Words you said as a kid, and regret

[Bill in Oregon]

I started grade school in 1958, and things were a lot different then than they are now. We had different rules. "You never hit a kid with glasses." "You always hold the door open for girls and women." That sort of thing. There were remnants of chivalry and some "fair play" in the rules, but when it came to kids with birth defects, uncontrollable conditions, even then-unknown disabilities like dyslexia there was NO MERCY. I am ashamed to have been part of that cruelty and look back on it 70 years later with great sadness.
At General Wainwright Elementary School in Fircrest, Washington, there were a couple of kids with cerebral palsy who were good souls but never had much of a chance. To us they might have been harmless space aliens that we mindlessly called spazzes, short for spastic, a term of derision. I had a classmate who struggled to read out loud when asked by our teacher. Millicent Rutherford would read words like Edwardo as Ecuado and North Americans as "Nortamakinos" and everyone would laugh. Despite the thick lenses in her glasses, her brain was simply misinterpreting the letters she saw. One day in sixth grade after a humiliating reading, she wet her pants at her desk. I can't imagine the scar that left on that poor girl as we laughed and pointed.
Another hallmark of this era was the pre-dawn of the American obesity epidemic. There were a handful of kids in all six grades at Wainwright who were forced by body type to wear "husky" sized clothes -- offered by Levi, Lee, Sears, Penney's, etc. These slightly overweight kids were ostracized for being "fat." It really was unusual.
We won't go into "mongoloid idiots," which many still used to describe children with Down syndrome.
I particularly remember one girl, who lived about eight blocks away and who I first met when starting to take the bus to Hunt Junior High School in 1965. I remember getting on the bus on another rainy Puget Sound day and seeing her ahead of me. By this time -- 7th grade -- I had begun to develop a strange fascination with the subtleties of the female form, and this girl wore an A-line skirt and white blouse tucked into her slim waist like no one I had seen before, even in church. Her hair was platinum blonde, full and curly. Enchanted, I followed her toward the back of the bus and noticed that other kids didn't want to share a seat with her, which was a mystery. And then she found an empty two-seat row, swirled around on the shiny grab post and sat down next to the window, facing forward. The bus lurched forward and I whirled around and sat next to her, considerably shy. And when we turned to each other to say hello, I understood some basic principles. Renee McCloud was born with serious genetic deficits -- and what did we know about those in the Johnson Administration? Her eyes were very light blue in conformity with the albinism that explained that platinum hair and white skin. She had two fingers and a thumb on one hand and a total of four on the other. She not only had a severely cleft lip, she had a severely cleft palate, with the classic downturned, melted tip of her nose seeming to try to fill up the missing tissue and teeth. And her voice had that hoarse "neuff, neuff" inflection that people still make great fun of. When she looked at me, she did not seem to cringe as she might with any other seat mate, because I was born with a mild but obviously repaired cleft lip and a normal palate.
We said shy hellos.
I wish I could say I became Renee's great friend, protector, even boyfriend. I did not. Protectors don't get kicked in the stomach in the bathroom for being a "hairlip" and just hold in their pain in shock and walk away like I did. But when we passed in the hallways we had a smile for each other. I have searched for Renee and never found a trace. I just wanted to know that she was all right, that some really good guy saw her spectacular soul, fell in love with her and married her. I believe God has a very special place in his heart for spazzes, idiots, epileptics, hairlips and other human misfits who suffer for no fault of their own.

[AJMD429]

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Due to my occupation I realized later the kid we called 'Kangaroo' in 4th grade because he sort of hopped when he tried to run probably had congenital hip dysplasia. And the guy we called 'Zombie' because kind of twitched and acted weird obviously had Tourette's.

I don't know whatever happened to Kangaroo, But Zombie went on to be a successful radio personality even though he had a heavy lisp.

I think it's normal for kids to tease like that, unfortunately, but any decent adult being around should curb that behavior when they can. More importantly, I think the kids who have problems need to have an adult who will stand by them and explain the cold cruel world to them. A caring and kind adult can undo a heck of a lot of damage that way if they do it right. Now if they just storm into the classroom and take things over and out bully the bully, it might make the adult feel good but it really doesn't help the kid. What they need to do with a kid is help them build enough strong self confidence that they can shrug off the comments and insults.

I got teased a lot for wearing glasses in 4th grade but once I developed the attitude that I was just gonna ignore it, or even 'go along' with the teasing of myself, it took away the potency of the teasing and they stopped.

Now in my line of work I have a lot of female patients who don't even have any dramatic medical condition, but their bladders can't handle a sneeze or even a hard laugh. Fortunately some hormone cream can fix them, but even grown-ups can have some big self-esteem or embarassment issues.

[jeepnik]

Kids can and often are cruel. But it's born mostly out of ignorance. But it's something most outgrow. For some it's a sudden realization. Others just take time. I was the sudden realization type. There was a kid that really had no discernable handicap. But he was very quiet and shy. He kept to himself and didn't have a single friend. Not the most athletic, but always the last one chosen.

My realization actually happened at lunch. Every school has bullies. One of ours was that way mostly because his dad worked at the school in administration. He literally could get away with anything, so he liked to bully those he could. One afternoon he decided to pick on David. Typical bully stuff, pushing, verbally abusing and the like. Like a lot f kids, David just took it. Something changed in me. It was wrong and I knew it. So I got involved. Bullies don't like being stood up to. They hate it even more when someone bounces them off the wall and leaves them the ones bleeding.

I'd like to say that was the end, but the guys dad did get involved, as did my parents. Threats of expulsion were made, but when the whole story came out it ended well for me. In the end it was just dropped, officially at least. I can't say the guy stopped being a bully, but he did do it around me.

David and I became friends until we graduated high school and drifted apart.

I guess it's just part of growing up and sadly not everyone grows up.

[Bill in Oregon]

Thanks for the replies, gentlemen. Doc, thinking back there was a kid in grade school who constantly and uncontrollably dipped his head to the right -- probably Tourette's.
Jeep, my moment of realization came when I got the news about a junior high classmate who was definitely odd. He was always very well dressed in slacks and crisply pressed button-down shirts, and he carried an actual briefcase wherever he went -- this at a time most of us were wearing pegged jeans, worn-out Chuck Taylors and surfer T-shirts and carried our homework in Peechee folders that were falling apart. His name was Dan Quick, which didn't help and he was teased unmercifully but rarely reacted to it, which made his tormenters angry. One day he quit coming to school and we found out that he had taken his life. He would have been about 13.

[AJMD429]

Thanks for the replies, gentlemen. Doc, thinking back there was a kid in grade school who constantly and uncontrollably dipped his head to the right -- probably Tourette's.
Jeep, my moment of realization came when I got the news about a junior high classmate who was definitely odd. He was always very well dressed in slacks and crisply pressed button-down shirts, and he carried an actual briefcase wherever he went -- this at a time most of us were wearing pegged jeans, worn-out Chuck Taylors and surfer T-shirts and carried our homework in Peechee folders that were falling apart. His name was Dan Quick, which didn't help and he was teased unmercifully but rarely reacted to it, which made his tormenters angry. One day he quit coming to school and we found out that he had taken his life. He would have been about 13.

Sad for sure.

I'd like to think that good parents would notice their kid is 'odd', and either help him NOT be odd, or help him develop his oddness in a way that makes it a 'quirk' or a positive thing, and helps him become immune to the teasing and digs that are inevitable.

Even the 'normal' kid will get plenty of mean teasing as a kid, and downright discrimination and unfairness as an adult, so the sooner they can develop some degree of 'immunity' to such things, the better.

When my youngest daughter was little, she had a lisp, so we could have coddled her and made her 'special' and delicate, but instead, we (gently) teased her about it, reassuring her that she was a cool kid and smart and so-on, but "talked funny". She didn't grow up to be a revenge-seeking psycho-killer**, nor a suicidally depressed kid that was 'different'. She just gradually learned to talk without the lisp.

I'm sure that 'tough love' of a kid that is different/handicapped isn't always the answer, but parents do need to so SOMETHING if their kid is an odd-ball, versus just living in denial. Otherwise they are missing a great chance to help the kid.

**...well at least, not yet; she lives next door, so could be actively plotting our demise...

[Griff]

I can certainly affirm that there's no difference in being called a "red-headed step child" and actually being one. Add being freckled to that and you double your fun! I distinctly remember the last time I was bullied. 3rd grade, walking home from school... Thomas, a black kid, same age, but a little bigger than me, was behind me and taunting, pushing, making me stumble. Followed by the usual hangers-on. Then, one of Thomas' friends, Frankie, a lighter skinned black kid, often teased about his vitiligo tried to intervene... Thomas went after him with a vengeance. I finally whirled around and clocked him on the chin. Thomas dropped like a sack of potatoes, probably more from the shock than any force behind the blow. Followers agape. Never bothered after that. A few new kids would start with the name calling... but were warned off. Sometimes by Thomas. We moved after the 6th grade, new community, new school for everyone as several elementary school student bodies dispersed to different Jr. High Schools. Far less bullying, I'd had the summer to meet kids in the neighborhood. Mom & now adopted dad encouraged me & my sister to invite them water skiing with us, so had some established friendships when school started up. Stayed that way thru high school. Yeah, parents can be a great part of helping kids adjust to changes. What always rankled me was that my sister was also a freckled redhead, but no one seemed to tease her! Maybe it was because she was more strawberry blonde to my orangish red!

[AJMD429]

I can certainly affirm that there's no difference in being called a "red-headed step child" and actually being one. Add being freckled to that and you double your fun! I distinctly remember the last time I was bullied. 3rd grade, walking home from school... Thomas, a black kid, same age, but a little bigger than me, was behind me and taunting, pushing, making me stumble. Followed by the usual hangers-on. Then, one of Thomas' friends, Frankie, a lighter skinned black kid, often teased about his vitiligo tried to intervene... Thomas went after him with a vengeance. I finally whirled around and clocked him on the chin. Thomas dropped like a sack of potatoes, probably more from the shock than any force behind the blow. Followers agape. Never bothered after that. A few new kids would start with the name calling... but were warned off. Sometimes by Thomas. We moved after the 6th grade, new community, new school for everyone as several elementary school student bodies dispersed to different Jr. High Schools. Far less bullying, I'd had the summer to meet kids in the neighborhood. Mom & now adopted dad encouraged me & my sister to invite them water skiing with us, so had some established friendships when school started up. Stayed that way thru high school. Yeah, parents can be a great part of helping kids adjust to changes. What always rankled me was that my sister was also a freckled redhead, but no one seemed to tease her! Maybe it was because she was more strawberry blonde to my orangish red!

Reminds me of the 'bully scene' in the alleyway in 'A Christmas Story' where Ralphie punches the bully. That was my 'era' of growing up in Indiana, and actually I had a similar situation (I was the nerdy glasses-kid, and the bully kid was a short little mean runt kind of guy. Funny is I ran into him when we were both about 60, and his life hadn't been easy (poor student, not great family, booze problems), but he was pretty nice and mellow in his 'old age'.

[AJMD429]

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One thing I come to realize with women though, is that for most of them, for their entire lives, they never experience one thing that most guys experience all the time.

As guys, other than if we go into law enforcement or military, we really seldom have to live in major fear of other people physically harming us. We may make some bully angry, for sure, and get punched, or even shot or killed, but on a normal day, when we haven't p-o'd some bully, or ventured into an unusually dangerous neighborhood, we can walk with a fair amount of assurance. Even if we don't CCW.

Women, on the other hand, even if they are physically fit and a good fighter, still can't really go outside their home, without in the back of their mind at least recognizing that they are viewed as 'prey' by a numerically minor, but frighteningly real, number of violent criminals out there, and they are not just in the bad neighborhoods; they also frequent boardrooms and are often just 'coworkers' or other peers. The only time males probably feel like 'prey' is if we're in a foreign country, disarmed, and having to travel on foot through some ghetto 'gauntlet' where we are outnumbered, and seen as 'prey', if not for pervert-purposes, just simply for our money, watch, or cellphone.

That female disadvantage can at least be 'compensated' for to a degree by their going armed and being of an alert mindset, but even then, they are more likely to have to draw that weapon in order to get across the parking lot with a bunch of creeps loitering about, versus those of us who are male.

I think as young women/girls, there is a parallel in their feeling more 'vulnerable' even socially in physically safe places like at church or school, where they are attacked just as mercilessly, only by their female peers. When I was a young kid, 'confrontations' with other guys were simple - some smart-alek banter, and maybe a punch or two, then the pecking order was established, and things generally were peaceful after that, as long as you didn't try to exceed your 'place'. With women, that 'pecking order' is never stable, and the 'superior' ones tend to KEEP picking on the others, until they are emotionally bloodied and beat-down.

There's nowhere 'safe' for women outside of a protective family (and even some family can be mean and evil).

It's good to be a male.

[samsi]

This dovetails in with Doc's last post, although written by a woman for women I found it interesting. It was linked from Greg Ellifritz' Weekend Knowledge Dump a couple months ago. His site is Active Response Training, great stuff if you've never checked it out.

https://aella.substack.com/p/how-to-tel ... attack-you

[Ray]

I remember a nicer house in a much larger lot than most of our neighbourhood where the bigger kids including my middle sister would often mob together for any convenient games of "rounders". Any flat object would do for the bases and homeplate. I said "rounders" because there was seldom a proper bat or baseball or softball. In fact "stickball" with any softer type ball was preferred to prevent line-drives, fair or foul from damaging neighbouring or passing autos or houses. If a basketball or soccer ball was handy then it was kickball with the same improvised asymmetrical infield configuration.

I was never chosen to play when the team captains picked even when there were odd numbers without me. The neighbourhood kids would rather play with one less than the competition than pick me. I guess all I ever got to do was be a spectator and serve as the ballboy when it was necessary to fetch the same from the fenced yard with the mean dog.

Then one summer a handicapped kid came to stay with his grandparents during the long vacation. He had the not too uncommon for the era external hinged braces on both legs and the crutches with the adjustable forearm supports and grey rubberized handgrips for each arm. Without disparaging him in any way I thought to myself that surely I would at least get picked over the handicapped kid. I was wrong. They embraced him with kindness and tenderness and included him in their games for which I was glad for him. I won't lie and say that it did not sting a bit but I was still glad for the kid.

The next Christmas break news got about in the neighbourhood that there was to be a free-for-all hickory nut battle with no rules other than the face and head were not to be purposely aimed at. This was to be at the same yard described above which just happened to be the vicinity of our school bus stop. So down the street and up the hill to the intersection of 41st and Skyline I went with daydream visions of retribution with my unerring aim and steady right hand. I would show them that I could throw a hickory nut as well as any.

Alas, about a quarter minute into the melee, one of the big kids, quite against all conventions of fallen tree mast warfare , picked up a half a landscaping brickbat and lobbed it in a high arc onto the side of my head.

[marlinman93]

Try being that kid in grade school in the 1950's who was dyslexic and a boy named Vall too! If that didn't get you picked on enough, then not sure what else would. Since almost no teachers knew what dyslexia was I even had teachers who called me stupid or lazy in front of the class.
Lucky for me I finally got a male teacher in 5th grade who didn't know what my reading issue was, but knew what to try to fix it. I started 5th grade unable to read, and nearly failing. By the time I was half way through I went from a solid D student to an A student thanks to Mr. Wells. He was a one of a kind teacher who took the time to help instead of belittling.

[jeepnik]

I can certainly affirm that there's no difference in being called a "red-headed step child" and actually being one. Add being freckled to that and you double your fun! I distinctly remember the last time I was bullied. 3rd grade, walking home from school... Thomas, a black kid, same age, but a little bigger than me, was behind me and taunting, pushing, making me stumble. Followed by the usual hangers-on. Then, one of Thomas' friends, Frankie, a lighter skinned black kid, often teased about his vitiligo tried to intervene... Thomas went after him with a vengeance. I finally whirled around and clocked him on the chin. Thomas dropped like a sack of potatoes, probably more from the shock than any force behind the blow. Followers agape. Never bothered after that. A few new kids would start with the name calling... but were warned off. Sometimes by Thomas. We moved after the 6th grade, new community, new school for everyone as several elementary school student bodies dispersed to different Jr. High Schools. Far less bullying, I'd had the summer to meet kids in the neighborhood. Mom & now adopted dad encouraged me & my sister to invite them water skiing with us, so had some established friendships when school started up. Stayed that way thru high school. Yeah, parents can be a great part of helping kids adjust to changes. What always rankled me was that my sister was also a freckled redhead, but no one seemed to tease her! Maybe it was because she was more strawberry blonde to my orangish red!

Two things. First, red headed boys may get teased. Red headed girls get hit on and caused their brother to fight. When the pretty little red headed girl tells you to backoff, BACK THE F234 OFF. And dad taught me how to handle bullies. When they first start hit them first, just as hard as you can. And keep doing it until they get the point. I don't like fighting, nobody gets out unhurt, but I will.

By the way, my dad was quite literally a red headed step child. In fact he had three dad's before it was over. Joseph, who died in the Ardennes, Harold, mom divorced him, and Kenneth, the only one I ever met. And I assure, you would never have called him that if you had any sort of common sense. Dad was very slow to anger. But once there, Katie bar the door. There was no quit in him.