First Day of School - "I Hate the Bus"

I'm taking a moment today to write a bit more serious of a post than usual, on a topic that I don't think gets enough attention. This post was written by Jim S., a sweet boy I grew up with. It’s heartbreaking… for me particularly because I know Jim and had NO idea this happened to him. But also because I know it happens too often and it doesn’t seem like bullying is addressed as it should be. Kids are committing suicide these days because of it. I just find this so upsetting but also a real eye opener.

I’m re-posting this with Jim's permission because I know that some of you have kids (or nieces or nephews) that are starting school this week… and while I’m sure your kids wouldn’t be bullies, and I’m sure you talk about these types of things all the time, I feel like it’s something that can’t be discussed enough. Maybe reading this will spark another conversation.

First Day of School - "I Hate the Bus"

"On my drive to the train today it was very obvious that today was the first day of school; kids waiting at the bus stops, buses picking them up.

Whenever I see a bus, I feel a giant pit in my stomach of dread. I used to love the bus in elementary school. Me and my friend Nicole would sing songs for the bus driver. It was a lot of fun.

In Junior High the majority of bullying I suffered was on the bus. Kids would call me all sorts of things, and I would have to walk up and down the aisle asking "Can I sit here?" only to be told "No", over and over again. Then when I would try and sit, they would push me out into the aisle. The aisle was a gauntlet of spitting, kicking, punching. My bag or books would get ripped out of my hands and then they would get thrown all around the bus. This happened every day, on the way to, and on the way from school.

I remember once this tiny little girl, Gina, slapped me across my face so hard and screamed "faggot!" at me and laughed in my face. Another day, another kid spit a "lugie" on a comb and then stuck it in my hair.

The bus driver would do one of two things. Pull the bus over and scream "I'm not moving this bus until someone lets him sit down!" or just ignore it. I felt defenseless. I couldn't fight. It was paralyzing. I felt like I couldn't tell the teachers, or my parents because of my fear of retaliation, but more so, my fear that maybe they would find out I really was all those things that the kids called me: faggot, gaylord, queer, fairy, queerbate, etc., and because of this, I even thought I may deserve it all.

The bus stop could be just as bad. Sometimes the neighborhood bully would walk 1/2 mile down the street, just to torment me. He must have thought it was a really good time. Finally Mrs. M, our neighbor, moved the bus stop to her house, where she would keep an eye on us, and that helped. But I still had to get on the bus and ride to school.

My coping mechanism was to act up and get detention. That way I didn't have to take the bus home. Thank God when Drama Club started up, because not only did I not have to take the bus home, but I could actually have some fun.

The hallways in school were bad too. Shoved into the lockers, being punched, or having my books and papers thrown to the ground as a hundred kids trampled them and me on their rush to get to class. In the cafeteria I would find myself once again asking "Can I sit here?" only to be told "no". I sat alone in the cafe in 5th and 6th grade, but in 7th grade I sort of leached on to a small group of girls and sat at their table. My lab partner, Brenda would actually talk to me. I think she actually liked me except for when I flirted incessantly with her, even showering her with 22 carnations on Valentine's Day. I was trying to put a big sign that said "I am not a homo!" It was the same sign I carried around every day when I would ask every girl to "go out" with me. The truth is, it was all a cry for help, I thought if I had a girlfriend, the bullying would stop.

I realize now that I could have always gone to my parents, and I should have. In some cases when a call home would come, my mom would intervene, but I don't think they ever knew the extent, because I kept it hidden. I was scared and ashamed.

And it wasn't all bad. There were times in class when I would get to read aloud, or give an oral report (usually on Tina Turner- was I asking for it?), or go to chorus or be in the school show. I did find some friends, I also found out what fair weather friends were too. But the friends I did make stood up for me, and I for them. Eventually, and slowly, the number of friends I had would increase, but even with those I loved the most, it took forever to learn to trust.

The bullying influenced the next several years of my life dramatically. As I grew older, I adopted behaviors that I thought would make look "cool". I would act up in class and get in trouble. I began smoking regularly in 8th grade. Our bus driver would even let us smoke near the end of the route, as long as the windows were open. I would smoke just to show the bullies that I was tough...

I was extremely insecure all through my adolescent and college years. I had a very hard time accepting the fact that people could actually like me for who I really was. Not only that, but I was suppressing years of pent up rage inside of me with various forms of sedation, or acting out against my parents or others. However, things would eventually turn around for me.

In college I was among the small group of students who advocated for and helped the Gay & Lesbian Student Rights bill pass in MA. This was the first time I stood in public- in front of the Governor even, and said "I am gay." It was so moving because I realized I was no longer alone.

During my years as a freelance artist (running my own community theater and taking other gigs here and there) I toured with an organization called "Deana's Fund". We went to schools throughout the US with shows that dealt with dating violence and bullying for grades K through college. Secretly, I loved playing the bully, but was most often cast as the "target". I never held back when performing the monologues. Tears would come, and pain would escape. No matter the audience, this would be a pivotal point in the show. Afterwards we would lead panel discussions on identifying the forms of abuse, and talk about how to deal with bullies. Once in a while there would be a question about our own experiences, and I would share. I talked openly about my experiences on the bus because I knew there was any number of kids in the audience who were going through the same exact situation, and felt very much alone, and very much like they were the only ones going through it. Once in a while a kid would come up and talk after the show. It was an amazing experience, and it finally help me start to heal.

Most of my current friends see me as a very out-going, fun, extrovert. Some would even say I am very confident. For the most part I would agree. Some people think I am a snob because I seem a bit cold and standoff-ish when I first meet them. In some situations it is still hard for me to think that I have something valuable to say, or that my voice sounds too "gay" and nasally... Its funny because now I recognize it, and I tell that scared kid inside me ssshh....its okay...its really ok.

I learned a very important lesson about being a victim. No one chooses to be a victim or a target of abuse. However, you can choose whether or not you will continue to be a victim. You can spend your life battling demons, feeling sorry for yourself, wallowing in self deprecation; or you can choose to move on, you can choose to no longer allow the bullies/the abuser to have control over you. The way I chose the latter was through forgiveness. It taught me that the only way to destroy the evil in this world is through absolution.

Seeing the school buses this morning really brought a lot up for me. These memories are no longer scars, but make me feel more like gold that has been brandished through the fire. I survived, and not only that I overcame.

Now I am looking through the many pictures of friends sending their kids off to school. I imagine they are quite proud, and a little nervous, knowing their own stories of bus rides and hallways. I am looking forward to a few years from now when my kid will be getting on the bus. I will be a wreck! Who knows...I drive by the middle school on my way to the train...maybe my kid will just get a ride... "

For more of Jim's perspective, visit his blog, "Jim's Whims..."