As a little
girl, my self esteem took years to grow in a school setting. Being an only child until age nine, I never
developed skills in socializing with my peers.
Sure, we had family friends with children. Mary was three years older then me. Her cousin Darren that would come to visit
was a year younger then me. Susan was a
couple years younger then me and Keith was a year younger. My friends I always wanted to play with lived
in the neighborhood: Shirley, Dale, and Lynn.
Even with all of them, I didn't get to see them often. When I did, I was very quiet because children
were to be seen not heard. Thus, when I
went to school, all the children and their different behaviors overwhelmed
me. I was the awkward little duckling.
One day, in
front of the old Roosevelt School, a group of us played. I always worried about playing there. I must have been in first or second grade and
believed the ghost stories. I would look
up to the top floor windows expecting to see a ghost child. Years later, in fifth grade, they opened the
second floor for our class. I still had
a solid respect for the possibility of any spirits that may still be around,
living on the third floor.
As we played, a
girl come over. She was special
needs. The kids I was with circled her
and began making fun of her. They called
her retarded and such. Fear and shame
spread through me. I didn't know what to
do. Though I stood outside the circle
and watched, I knew we were wrong. I was
wrong. If the ghosts were watching and
judging, I knew Jesus wasn't smiling down on me.
After a few
minutes, I tried to convince people to stop.
No one heard my voice. I walked
away. That didn't make me feel any
better. I tried to convince myself I
wasn't bad because I didn't call her a name.
Deep down, I felt guilt for not trying to stop the episode. I would like to say in the future I stood up
for people. Sure I did at times, I did
for her. That moment did change me. However, I didn't stand up for everyone in my
path. I let fear step in my way.
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