Many years ago, starting in grade school I felt like I didn’t belong amongst my classmates. It started with me being a religious Jew. I was different in many ways. Administrators, teachers and students did not understand why I ate different foods, missed days of school, could not do anything on Saturdays among other things. There was one day before winter break that my fourth grade teacher Ms. August asked the class to write letters to Santa Clause. I refused and so I was sent to the office for not listening/disobeying the teacher. That same day around lunch time, she called my parents and told them that I refuse to write a letter to Santa Claws. My mom was very proud of me, for standing up for who I am and what I believed in. Another issue that I faced in grade school was that many times after or even before I got onto the bus to go to school, I was beaten up by either my neighbors, their friends, or my classmates that were on the same bus as me. I came home and lied to my parents if they saw that I was bruised. I injured myself in gym, or I scratched myself on a rock on the playground.
It didn’t really matter what school I went to, because at each school that I did go, I was looked down upon one way or another. Like in middle school, I went to an all girls school. At that time I was exploring my sexuality like so many other teenagers, and I knew already but would not admit it till much latter that I was attracted to women. Those two years were torturous for me, for two reasons. One I was less religious than those girls, and two if I expressed in any way of liking someone male or female I got in trouble.
For high school it was right back to public school. I remember dreading the fact that I was to come back to a place where people hated me. A place people called me names, told me things I didn’t even know what they meant. They swore at me, frightened me, did so many things, and the school never did anything about it. One of the things that happened to me in ninth and tenth grade was that I walked home from school, and my neighbors and their friends were behind me. They screamed “Hey Jew, we have a gun and we know how to use it!” I told my parents this about a year or two later, I thought I could handle it on my own.
Thinking back on all this still hurts. I know its over and things change, but those are scars that heal over a very long period of time. This certainly helped me to become a bigger, better, stronger person, but the tears will continue to flow until I fully heal one day.
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