Middle School

I hated Mr. D's class. You had to do everything so exactly. Your name, class and hour needed to be in the top inch and left inch and a half of the front page of any paper. You couldn't just put yor name on the top.

Armstrong, my math teacher, wasn't much better. Algebra was boring. It wasn't hard and he seemed to spend a long time saying the same things over and over again. An unpopular girl had made me a replica of the teacher out of paper. It wasn't a great piece of art, but it was funny. He looked like a nerd. I moved him across my desk and was shocked to see this evil teacher's on me, on the replica of him.

"Are you playing with paperdoll?" he said loud enough for the complete class to look at me. I could feel my face burning. My words stuck in my throat. The teacher relished in letting the moment stretch out. I was in mental gridlock and embarrassed torture.

My mind thought of my friends. Former friends. Yesterday they had explained to me that they did not want me around. I wasn't there friend anymore. They didn't start by telling me anything. Every seat at the lunch table was suddenly taken. I had to sit somewhere else. When I tried to talk to them, they didn't respond. They treated me like I was invisible. I was so hurt, I couldn't even really understand what was going on. I thought it was a game. It wasn't.

When I finally got Dan to talk to me, it turned out they didn't really like me. I had been mean. A jerk. Looking back now, they were probably right, but in the moment I just wanted back in. I didn't know what to do if I had no friends. Lunch was just the beginning. Every free moment was a reminder that what I used to do, I couldn't anymore. I was lost in the maze of middle school.

Now, my teacher was embarrassing me in front of class. One more reason people wouldn't be friends with me, my former friends could make fun if me, my life was bad. I would play sick the next few days. I would rather lay in bed then risk this again.

Those days passed. My friends forgave me. I didn't become the boy who plays with dolls.

Middle school, as a parent, is not much better though. You have the same helplessness as you did back then. The answers you have don't seem to work. All the wisdom and logic in the world don't make middle school make since. I have seen my daughter leave her friend at a park to figure out how to get back to her house with two bikes. Not because she was mean, but she has that special brand of adolescent selfishness. I worry about my other daughter who has a girl in class who picks on her, making those around laugh at her. I try to give her the best advice I can, but mean kids are mean.

I know God is in control, but I can't help but want to make it better. As a parent I want my kids to be good at making friends, not be mean, not have people be mean to them. I don't want them to hurt like I did. If I could make them able to know the things I know about people, make them more aware of the friends they have and how to make new ones, I would. I can't, though. So, instead there is part of me that feels like the boy who had lost his friends and was embarrassed by his teacher.