Throughout my schooling, I seemed to be an easy target for bullies. Starting around elementary school, I was tormented during the day, only to come home and cry on my mom or dad’s shoulder at night. They would have phone conversations with my teachers and the bullying would stop… for a while. Before long, it would start back up again. It seemed endless to me at the time, like I was a boat in the middle of an ocean without a shore in sight.
Now, looking back on my childhood, I can see that the bullying was centered around stereotyping, specifically the “gay” stereotype. I am not trying to spread hatred or publicize this stereotype, but it is vital to my story, so it needs to be said. If you aren’t familiar with this, it is basically a boy who is not “into” the things “normal” guys are into. For example, when I was younger, I hated playing sports and I wasn’t very good either. This didn’t fit the other boys’ ideas of a “normal” boy, so they labeled me with the worst word they could think of: gay. I don’t think they understood what it truly mean. I know I didn’t. But to me, that hurt more than a punch in the face. Being singled out and put on a pedestal for ridicule made me vulnerable and really shaped who I am today. I still have that sensitivity, that impressionable attitude in which what others say about me means more than what I think. They’d also label me as other hurtful words that I will not restate here, as they are extremely explicit. This crushed me, making me unwilling to go to school and hating those around me, the ones making fun and laughing at me.
My elementary school trials were not limited to verbal abuse. One incident in particular still sticks with me, still impacts me today. I remember one day at recess, I was sitting against the wall of my school, watching the other kids run around with their friends and have fun. Then, two students, whose names will remain anonymous, came up to me and began to tease me, calling me harsh names and making jokes about my appearance and personality. But, it didn’t stop there. They began to kick me, hitting my shins until they bled. I didn’t do anything to stop them. I couldn’t really; they’d just hit me harder. So, I sat there until the end of recess, blotting my wounds with my pants, waiting until the students go away before rushing to the nurse.
That time in my life was rough, to say the least. The ideas of those around me were taken out on myself, physically and emotionally. They thought I was different, and they didn’t like it. So, instead of avoiding me and being mature about the situation, they attacked me. Stereotypes are not harmless “jokes” and games people play to make fun of those around them. They are not fake or simply false ideas. People really believe them. I can say from personal experience that they are real and detrimental to those who “fit the stereotype,” like myself. As a young child, my life was changed forever because of these stereotypes. Those days of torment really shaped who I am today; I am still impacted by those words and actions.
My purpose for writing this? I wanted to tell everyone reading this that stereotypes and what you think a person is like is hardly ever the way they are. Also, stereotypes are not harmless. They are not just jokes. When you make fun of someone, it isn’t a game you play. It’s harmful. And it hurts. You are never “just joking,” never playing around. An insult is an insult, no matter if “no offense” is added onto the end. Be careful what you say, because, again from personal experience, words hurt as much as actions.
