Five Little Children
One Big World
In going through several files of papers, I came upon this calendar, which had been ripped from an appointment book, on January 28, 2003. Initially, I turned it around where there are notes scribbled in three different pens, and tried to figure out who the person, whose name and email address are written, at the top, of the sheet, was – I even googled her, to no avail. I read the five names listed below hers and the notes, which followed the names, and decided, they must be victims of crime, which for some reason, I had wanted to further inform myself about. I put the sheet aside, not having my memory jarred, and continued dealing with the task, in front of me.
A few hours later, I picked up the sheet again, zeroing in on the only girls name, and the notes which followed: “Emily – white – blue eyes – blond hair – being raped in bathroom, called gay – studded dog caller – pretty.” I had also written her last name, which I will not publish. I felt an odd sorrow, but my head was swimming in a thousand thoughts, and thus I put Emily, in the pile of papers, to be discarded. Fortunately, I decided to leave the office, for the night, and sleep on my pile of discards.
In the morning, when I came back, coffee in tow, and a relatively good night of rest, I picked up my discard pile. My eyes were once again drawn to Emily; but this time, as I re-read the list, and counted that indeed there were five names, I suddenly remembered who these children were, and why I had written down their names, a brief physical description (to be able to differentiate them), and what their biggest fears were. Do you remember your biggest fears in the fifth grade?
On January 28, 2003, I had substituted, for a teacher, who was taking her fifth grade class, on a field trip, minus the five children, whose names I would record in my date book.
Initially, when the five students had walked into the classroom, they made their way to their assigned seats, scattered throughout the room. I thought the arrangement silly and brought them forward, into a semi-circle where interaction became more natural. The teacher had left an appropriate lesson plan, for that kind of day, which we quickly ran through, and that would then normally lead to the substitute teacher reaching into her bag of entertainments . . . books, games, movies, or made up assignments. Instead, a request to use the restroom, turned into one of the most interesting experiences, of my life.
Pinding was a small, thin, boy of Indian decent, with very dark, well groomed hair. Leonard was a browned eyed, muscular, African-American boy, who rode the bus to school, from a tougher neighborhood. Emily was next, on the list, then Mark, who was a slight of frame, very quiet, white boy, who walked to school. Finally, there was Kyle who was a heavy set Italian boy, who like Emily, was Catholic.
This little group of children started to share why they hated to go to the restroom, at school. Apparently, it was in the restroom where they were most likely to be bullied, and thus preferred to go while class was in session, instead of during scheduled breaks – it did occur to me that perhaps it was their way to get out of class, but that thought did not long linger with me.
The most common verbal assault, for these children was being called gay, a term I am pretty sure I had never heard of in fifth grade. Gay was equated with being stupid, and with the exception of Leonard, the fifth grade five, were all accused of being gay, simply because they were different; and we all know different – different like they were the five children who did not go on the field trip that day.
Two of the boys were very close friends. I could see why they would be, both were quiet, bright, and not particularly athletic. Thus for them, being taunted with being gay was not just an easy putdown, on behalf of their classmates, it was also a source of interference with their friendship. They had to worry about being seen together, and walking to the library or having lunch, in the cafeteria, could become a source of confrontation with their schoolmates that left the two friends sad and depressed. Was depression a part of your fifth grade vocabulary?
Emily lived in fear of being raped, in the bathroom. She spoke about constantly being called gay, and being taunted by people who threatened to correct that issue by raping her.
Leonard, who had not been called gay, by his classmates, lived with another fear. He was worried about being shot. He was actually made fun of, for going to a better school, outside of his neighborhood. Leonard said that his biggest concern, in preparing to go to school in the morning or coming home in the afternoon, was getting on or off the bus, when he was a perfect target for the gun violence, in his neighborhood. I remember he rattled off a list of various incidents, which involved witnessing directly or later being told about someone being shot or shot at; a fear I did not grow up with either.
I asked the children if they had ever spoken to anyone about their experiences and how they felt, and they said everyone knew, and no one cared. This was just how life was.
The conversation continued for a good bit, as if a dam had been broken, and suddenly their thoughts and feelings freely poured forth; they discussed their families, what they wanted to be when they grew up and what they enjoyed doing with their time. At the end of the day, they walked out of the classroom, as they had come in; and I jotted down the few notes, which I now share with you.
In 2003 I was not yet writing these pages, so it would be untruthful to say that I had planned to write about them; but I did feel a need not to forget those five children who seemed to live with so much needless pain.
The world is a mess, and given all current headlines, one might easily say that those children, which if they survived, are all now adults, did not have it so bad; but I disagree. My heart breaks for all those who live in war zones, for those who face famine, and for those dealing with the disease; however, these five children were forced to run a gauntlet of insanity simply because they were a bit different from their classmates.
Being Hindu should not be reason enough to feel sexually harassed in the fifth grade; nor should a fashion statement, which includes a studded dog collar, create an environment where a child is afraid of being raped. It should be okay for two children, who may be perceived as slightly awkward, by others, but who both enjoy the same activities, to be friends with one another, without reprisal.
Why do children have to live and study in a hostile environment? Where do bullies learn to torment their classmates, neighbors, and siblings? Are bullies following their parents lead? Who or what is responsible for the way we treat one another?
Why is there so little respect for those who perhaps do not want to spend the day at the zoo, or whose parents cannot afford the cost of the field trip, or who were sick the day the permission slips had to be turned in, or whose parents did not bother filling out the forms correctly, or for the child who simply forgot today was the day they had to bring a sack lunch to go, to the zoo?
I know that I measure my life against others, especially those who I think are getting it right and doing everything in the manner that it should be done. I look at the people I think are “normal” and I often wish I could be more like them; but I am not. I really do not like the zoo. I feel sad when I see all those animals caged and think they should be free. I understand animal husbandry, the preservation of species, and the access to wild life that the zoos provide, but I still feel sad at the zoo; and frankly I think we should be able to live in a world where I do not have to like the zoo.
We have institutionalized hatred, incrusting it with a mantle of authority and justification by calling it a tenet of our faith, political affiliation, or personal ideology, when it fact it is just hate fueled by ignorance. As a society, instead of focusing on what we have in common, we search for what differentiates us one from another; and of course we adamantly proclaim that our desire to provide our family with a loving home, a good education, adequate nutrition, and an opportunity to see their dreams fulfilled is somehow better and more important than your desire, to provide your family with a loving home, a good education, adequate nutrition, and an opportunity to see their dreams fulfilled.
I have never seen more intolerance, in the world, than I do now; though sadly, I am well aware that mans’ intolerance and the acts of evil, dictated by their hatred, fill too many history tomes. The most blatant conflicts continue to be race and religion, but education and socio-economic status, as well as how we look, still drive the way we treat each other, I have to wonder why, in this day and age, when information is so readily available, society is rushing back to the Nazi mentality of intolerance and cruelty?
As a society, we need to find a way to work together, focusing on our common goals and dreams, and making allowances for where we differ. I do not appreciate dog collars on people, nor do I think spiked collars should be put on dogs; however, I do not believe that anyone should be tormented because of their choice in fashion. It is a big world there should be room for us all. That is all for now.
