You were the ones that used to pick on me when I was a kid because I was always smaller than the other kids and you knew you could get away with it. You called me four-eyes because I had to wear glasses, and if there was a group of kids hanging around the playground, I usually wasn’t invited over.
You were the ones that always picked me last when divying up sides for games in gym class. You never thought I could do it: you thought I was too small, I didn’t have the moves, that I would bring your team down. And if you did pick me finally for a scratch football game, you’d make sure I never get my hands on the ball and get any real experience.
You know who you are.
You were the ones that used to avoid me in high-school because I had strange tastes in music and never even tried to understand why I might prefer Captain Beefheart over the Beatles. Harry Partch over Beethoven. You didn’t even try to see that there were other viewpoints besides your own.
You were the ones that always considerded me great best-friend material but never good enough to fuck. I got to hear all about how badly you wanted someone else, and even helped you get the one you wanted before you decided you didn’t want him anymore. Even though it tore me up inside. And even if I told you that I had feelings for you the best I ever got was a smile before you turned away. I had a ton of ladies who wanted to be friends, but didn’t lose my virginity until I was 28.
You know exactly who you are.
Even now, you’re the ones who see me sitting by myself in the break room or at lunchtime and never think to come sit with me, so I usually eat alone. Every now and then you all go to Hooters for lunch together but somehow think I’m above all that and never invite me along. You’re the one who jokes around with all the other employees, but never with me, but please, feel free to borrow my newspaper when you like.
You know who you are.
So, if I come across as somewhat bitter these days, it’s just because my life has brought me here. There’s always going to be a wall, and sometimes it’s damned difficult trusting people enough to break through.
Story of my life, Euty… and I’m still young. Dammit… memories… coming back… make them go away!
::sigh::
I’ve read some thoughtful things, Euty, on those boards… but never one that struck home with me so accurately that it actually made me get a little misty-eyed.
So I offer a massively heartfelt “Fuck you” to everyone that’s ever fucked me over.
I was waiting until we went on that business trip to Amsterdam, to invite you along to lunch. Hope you’ll show me the ropes in the Red Light District:)
Been there, been done to like that, and I’ve got some bad news for you, Euty, old bean – chances are, they don’t know.
Those little slights of your former and current life, the thousand thousand minor paper cuts from which you’re slowly bleeding to death – to those who have wounded you, odds are that they weren’t significant events in their lives. If you confronted one of your childhood bullies today with what they’d done to you way back when, they’d probably say “Wha? I don’t remember doing anything like that. Did I really? Gosh…”
[sub]Okay, they probably wouldn’t say “gosh” – no one says “gosh” anymore – but you get the idea.[/sub]
I was going to offer some helpful advice below, but I may need to go away and think about it for a while…
Yeah…it’s true. They DON’T know who they are. If they were insightful and aware enough to know who they WERE, they wouldn’t have been such ignorant asses in the first place.
Wow, Euty! You and I could be twins! Delete any mention of “small” from your post, and insert “fat”, and you have the story of MY life!!
With one notable exception: I lost my virginity at 12. And then again (this time with A REAL WOMAN, and not a stolen copy of Playboy magazine!) at 25.
But seriously, cheer up man!! I firmly believe that life sucks for everyone (why else would the “cool” kids pick on those of us who are small, ugly, fat, not-so-bright, etc. than that their lives sucked too? The picking upon obvious targets, I think, is purely a defense mechanism.* 'I’m better than him, and if I point it out publicly, I’ll feel better!* I have yet to meet a single person who thinks that their life is/has been REALLY good. We’re all trapped in our own little, private, hells, from Bill Gates to me to you to the Pope to Tom Cruise… all of us!). I think it’s supposed to be a learning experience.
Anyways, my point is: uh… shit, I dunno… I guess it’s: Buck up! It’s not THAT bad!! (usually, at least!)
PS: a hearty, Super King Kamehameha FUCK YOU! to all of you who have picked upon others! (This includes me, of course… I did many shameful things in my foolish youth.)
I’m only speaking of the “at work” part of this. I am in a fairly similar boat regarding the rest of what you wrote.
Having been in this situation, I have one or two quick questions: Have you ever called them over to your table when you’re sitting alone (“Hey Sue! Joe! Empty seats over here!”) Have you ever told them that you’d like to be included to Hooters trips (“You guys are going to Hooters? Mind if I join you?”)?
You have?
Then fuck them. Sideways. They’re unmitigated assholes who aren’t worthy of being pissed on if they were on fire. Seriously: they’re rude, clique-ish fuckwads who are self-evidently the product of years of selective in-breeding. Their assholeishness is so huge that, depending on my work situation, I might consider looking for another job. The main advantage to sticking around, however is that these people eventually turn nasty on one another. Then you can sit back and watch their ‘happy’ little group rip themselves to shreds.
You haven’t?
Well…then how are they supposed to know that you want to go? That you do want company? I had it out with my co-workers about 6 months ago, asking why I was never invited to go out with them, go in on a pizza or whatever. They seemed honestly shocked and said that since I always had my nose buried in a book at lunch, they didn’t think I’d be interested. I’ve been invited ever since.
Lots of people, IMHO, are well-meaning clods. They’re not out to be mean, they just lack the sensitivity that a brick has. It would be great if they’d ask you first, but they probably won’t. If you don’t let them know you’re interested, they won’t make the first move.
That said, regarding the other people who you and I apparently both knew (the touch-football thing in particular), I offer a hearty: I hope they die slowly: alone, unloved and unmourned.
Well, no. They’d say, “You too, huh? Man, I went through the same horrible things…”
EVERYONE goes through it. I don’t know a single person who didn’t, either at school or at home or wherever. Some people shrug and say “Well, that’s life” and reflect on the good times and move along happy. Others maybe need a little encouragement.
You went to high school with kids who listened to the Beatles and Beethoven? I would have killed to have gone to school with kids who listened to the Beatles and Beethoven! Try Alice Cooper and Black Sabbath, if you want to talk bonehead classmates.
Your sad tale sounds all too familiar, but the situation never really bothered me because, you see, I really AM better than all those other people. It’s very gratifying to be able to understand that.
Drop by next time you’re in NYC…we’ll spin some Harry Partch sides, split a slab of liver n’ onions, and snicker at hoi polloi.
Euty, I think I’m your reincarnation, 'cept you’re not dead.
Without going into too much detail . . . I got picked on because I was:
[ul]poor
small
smart in an annoying way
“uncool” (whatever the fuck cool was, I wasn’t it)[/ul]
because I didn’t:
[ul]listen to music
(later) listen to the right music
read/look at porn
wear the right clothes
smell right
make fun of others’ shortcomings
excel at a sport[/ul]
because I did:
[ul]join the debate team
spend copious amounts of time on the computer/online
help people with their schoolwork
do my own schoolwork
accept what they said about me[/ul]
My close friends knew why I was losing my sanity. My family sorta knew. The rest of the world either didn’t know or thought I was just messed up.
It’ll be two years ago in June I graduated from hell, part two (part one was grade school, which is another story).
My view of the world changed a bit when I found the reason why some of the popular girls at school didn’t talk to me. It wasn’t that they thought I was a dork, but rather that they wre slightly intimidated by me - they were worried that they’d say something stupid, or that I might find the conversation beneath me. They weren’t malicious in my case, they just had the wrong end of the stick.
Of course, now I have to go and hang around the SDMB which is full of people that I find myself intellectually intimidated by.
Uke, do you fry the onions with the liver or fry them separately and, most importantly, do you fry the liver in the pan in which you have first fried up the bacon nice and crisp?
I ended up dating one of the “popular” chicks when I was a high school senior…head cheerleader AND Homcoming Queen. Gorgeous, shapely, but stupid as a bag o’ hammers, as was her circle of friends.
At one point I was approached by a passel of the female intelligentsia, who sat me down to ask just WHY exactly Sandi (yeah, she was a Sandi, too) were an item…what the hell did we TALK about when I took her to the Bergman film festivals? They weren’t too impressed when I cited the fellatio.
Astro/Bunny: I admit I’m not a big liver and onion fan…I was just trying to picture what a couple of Partch-loving oddballs would decide to snack on while enjoying an intimate Elitist Moment…
“Put on the pot and get out th’ butter and th’ salt and pepper! We’ll discuss the Great Questions over big steaming plates of BOILED CABBAGE!” – Mister Natural and Professor Wanowsky, in R. Crumb’s MR. NATURAL no. 3
Between 11 and 18 years of age I was a student at Turkey’s most famous & expensive private high school - on full scholarship. My family could hardly afford the sandwich I ate at lunch.
I was much smaller in size than most of the kids in my class, and I was always intimidated by the guys, and scorned by the girls.
I was your typical “loser”.
The major problem with all this was the fact that I CARED!
I wanted to be a part of my environment, and I couldn’t.
So, when I was 16 years old, and on the verge of a complete breakdown, I chose the only healthy way, and started not to care all that much…
It worked miracles.
I just became myself, accepted myself for what I am, and that showed in a more authoritative manner in all my actions.
People did start to take me more seriously (of course I am aware that this was also a result of our collective “growing up”) and this whole process of “high school” made me a guy totally at peace with himself.
Eutychus, I am 33 years old, and this foundation formed by very difficult years in my high school days has never been shaken. Though I never had a serious relationship with a woman until I was 28 years old, but that is a whole different topic of exploring my depths!! I figure you are a bit older than I am, but I do feel compelled to speak up for all of us who had gone through the things you so brightly described.
Those assholes who don’t notice a gem unless it is highly polished will always be there, and when you have come to the understanding that they are doing this because they have not reached the level of awareness that you have, you are superior to them. (But beware, you are superior, your tastes are not.) Your tastes are not superior to theirs, and their tastes are not superior to yours.
They can not hurt you anymore. Be yourself, be openly friendly to them, and it will pay off.
I mean I know that my tastes are not shared by the majority of the public anywhere.
I am a jazz fan - you know hardcore jazz - the type of music that has a tight circle of afficionados, and a world of haters! Well, so should I feel inferior?
I am a fan of absurd/obscure humor - Woody Allen style at the lightest. That doesnt put me in large circles of socialité!
On top of all this, I am Turkish, and this definitely makes a couple of eyebrows to automatically raise in any international environment. I have been through it all. I know much more about the goings on of the world, I am much more deeply rooted in different areas of culture and civilisation than many of them, but…hey, the eybrow is up there anyway!
I could extend this list, but this is becoming too damn long for a readable post anyway, so I will stop here.
Do not let anything put you down, no matter how much inner strength it requires, because, the above mentioned fact that you are superior to them is there - whether you recognize it at any given moment or not. No, let them develop themselves and reach your level, if they are interested. If not, fuck them, they are the losers.
You will always have some kind of company. There will always be people who recognize you for what you really are, and appreciate you for it.
And that should be tha only part of the world/life that is visible to you - especially in your down moments.
[sub]feeling damn light headed after such a long and heavy tirade…got a beer, anyone?[/sub]
I debated with myself for a good ten minutes about whether or not I was going to post this. I’ll get ripped for it, but hey, if it makes the thread rockin’, at least we’ll see some fur fly.
Posting a message about being teased as a child is one thing; I was picked on a lot when I was a kid, so I know what it’s like. It sucks ass. It can be a hard thing to get over.
But when you start coming up with howlers like “They don’t know. They can’t. They aren’t wired up the same way we are,” it’s time to get the hell off your high horse of self-pity and join the rest of us here in Realityland.
I can’t believe anyone would type that. Who the hell do you think you are? Do you think you’re the only one around with feelings that’ve been hurt a million times? Here’s the stunning reality of the situation: They DO know, they CAN, because they ARE wired up the same as you, and they go through the same things you do. Being teased as a child does not make you part of a secret cabal of superior beings who can now lord it over the masses because you’re secretly better and they just didn’t realize it. You are just the same as they, your trials and tribulations were probably not worse than those of a zillion other people (and yes, I am smart enough to know that some DO get it worse than others) and you are not entitled to any measure of moral supremacy because you suffered and you have fooled yourself into thinking others didn’t. I don’t know what’s worse; being arrogant enough to think your being teased was unusual or makes you different, or the fact that “I am a victim and that makes me better” is what passes for arrogance today. Anyone who thinks they were the One Who Suffered to everyone else’s benefit in school is a moron. The world is not divided into warring camps of The Cool Who Do The Bullying and The Uncool Who Receive It.
Remember the kid you knocked you down in eighth grade? He got the shit beaten out of him five times a week by his worthless, drunken father.
The girl who made fun of your weight when you were eleven was harrassed by her cold, loveless mother to STAND UP STRAIGHT and DO SOMETHING WITH YOUR HAIR and DON’T STEP OUTSIDE WITHOUT MAKEUP ON and WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO GET A BOYFRIEND (but the boy she really loved, who wasn’t the captain of the football team, wasn’t good enough for Mommy, oh, no) every day until she finally tried to kill herself when she was 16. Now she’s a college student who’s shy and wears long sleeves so you won’t see the scars.
The jock who wouldn’t pick you for his team was browbeaten and insulted by teacher after teacher after teacher, day in and day out for year after year, his soul being crushed little by little, until he was convinced he was stupid, and became so scared of school that he wouldn’t so much as open a book for fear everyone would call him dummy, and it’s a real shame because he was a wonderfully talanted artist and never got the chance to use it.
The snobby bitch who wouldn’t speak to you in high school wasn’t snobby at all; she was terrified every moment she was at school because she was afraid that if she spoke, the stuttering problem that took twice-weekly speech therapy lessons until she was eleven years old to control might suddenly come back. The snobby GUY who wouldn’t date YOU had been rejected by his first love when he was 14 and was so scared of women he couldn’t bear the thought of asking you out.
The clowns in the hallway that day who teased you for hanging out in the computer room were teased just as much as you by the last group of clowns.
The meathead who gave you noogies until you cried spent pretty much every night crying himself to sleep because he didn’t understand why his parents hated him and gave him away to the state so he could live with a crappy foster family, and he was jealous of you because he saw you with your parents when they picked you up after that school trip and he would have given anything, ANYTHING, to just have his Dad pick him up and kiss him the way yours did. He’s a semi-famous college football star now, might even get drafted, and he still cries at night because he has no family and nobody’s ever told him they love him.
That cheerleader who called you “Stenchy” because you weren’t one of the popular girls? She’s a lesbian. Yup. She was so hopelessly, terribly in love with that other girl in your class, but she didn’t have the courage to even admit her feelings to herself, and her horrid straight-Catholic parents, filled with the text of the Gospels and none of their spirit, sure didn’t make it any easier. Today she’s STILL struggling with her own sexuality, and frankly it’s still a tossup as to whether she’s going to broach the subject with that beautiful girl at work who might be gay, too, or whether she’ll just take the easy route and swallow that entire bottle of pills she’s semi-consciously been saving just for the occasion.
The one who teased you about your acne was just as bad an athlete as you and got teased for THAT ten times worse than you ever did because his stepfather called him a “worthless little runt” every now and then when Mom wasn’t around.
Phew.
I like a good rant every now and then about the injustices of the world, folks, so don’t get me wrong. But when you start coming up with navel-gazing bullsit like “they aren’t wired up the same way we are,” the problem is now yours, not anyone else’s. The problem is not that they lack sensitivity, it’s that YOU lack it. What, you think other people don’t feel this way? Jesus Christ, wake up.
Fenris is right, Euty; you ought to try ASKING them if you can go to Hooters. They probably think you dislike them. They were teased in school, too, you know. Picked on. Left out of the good parties. They’re afraid to approach you. They are just the same as you.
