Anastasia Basil at The Huffington Post wrote a wonderful article about “Is Your Daughter a Bully”? What makes the article so good is that she share’s her story and then shares her feelings of how to identify. It is excellently written and her story is familiar to many immigrants. In it she says:
“My family was definitely not white bread; we were more like sprouted grain. Here’s the thing about sprouted grain: kids don’t like it. My classmates regularly asked: Does your family make togas out of Kmart bedsheets? Do you wear them on weekends? Why is your father so hairy? American mothers all around me were baking chocolate chip cookies while my mother was feeding me a daily diet of thick yogurt made from imported sheep’s milk.Fage and Chobani, where were you when I needed you to make me cool?
Things got bad in sixth grade when two girls (let’s just call them Life-Ruiner 1 and 2) decided to make me miserable because my skin was not the color of a peach crayon, it was the color of an olive. In the white-flight suburbs of the early ’80s, this meant I was the color of barf.
Some Bullying Highlights From My Life-Ruiners
- They regularly put dead bees inside my desk, lunch bag and pencil box.
- They summoned the entire sixth grade class to surround me at recess chanting“Kill, Kill, Kill” in unison until I fell backward and hit my head against a metal door
- They threatened to leave bowls of anti-freeze in my backyard for my dog. And when my dog did die (from a tumor) they gave me a card that said, “We’re glad your only friend in the world died.” Everyone in the class signed it.
- Some of their parents joined in the fun — one dad called me Gorilla Toes for years.
- On bus trips they would invite me to sit next to them and then push me into the aisle.”
These are no doubt painful recollections. I wouldn’t want to ruin her whole story for you. You should read it yourself and you can at the link provided here. I hope you get as much out of it as I did.