First Grade, First Rate Bullies
-First grade. Different. You are different. Why are you brown? How does your mommy
have blond hair and you have black? How does you sister have straight tall legs while
you have short stubby ones? We don’t like you. You’re different. Play on your own. -
Dear first grade bullies,
I remember better than you ever will. I remember the day that my Mom and Dad
told me that I was adopted, and I came to school excited to tell you because I didn’t
have just one mommy and daddy, but I had two. I felt lucky. I felt special. Sure I didn’t
know two of them, but that didn’t matter. They all loved me.
Finally you would play with me. Finally you would be my friends. We could take
our dolls and have a tea party, or we could just sit together and talk. I was lonely. So I
told you. I told you everything. I even told you that my sister was just like me, and if
you counted up all the parents I had one…two…three…four. We could share them if
you wanted. But you didn’t want to.
“That makes you even worse. That means that your real mommy didn’t want you.
There must be something wrong with you. There must be something wrong with your
whole family. Don’t play with us. We don’t like you.”
Tears ran in rivers down my face, and I ran back into the classroom, ashamed. I
wasn’t loved by my mommy. You told me that I wasn’t needed. You broke me. No, you
did better than that. You shattered me. Smashed be. Ground me into dust. And you
did it all without thinking twice.
I cried, and cried and cried. When my teacher came and asked me what was
wrong, I lied and said I lost my doll. She offered to help find it, but I said no, I was
okay. Still she was concerned, and she really wanted to help me. And I told her that if
I could see my sister, I would be okay. When I saw Sarah, I just broke down and told
her everything. I didn’t care if anyone else heard, I was so upset. You know what
happened next right? Let me refresh your memory.
Sarah marched right back out, holding my hand and walked right up to you, and
when you would look her way she forced you to. Remember what she said next? She
said she loved me. She said my mom and dad loved me. She said that my teacher loved
me, and so did my grandparents. And she that you were wrong, I was special. She put
back the pieces.
So, my dear first grade bullies, I just hope you know that the next time you tell
me that I’m not needed, you can count on it that I won’t listen. Because I am needed.
-First grade. Different. You are different. Why are you brown? How does your mommy
have blond hair and you have black? How does you sister have straight tall legs while
you have short stubby ones? We don’t like you. You’re different. Play on your own. -
Dear first grade bullies,
I remember better than you ever will. I remember the day that my Mom and Dad
told me that I was adopted, and I came to school excited to tell you because I didn’t
have just one mommy and daddy, but I had two. I felt lucky. I felt special. Sure I didn’t
know two of them, but that didn’t matter. They all loved me.
Finally you would play with me. Finally you would be my friends. We could take
our dolls and have a tea party, or we could just sit together and talk. I was lonely. So I
told you. I told you everything. I even told you that my sister was just like me, and if
you counted up all the parents I had one…two…three…four. We could share them if
you wanted. But you didn’t want to.
“That makes you even worse. That means that your real mommy didn’t want you.
There must be something wrong with you. There must be something wrong with your
whole family. Don’t play with us. We don’t like you.”
Tears ran in rivers down my face, and I ran back into the classroom, ashamed. I
wasn’t loved by my mommy. You told me that I wasn’t needed. You broke me. No, you
did better than that. You shattered me. Smashed be. Ground me into dust. And you
did it all without thinking twice.
I cried, and cried and cried. When my teacher came and asked me what was
wrong, I lied and said I lost my doll. She offered to help find it, but I said no, I was
okay. Still she was concerned, and she really wanted to help me. And I told her that if
I could see my sister, I would be okay. When I saw Sarah, I just broke down and told
her everything. I didn’t care if anyone else heard, I was so upset. You know what
happened next right? Let me refresh your memory.
Sarah marched right back out, holding my hand and walked right up to you, and
when you would look her way she forced you to. Remember what she said next? She
said she loved me. She said my mom and dad loved me. She said that my teacher loved
me, and so did my grandparents. And she that you were wrong, I was special. She put
back the pieces.
So, my dear first grade bullies, I just hope you know that the next time you tell
me that I’m not needed, you can count on it that I won’t listen. Because I am needed.
So...today in writing class one of my very good friends wrote this. when she was done, she started to cry and said that no matter how old she is, it always hurts. And I agree. I'm just putting this out there so that people know that when you're adopted, it's not always for the reason you think it is. And get to know some-one before you start to judge them. Because it hurts.
