My Life - Original Writing

977 WordsJul 17, 20154 Pages
When my son was ten years old, he asked me if I had ever been bullied before, or if I’d ever bullied anyone. I told him no! Not me! He said, “Mom, Nana told me that you were bullied, and you bullied people before, too.” I wondered if I should tell him the truth in that moment, that yes, when I was your age and younger, I was bullied, and yes, I bullied others, too. The thought that I could jeopardize my relationship with my son scared me. I could see it dwindling. The actions from my past might make my son look at me differently. Or to go back: I grew up at 623 Teach Street in Hampton, Virginia. When I was five, my mother and I had to move into my grandmother’s house because my mother and father were separated. It was the first time I felt pain in my heart. After going through the separation issues with my mom and dad, I had to deal with cousins that lived at my grandmother’s house, cousins who bullied me every chance they got whenever we would come over for family gatherings. There were times when they didn’t bully me. But it was an often occurrence when we would visit my grandmother’s house. I was bullied because of the color of my skin, my eyes, my cheekbones, my long flowing dark brown hair, and my height. There were always questions: Why do you look so different? I had no answer because I just didn’t know what to say. I questioned myself. After all, I was lighter than my brother and cousins. My eyes are shaped differently; I’m shorter than everyone else; my

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