Bullies and unstable children

There's a common theme running through the school killings, most lately, the Virginia Tech massacre. The person didn't fit in, was bullied, called horrible names.

When I was 11, I moved to a new community and had my first taste of middle school. Those were possibly the worst two years of my life. Because I "talked different," "dressed different," I was fair game for kids to constantly pick on me, call me names, spread bizarre rumors about me (my favorite was I smoked and kept the cigarettes in my shoe) and occasional have physical violence happen such as having one's head being slammed by a locker door. Mostly girls would surround me and pick apart everything about me until I felt 1 inch tall. My hair was ugly, I was ugly, my clothes weren't the right clothes. Boys wouldn't date me. I was called "Retard," "Fembot" (I always wondered if some of them picked up that I was gay before I did) stupid jokes about my last name. It was very traumatic for me. Two months after I had arrived I hid in the bathroom in this school, crying and screaming until a teacher finally coaxed me out. I was sick a lot. I was depressed. I did not speak in 7th grade for fear of drawing attention to myself.

Guess what? I didn't go into the school with loaded weapons although my father did own a shot gun and a rifle. I didn't bring knives. I never even lifted a finger to hurt any of these sorry people. I think the worst thing I did was draw a picture of the worst offender, Margie, and throw darts at it or tear it up. Yes, I still remember your name. I learned to defend myself with humor. By eighth grade, I wasn't picked on as much. We moved to another location and I actually became popular. I never said I was perfect but I tried not to pick on the kid everyone hated for some reason. I felt for that person for that was me. If I did go with the flow, I felt horrible later thinking "I'm just as bad as those kids who picked on me."

I could have been Eric Harris, or Dennis Klebold or even Cho. Or any of all the other kids out there who just couldn't take the psychological and physical abuse from their peers. But I wasn't. Neither were my two brothers, both suffering from attention deficit disorder before it was a diagnosis. They had it much worse with a lot more physical abuse. My younger brother actually taunted one of his attackers after they pushed him down a flight of stairs with his books flying everywhere. "Hit me," he screamed. "Just freaking hit me!" Surprisingly no one did. After that, he became immensely popular in his school. He graduated only a few years before the Columbine attack.

What was the difference between my brothers and I and these kids who feel they must shoot people to get revenge? Was it parenting? We all grew up with our mother at home. We didn't quite have the violent video games yet. We played outside more than we watched TV. I don't think we'll ever know the real reason.

One note for those who think it's funny to pick on geeks, nerds and dorks. You may want to think twice about teasing those quiet people who don't fit in. And after you graduate and live on your own, you'll realize no one's opinion matters more than yourself.