As a child, I always felt alone unless I was with my grandparents. My brother is eight years older and he had his endeavors, my parents were older when they had me, and I was the only kid in my neighborhood. When I think back on my childhood I was misunderstood and I was bullied my kindergarten year until third grade when I switched schools. While I was in elementary I never quite fit in with the boys or girls in my class. The boys thought I had coodies and the girls wanted me to conform to their demands. Demands such as give me your Lunchable sticker or I won’t be your friend go tell this guy I love them and then I’ll really be your friend if you don’t do what I tell you then we won’t talk to you. I refused to be their flunky so I opted to be alone. When I tried to tell my teacher what was happening the teacher would just say don’t be a tattle tale. I genuinely for the life of me had no idea why these girls when out of their way to make my days at school miserable. I never told my parents or my family what I was going through. I thought if my teacher didn’t care why would my parents. The only adult I told about my situation was my maternal grandma.
Grandma: "What’s wrong baby?"
6 year old Britt: "These girls are mean to me in school."
Grandma: "Really! What do they do?"
6 year old Britt: "They won’t play with me and make fun of me in front of the other kids. They talk about my hair and things I say."
(One of the reasons I don't wear braids as an adult)
Grandma: "The next time they make fun of you I want you to tell them this...."
The next day I said exactly what my Grandma told me to saw word for word to the Regina George of the group. Although I was able to express the internal aggression I possessed I was sent to the principles office my grandmother's words.
When my mother came to pick me up the teacher told my mother what was said.
When the girls came over I proceeded to say “ You know what I’m tired of your sh*t! You can go ahead and say what you want now but by the time you turn 16 you’ll be stuck with a sh*t load of babies in a dead-end job alone with no one”. Looking back it might not have been the best thing to tell a six-year old but it sure felt good! The girls were segregating me and treating me as an inferior individual. My grandma taught me how to stand up for myself because no one else would. She might have had brash solutions to any altercation but she was a fighter being a single mother of four. My grandmother's resilience continues to influence me when things seem gloomy. Although I'm a little scorned I'm grateful that it didn't affect me as bad as other people who have been bullied. My imagination was formed from instances such as this and I learned how to judge a person by their actions and not by the group.