherrry/Kim ect, ect” will continue their rants until “John” is formally sanctioned or imprisoned by the Courts. When you see “his” comments, you’ll know in a second which post is “his” and which are from legitimist guest-cementers to your site. Hre’s banned from about three sites per day according to T.T. John is now actually being monitored be an national organization who intervenes on the type of internet bullying and they report they are also monitoring “John” which also alleviates some of the stress caused by trolls like John. They are suggesting a dollar amount in sanctions against “John” that could really allow me to retire quite comfortably, but I would only use that money to donate to other organizations that fight bullying and abuse. Most people are not aware of what internet-bullying actually is and that most states now have consequences in-place for violators like John?Janal/Jyson/ect. Praise the Lord!

  2. Ohh Thank you so much, the experience is taxing for sure but I have to stand up for being law-abiding. I can try to look it up, but is there a easy link to them?

  3. I am a survivor of Bullying. I still struggle with it at some level every day. I finally have developed the courage to share my story. I will be doing my first assembly for 900 8th/9th graders next week. I’m hoping to be able to support and educate as many kids, parents and teachers as possible. The following is a snippet of my Bullying experience:
    Chapter 3
    Freshman Year: Daydreams and Nightmares
    The daily routine from hell was back in session. It was mid-March, as I glanced at the clock and prepared myself for another journey through panic, fear and anxiety. I worked really hard, as I did every day, to look positive until we got through lunch. My smile had worked well that morning and my practiced masculine “How ya doing”? elicited three responses before lunch. After that, it was about preparation and survival. The last period of the day always dragged as my mind waffled between absorbing the teacher’s information and designing the strategic stealth plan. I was up on the second floor, a good distance from my locker. I knew that I would have to think quick, move smart and keep my head down as usual.
    In one swooping motion, the hands of the clock hit 2:20, the teacher’s voice trailed with assignment reminders as I rocketed from the chair. I hit the door quick beating out the majority of the freshmen and made a clean turn to the right dodging the onslaught of my peers. My eyes focused, the legs fired, and I cleared the stairs without a hint of stumbling. The lobby and main staircase at Bishop Guertin High School resounded with historical perspective, philosophy and the ornate points of view of the Catholic faith. There was no time to embrace these spectacles now as I darted down the stairs towards the locker room. My goal had to be achieved; getting to the bus before anyone else.
    As I approached the bottom of the main staircase, I turned sharply to the left and faced the most challenging piece of my daily flight. Ahead lay the narrow, sharply descending stairs cluttered with bodies of numerous pubescent boys. Not all were faced with my dilemma. Many of the guys were relaxed, laughing and taking their sweet time rambling down the stairs. Today was more stagnant than normal from both a kinetic and aromatic perspective. I wanted to scream, “Get out of my way, let me breathe and allow me some peace”. Finally when it seemed like the bottleneck would not cease, I spilled out into the cafeteria framed by khaki green cement blocks.
    Seconds were cerebrally interpreted as minutes as I sprinted towards the left back corner of the café. Woven within the cement blocks, 700 lockers lay in waiting. In one deliberate motion, the right hand hit the combination lock as my left arm hurdled out of my corduroy sport coat. Three muscle memory turns, and the locker creaked open as my right arm cleared the confines of my coat. The nylon blue paisley tie, absurdly wide in width, was removed in a fraction of a moment and tossed on the hook. It shared time with the brown and yellow striper and the mega-sectional red, white and blue edition. I grabbed my so seventies winter jacket, brown with the fox fur collar, leather gloves and psychedelic stocking hat and booked it for the exit.
    The intensity of attaining my immediate objective had to maintain balance with the long range goal of looking cool and calm at all times. I caught myself as I passed through the doors leading to the parking lot and shifted into a calculated and brutally contained cantor. I was struggling to breathe and could feel my heart pounding. Ahead of me, spread out over a large parking lot was a cornucopia of transport vehicles. Standing tall and gleaming brightly among the sedans, (SUV’s and minivans waited twenty years in the future) the yellow chariot called my name. Picking up speed, I galloped towards the bus and hit the stairs hard and fast.
    I swept around the corner and slid heavily into the first seat on the right. Finally, I gave myself a chance to take a breath of air and experience a second of relaxation. Phase one of the afternoon obstacle course was complete. Several seconds passed before the next student jumped on the bus. This gave the bus driver, John, a moment to say hello. John always called me John because he said that I looked like John Lennon. As the kids pushed and stumbled onto the bus, I prepared myself for the fifty minute phase two of the journey. The tension again built up in my shoulders and stomach as I placed myself in the position. It was a tremendous struggle every day to become invisible. As the bus began to traverse forward I opened my book, focused all cerebral neurons on my hearing, and deadened my eyes.
    In a corner of my brain I held on to the hope that after three months out of site, the focus on terror would have ceased. The possibilities swirled. Would it include being pulled to the back and getting beaten up, igniting my books on fire, having cigarette ashes dumped on my head, or having my personal belongings destroyed? Therefore, you can see why every trip was a dangerous and panic laden trek for me. As I deadened my eyes my saving grace, daydreaming, took hold. On this day, my dream carried me to my dentist’s office. I was sitting in the chair enjoying a conversation with the dental hygienist, Doreen.
    We traveled without incident along our route from southern New Hampshire through several northeastern Massachusetts towns. At each stop another bully would prepare to exit. Maintaining my place in dream world, my breathing would come to a halt. As the antagonist meandered down the stairs, a sigh of relief would be accompanied by the thought that one less idea of torture existed on this particular ride. The return home was going as well as could be expected, until the rumbling began. I came out of my dream state when I heard the meshing of words that included “Big Bird”, “faggot”, “runt” and, “spit”. Eventually the words blended into the sentence, “Let’s spit on Big Bird when he gets off the bus”. Anxiety, anger, embarrassment, assessment and preparation all became entangled in my thought process. My stop was approaching and now it was clear what the plan was. There were ten kids still on the bus. Two were leading the charge, three others followed without blinking, two jumped aboard to protect their reputations and three sat and looked away. John, the bus driver heard everything and did nothing.
    John enjoyed stopping the bus on a dime and we were jolted forward by the quick pump of the brakes. I grabbed my bag, barely able to breathe as I initiated my launch to safety. I figured that if I jumped from the bottom step of the bus I could take two quick leaps and be out of spittoon range. Unfortunately, it had been raining and the snow banks were slushy and soft. My first jump landed me in a foot of water causing me to slip and bend backwards. I pushed forward hoping to hit the top of the bank and roll to the other side. As I hit the crest of the bank, I could hear the interfacing of gears as the bus moved forward. I also heard the taunting and the laughing as the cruel action took place. When my foot impacted the wet snow, I sunk to my knee in slush. My momentum carried me over the wet mound of snow and I rolled into a bitterly cold puddle on the other side.
    I stood, slowly, as my ears and nose still captured soft laughter and diesel fuel dancing on waves of sound and smell. I felt numb, not from the frigid environment but from the internal humiliation. I knew that I had been hit and I also knew there was nothing I could do about it. I checked and found that one lugee had caught me in the back and the other was disgustingly seeping into the cotton fibers of my hat. Picking up my soaked school bag, I turned to walk home with a sad grin protruding from my face. I quickly headed into my house, dumped my wet clothes, went into my room, and traveled back to my safe haven. My day dream continued until mom and dad got home. Small talk ensued, but I expressed nothing to suggest that bullying was part of my daily life.

  4. I dont think bullying is right but i do think that bullying is somthing that cannot be stopped. Bullying is a form of hurting another physicaly, verbaly, and emotionaly. Ive been bullied before but if you share it with other people it can be a bad thing and a good thing i shared it with my family and they eventualy stopped it. I shared it with one of my so called friends and it got passed around and twisted like when 5 years olds play telephone. When it got to the bully it wasnt good news. When it got back to me, i told my family again. they prevented bullying from me, but as the years go on it keeps happening just remember you have people who will stand up for you and just stand strong be that kodiac bear you think you are. Dont just think you are, KNow that you are stronger than any bully that comes in your way. Your that bulldozer or that snow plower trying to get rid of the snow in this case the hatrid, broken hearts, crushed feelings and other harsh things that might be in your life. STAND STRONG. Dont let nobody get in your way !! 🙂

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