On and off, I was considered sub-nerd, and I never really understood why. I think it just became the popular thing to do, hate on me. Everybody latched onto that idea for some reason, and my life became miserable. This was worst in grades 6 and 10.
In grade 6, I had nearly no friends. None of them were in my classes. Only a couple that I got to know during lunch and recess. As such, 95% of my school days were miserable. Literally everybody in class picked on me whenever the teachers turned their backs. I tried confronting them about it and ignoring them. Nothing worked. They were content enough to bug me no matter what response they got out of me, if any, and that was scary. They were sadistic maniacs. Oddly, I hardly ever felt sad about it. I took everything in stride. Sadly, my Nintendo 64 was my main driving force behind living happily. As long as I had that to go home to, I was happy.
Another grade 6 quirk was how girls were allowed to viciously beat up boys without repercussion. It was so bizarre, and since I was the most hated student in school, I always got the worst of it. I always came home with bruises and cuts, and I was unable to do anything about it. Back in grade 6, there was still an archaic fighting policy in place. Even if you as little as got your ear flicked, it was considered a fight, and you got in exactly the same amount of trouble as the kid who flicked your ear. (Literally. That exact scenario played out in grade 5. Destroyed the victim's life, but that's another story.) So not only was I getting bruised and cut, I was constantly hiding my own wounds because I didn't want to get in trouble for fighting. All in all, I got beat up by girls way more than I got beat up by boys that year.
Up until recently, I was ticked off at my teacher about one incident. This one insufferable ***** whose name I will never forget, Meredith Fischer, kicked me hard just above the kneecap with her ridiculous platform shoe. (Platforms, bellbottoms, and hippie stuff like that came back in style in 1998.) The hallway came to a stop with the sound of my blood-curdling scream. I thought she broke my leg with the force of her kick. I clawed my way to my teacher, told her about what Meredith did to me, and was shocked at what my teacher told me next. She told me that since she didn't see it happen, she wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Here I was clutching my leg in pain, and my teacher wouldn't do anything about it. I do think she handled the situation poorly, but it wasn't until about a year ago that I came to realize what she was doing for me. I think she always felt sorry for me since I was such an unpopular kid, but I was always got good grades and never got in trouble, so I think she was trying to spare me the problems that would come from me being involved in a fight as defined by the school. I was ready to sacrifice my record in order to take a stand against this female on male violence, and she pushed me to retain my fight-free record. I limped for the next few days and did an extraordinary job hiding it from my parents, but I did eventually walk it off. I still don't know whether I appreciate what my teacher did for me, but I do respect it.
I still don't understand the female on male violence that went on back then, but I'm glad it's behind me now.
10th grade was hell. Absolute hell. I had an awesome 9th grade, but 10th grade was an absolute inversion. It became popular to hate on me again, but this time it was more vicious and dangerous than ever before. I had people going after me in groups, with lighters trying to set me on fire, and all sorts of other shenanigans that make me want to curl up in the fetal position. It was this year that took a toll on my psyche, and I was quite insane by the middle of the school year. I was in danger all the time, and of course the administrators ignored it completely. The archaic fighting policy was changed, but I still didn't outright fight anybody. I did not fight at all, not even on the day somebody nearly killed me.
It was one of the last days of the school year, and it was in auto shop class. There was this computer program that allowed you to design cars and put them in wind tunnels. I was just tweaking the perfect car I could make, and this bully decided to prod me with this brush. It had a hard wood handle, and he was poking me with that. I didn't want to deal with this crap so close to the end of the school year, so I told the teacher. He told him to stop harassing me on three different occasions. On the fourth, he prodded the computer instead and pushed the big power button, turning it off.
I got off my bench and turned around. I looked in his eyes and told him to leave me alone. He continued to poke me with the brush. I tried grabbing it out of his hand, but he had a better grip on it due to the fact that he was holding onto the handle, and half of my grip was bristle. We tugged at it for a few seconds before he pulled on it so hard that he ended up hitting himself in the face with it. Not hard, just a hit on his pride. He got this psychotic look in his eyes.
I should stop here and explain that he was the school's main starting baseball pitcher. Needless to say, I was dealing with somebody that had a quicker arm than the average bully. So quick, that my fate was sealed by a blink of my eyes.
As I was opening my eyes, the brush was coming down to the top of my head. Or forward at my head. He said he threw the brush, and I think he swung it down on the top of my head. Regardless, it hit the top of my head, hard, and continuing my terrible luck in my life, I wasn't hit by bristle. Solid, unforgiving wood contacted my skull, and I was instantly dazed. I wasn't even sure of it at the time, but shortly after the skull impact, he punched me in the ribcage once. On my way down, I instinctively grabbed his shirt. I crashed through benches on my way down to the floor while still holding his shirt, but I did not pull him down. Instead, I pulled myself up by his shirt.
It was at this moment that I won the psychological war. Just like the end of Metal Gear Solid: Twin Snakes where Liquid briefly stood up to face Solid before dying, I was told I stood up in almost exactly the same manner, stared him in the eyes, and sent a message that I was not a force to be reckoned with. Shortly after that, I collapsed on a table because the teacher came by and separated us. Now, I don't remember any of this. Things didn't begin to get lucid again until about 15 minutes later.
I received my second concussion, but I gained a bit of respect as a force not to be reckoned with thanks to my final act in the confrontation. I also got in zero trouble because the incident was treated as an assault, not a fight.
My remaining two years in public school were largely incident-free. I had finally risen above the status of sub-nerd. It's just a shame that it took a near death experience to get me that far. It didn't hit home until I spoke with an adult friend of the family a week or so later, but he explained that I was very lucky to be alive.
lol
