Intro: The Pen is mightier\u2026.<\/p>\n
6th grade. 1994-ish<\/p>\n
Social Studies \u2013 a relatively interesting class. I think we were talking about something health related, like \u201cdon\u2019t-do-drugs.\u201d I was listening to the consequences of smoking with rapt interest: lung disease and nicotine addiction. Who would want horrible things like that?!<\/p>\n
A girl named Jackie sat behind me. She was always mean to me for no reason. Well, when I asked her why she was mean, she said, “Because you’re SO annoying!\u201d which baffled me because she couldn\u2019t elaborate. Later I heard that I had ADD tendencies and tended to butt into other people’s conversations around me, so upon learning that, okay, I suppose that counts as annoying. I didn’t mean anything bad by it, though. It’s what you do when you’re lonely and you want to fit in. I didn\u2019t want to wear jeans and cute short tops like the rest of the girls. Maybe it was because I was a goodie-goodie, and I got good grades. Maybe Jackie was annoyed that teachers liked me. She kept putting her feet on the back of my chair. Her feet stuck through the hole in the plastic in the seat of the chair, poking my butt.<\/p>\n
So I politely turned around and whispered, \u201cJackie, your shoes are touching my butt. Could you please stop?\u201d She just stuck her tongue out at me. I turned back around. A few seconds later, she nudged me again. I turned around again. \u201cCould you please stop kicking my butt?\u201d I tried again, nicely. My mom\u2019s advice echoed in my head: \u201cTell the other kid that he or she is hurting your inside feelings.\u201d<\/p>\n
That might have worked in first grade, but not against Jackie. I could never defend myself verbally. If someone called me something mean, or said I looked dumb or my name was dumb or whatever, I didn\u2019t know what to do. I couldn\u2019t possibly say something mean back. People aren\u2019t supposed to say mean things \u2013 it\u2019s very hurtful and continues the cycle of pain, right? So I always ran to the teacher.<\/p>\n
Maybe Jackie didn\u2019t like me because I was a tattle-tale. I lost all my battles, but I won most wars, because the teachers punished the offending kids. Haha.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not TOUCHING your BUTT!\u201d Jackie whispered back, with a smirk.
\n\u201cYes, you are!\u201d
\n\u201cNo, I\u2019m not!\u201d
\n\u201cIs there a problem?\u201d the teacher asked finally, pausing in his efforts to separate the class into mini-groups to do a team activity.<\/p>\n
Jackie and I exchanged glances. \u201cNo,\u201d we both said.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen please be quiet,\u201d the teacher said.
\nShe put her feet down. Peace. A few minutes later, she gave me a very hard nudge on my butt. On purpose.<\/p>\n
I turned around. \u201cIf you don\u2019t stop, you\u2019ll be sorry!\u201d I threatened. She smirked. I fingered my pen, wondering how I was going to back that up. What could I do? What? Then I thought of something\u2026.<\/p>\n
I spun around and stuck my pen through the hole in the seat, drawing juicy black lines all over the top of her beautiful, white sneaker.<\/p>\n
\u201cHEY!\u201d she shouted, leaping up. I laughed about three good \u201cHahaha\u201ds before swallowing nervously. The teacher\u2019s voice suddenly boomed, \u201cRoxanne, Jackie, come up here now.\u201d<\/p>\n
My classmate\u2019s eyes shot fireballs at me as we both stood in front of the black board.<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay, class, continue working quietly in groups,\u201d the teacher instructed. \u201cOkay, girls, what happened?\u201d
\n\u201cShe drew on my shoe!\u201d Jackie screamed.
\n\u201cShe was kicking me in the butt over and over again,\u201d I said, \u201cEven though I asked her very nicely to please stop.\u201d
\n\u201cDid not!\u201d Jackie retorted.
\n\u201cYes, you did!\u201d I retorted back.
\n\u201cWell, she called me a bitch!\u201d Jackie accused, looking at our teacher.
\n\u201cWhat?! I did not! That would be mean!\u201d I protested, also looking at him, with my innocent eyes aghast. I didn’t know exactly what a ‘bitch’ meant, but my mom had told me it was a mean insult and I should never say it. She sometimes taught me things on a need-to-know basis.
\n\u201cShe also called me a whore!\u201d Jackie cried.<\/p>\n
I blinked. \u201cWhat? What\u2019s that?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
Jackie\u2019s jaw dropped straight open.
\n\u201cI couldn\u2019t have called you that. I don\u2019t even know what it means! What\u2019s a whore?\u201d I asked our teacher, who was shaking his head.
\n\u201cGo sit down, both of you.” Mr. Smith ran a hand through his hair. “Roxanne, you sit over there. Jackie, you sit over there. No more putting your feet up on the chairs.\u201d
\n\u201cBut! It wasn\u2019t me!\u201d she protested, angrily.<\/p>\n
I smiled triumphantly. Yes, I often won the battles. The teachers tended to believe me because I never lied. <\/p>\n
\u201cMr. Smith, what\u2019s a whore?\u201d I asked him after class.
\n\u201cGo home and ask your mother,\u201d he said firmly.<\/p>\n
I shuffled away, discontent. Why wouldn\u2019t he just tell me? It must be something SO bad.<\/p>\n
Fast forward a few hours. I burst through my front door.
\n\u201cHi, honey!\u201d came my mom\u2019s voice from the kitchen. She was preparing me an after-school snack.
\n\u201cHi, Mom! I called back, dumping my backpack off to the side. \u201cWhat\u2019s a whore?\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Intro: The Pen is mightier\u2026. 6th grade. 1994-ish Social Studies \u2013 a relatively interesting class. I think we were talking about something health related, like \u201cdon\u2019t-do-drugs.\u201d I was listening to the consequences of smoking with rapt interest: lung disease and nicotine addiction. Who would want horrible things like that?! A girl named Jackie sat behind…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[6,11],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6382","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-amusing","category-story-or-poem","category-6","category-11","description-off"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/roxannemodafferi.net\/RBlog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6382","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/roxannemodafferi.net\/RBlog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/roxannemodafferi.net\/RBlog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/roxannemodafferi.net\/RBlog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/roxannemodafferi.net\/RBlog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6382"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"http:\/\/roxannemodafferi.net\/RBlog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6382\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6390,"href":"http:\/\/roxannemodafferi.net\/RBlog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6382\/revisions\/6390"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/roxannemodafferi.net\/RBlog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6382"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/roxannemodafferi.net\/RBlog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6382"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/roxannemodafferi.net\/RBlog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6382"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}