Why Do They Hate Me

However, for me, elementary school is a somewhat painful memory. Throughout most of my grade school years I was bullied–physically and verbally–almost everyday. The kids on the playground would exclude me, my “friends” would be my friends one day and not the next, and then there would be the days that they kicked me or hurt me in some form or fashion. Of course, looking back now, it seems like petty, childish games, but in the moment it was a huge blow to the fragile eight year old I was. It wasn’t all terrible, though. Before the bullying I was naive, quick to trust, and fragile. Afterwards though, from all these experiences I learned forgiveness, kindness, grace, and who to place my trust in. As I grew up, I swore I’d never treat anyone the way I had been treated and I wouldn’t stand for bullying; no child should have to experience that kind of emotional and physical

During my early years I was bullied in and out of school. My first experience with bullying started when I was in daycare. A girl named Kelly started bullying me. Every time I saw her she would talk about either my hair or my clothes or the way I looked. One day, my brother and Kelly’s sister were watching Kelly and I. Kelly’s aunt had told her to leave me alone. And after her aunt left the room, Kelly started pushing me to see what I would do and after a while I got really angry, so I punched her in the face. As her aunt came back in the room, she saw Kelly on the floor with me standing over her. Kelly’s Aunt then said, “Did I not tell you to leave her alone.” After that experience I knew that I had the

Being African American, as well as growing up in a State where only 1.3 percent of the population resembles yourself is difficult. I was born in Chicago, Illinois, and adopted to my parents who took me to Utah days later. As the only African American in my grade I have had to go through personal struggles in my life that many of my friends will never experience. I always knew that there would be those who would not accept me on the simple basis of my looks, but I did not know how much internal agony these people can cause. Getting called a “nigger” on your first day of high of school causes immediate uneasiness, and self-consciousness. I was called that word as well as many others daily. Slowly, but noticeably; I developed an anxiety disorder.

When I was in the second grade we had a new student in our class named Yvonne. Yvonne had recently arrived from Haiti and knew very little English. Due to the fact that she didn’t understand English a whole lot, the other kids in my class thought it would be funny to call her names and bully her. One day we were at electives. Our class was divided into two, some going to Dance others going to Drama. The doors were across from each other so we could see what was happening. I was in Dance, as well as Yvonne. We were practicing our routine for Ciara’s “1, 2 step”. Yvonne was quick to pick up the dance and was amazing at it, which I think made the other kids in our class resent her. Our instructor dismissed us 5 minutes early to pack up our things. I quickly went to my corner and grabbed my backpack. When I looked up I saw a bunch of girls surrounding Yvonne. I remember hearing them calling her names like ‘ugly’ and ‘loser’. I noticed that no one moved to defend her. One of the girls actually pushed her to the ground and took her backpack dumping all her things on the floor; that’s when I acted. I pushed my way through the girls and placed myself in front of Yvonne. I grabbed her backpack out of the girl’s hand pushed her and called her a ‘mean witch for making fun of Yvonne’. I also told the other girls that if they messed with Yvonne, they would have to

Cerritos High taught 4 grades as well, but there were 2200 students. The school was like a small town, a town where Blacks, Hispanics, Koreans, Taiwanese, Japanese, Egyptian and White teenagers were pushed together for 7 hours a day. I had never been around so many different cultures, ideals and ideas. I was not prepared, I was shell shocked and the other guys could smell it! I was beaten up 4 times my first year, the worst being an African American kid who decided extorting money from me every Monday was a good way to earn some extra cash. I was miserable, not sleeping; scared. I once told him no and tried to walk away but he just laughed, slammed me into the ground and he got the money. I was rightfully scared of that kid, but I was even more scared to tell my parents. I didn’t want to be the guy who hid behind his parents, I wanted to hurt that kid but I had no reasonable way to do it myself, and at this point I knew it couldn’t go on so I told my Dad. He handled it very calmly, told me not to worry, it would stop, and the kid would leave me alone. The following night my Dad told me that kid, the guy who hit me, extorted money from me, made my life horrible, that that kid’s father was the Vice President of a local bank. Guess whose father was extremely unhappy to learn his son was acting like a punk? Oh yes, Karma, it

The school bus was a cesspool of all sorts of not-so -nice things. I had a very strict bus driver, and a couple of my friends and I made quite a bit of noise, so the bus driver split us up, assigning me a seat with the 8th graders. It was like waving a baby in front of a pit-bull, and I got destroyed. The girls were nice enough but those 8th grade boys really enjoyed calling me all sorts of various male genitalia-based names that I probably shouldn’t repeat here. It was my first experience as a bullying victim, and I was determined to make it my

Then my family moved Yorktown, Indiana the summer before my 4th grade year and I started attending a public school. I only made two friends that year and I was bullied for everything from where I moved from to the kind of shoes I wore. I made very few more friends through 5th and onto 6th and 7th grade and dealt with more bullying. Towards the end of my 8th grade my English teacher who I adored made the class split up into groups and then preform a scene from Romeo and

In those days, I could never comprehend how my actions warranted my removal. I was raised by a successful Black single mother who taught me at an early age what it meant to be a Black woman in today’s American society. The daughter of sharecroppers from Mississippi, education was always important to my mother. My grandparents worked hard to make sure she could receive the education they could not and in turn, my mother stopped at nothing to make sure my brother and I had the best educational experiences possible. She always encouraged me to use my voice, to ask questions and to stand up for myself. The middle school I went to was majority minority, mostly Black and Latino, but my Gifted and Talented classes were nearly all White. Having experienced microaggressions and in some cases blatant racism throughout her career, my mother quickly figured out she had to work that much harder being Black and female. She would constantly tell me to “be quicker, be slicker, be smarter”—essentially meaning to stay on your toes and two steps ahead of

Bringing back when I was in elementary/middle school at Soaring Heights Charter School. There were a lot of bullies in my school. I was one of the kids being bullied. I was mainly bullied because of my learning disability. I was also bullied because I was really short back then as well as doing nasty habits. Because of these reasons, I had limited friends and had social issues with talking and making friends.

As of today, I've attended four different schools. In elementary school, I was constantly bullied for being Asian. Peers would make fun of my eyes for being "too big" for an Asian, asked inappropriate questions regarding if I ate a certain domesticated animal, or talk to me as if I couldn't understand English. To overcome the bullying, I became someone who I wasn't. I was not myself and I hated it. I had to be this other person just so people did not bother me. I started to become the bully, changed what I ate, how I dressed and started to cover up my insecurities. I use to put my hair in ponytails or in a bun then leaving it down because I was made fun of my buddha shaped ears. I didn't want to speak to my family because they all had a specific

After graduating at the top of my 8th grade class and being named the valedictorian, my future appeared to be bright. By this time, I already envisioned having a career in the military. The road to getting to the top of my class was by no means easy. The mental strain placed on me through bullying was immeasurable. I knew what I wanted to do in life, but being degraded by the people who were supposed to stand by my side as friends took away a lot of my motivation and confidence. How could the same people I trust steal things from me and harass me? The effects of these incidents were displayed throughout my ninth-grade year in high school

My lunch was taken from me, so I went home hungry most days. That really sucked and I tried to say no, but whenever I tried to tell my tormentor no, my lunch was forcefully taken from me. I was called many names, and even though many of the names I were called are not school appropriate, let me tell you a few semi-school appropriate names I was called. I had rumors spread about me that I was gay, and I was called gay (I’m not gay), all because I had a slightly higher voice than some of the other guys in my grade. It really hurt and changed everyone’s opinion of me. I was also teased for being a ginger, for having “Freakles”, and for being bad at things that I spent a lot of my free time doing. I would be told that I’m not good at any video games I played, or for being bad at soccer. I got into fights with people and came home with big, nasty, bruises. I was scarred both mentally and physically, and no other person should have to endure such a curse. Like I said earlier, bullying changed me.

It was the first day of second grade, I walked into my classroom, and I heard someone calling my name. It was the Bully (Stephanie). I didn't know that, or even what being "a bully" was. And of course, me being the social butterfly that I am, I went to go talk with her. She started laughing and calling me stupid. Also, the teacher was busy with another student, so she didn't see any of this happening. When the teacher was done helping the student, I told her what happened and she said that she would

I never forget what I got bullied by classmates for three years in the middle school. The middle school where I went was small and had two classrooms; there were twenty students in each classroom. Thus, most students knew each other and were friendly. I was friendly with them when I was a freshman. However, when I became a sophomore, some classmates started bullying me every time. For example, team members always hit and shouted at me if my soccer team lost in physical education class: “We lost this game because you acted like a moron!”, and kicked me. Furthermore, some classmates stole my stuff, such as textbooks or school supplies. Thirdly, some classmates hit me since superiority complex to show they were stronger than me because I was short

The school atmosphere was different I was hanging with Caucasian girls and the African American children did not understand what I was doing being so close to children opposite of my own culture. At that point, I was unsure of what their problem was but realized they were sheltered from other cultures and raised differently. This caused several fights as a child because other children would call me a “little white girl” and I had no idea of what that meant and was offended. I was raised around majority boys in the neighborhood, until I started playing softball, some would consider me as a tomboy. So