To This Day

I am lifting the title of Shane Koyczan‘s spoken word piece to use as the title of this post because I need to tell my To This Day story. If you haven’t heard Shane’s piece on the power of words (both to hurt and also to heal), stop reading and watch:

Shane’s words made me cry as all sorts of memories bubbled to the surface. As adults it’s all too easy to forget how much “simple” name-calling can destroy a child.

As a kid, I was awkward. Hell, I’m still awkward as an adult, but for some reason it’s easier to be OK about it now. Back then, being different meant you were open to ridicule. Whether it was something you could control or not — usually not. Imagine (or recall) being teased because of some single random incident, because of your name, your height or weight or skin colour or body hair or just about any single thing that makes you slightly different.

“Kids are so cruel.”

How many times do we have to hear that refrain? The only thing worse than that platitude is the sticks-and-stones rhyme because it is so completely untrue. Words will and do hurt. It’s a lousy mantra to teach a child.

I suffered a mix of torments but the worst were from grade 5 through 7 during which I was repeatedly called fat.

In grade 5, they were not remotely creative. “Fatty fatty two by four, couldn’t get through the bathroom door.”

In grade 6, I was called “hippo” so much that one person actually bought me a stuffed hippo for my birthday thinking I liked the animal. Well, my grade 6 self must have still been pretty well adjusted because I decided I did like hippos and I started to collect them — this collection lasted well into my adulthood. Somehow, I knew how to take the sting out of that nickname.

In grade 7, I was not prepared for the coordinated attack that my peers presented. One day, I stepped out of the classroom to go to the washroom. On my return, the entire class mooed. They all said, “moooooooo” at the same time as I walked in the room. Even my friends. This is the kind of stuff that they put in teen movies and you say, “Yeah, like that would ever happen.” But it does. It happened to me and it happens daily in classrooms even today. And it’s bullshit.

The teacher called it bullshit, too — not with that word but he made it stop then demanded to know, “Who started that.” When no one owned up, the whole class got lines. Except me.

Which made it worse.

The next morning, I found one of those cow noisemakers on my desk — the little cans you turn upside-down then right-side up again to make a mooing sound.

To this day I cringe at those plastic and cardboard toys.

For the rest of the year I found cow-themed toys, pictures, and notes on my desk, pinned to my jacket, or shoved in my bag. I knew it was largely the work of three guys — one of whom had also started the “fatty” chants two years earlier, but because of the coordination of that single day of mooing, every cow calling card felt like it came from the entire class.

As I approached grade 8 and had the opportunity to change schools it was a no-brainer. I started over and, as hard as it was to make new friends, I at least felt like I stood a chance.