Baking Against Bullies

I just pulled the banana chocolate chip bread from the oven, a request from one of my students just prior to the start of spring break. Once it cools, I will slice it up and bring it in for the start of 4th quarter as is the Monday Morning Tradition within my high school classroom.

My students, well honestly MOST students, have a lot going on in their worlds. A whole lot. I can’t even begin to describe some of the situations they face on the daily. My prevailing belief is that the more kindness they receive, the more likely they are to be kind to others as a result.

I was chatting with one of my brothers the other day, and after hanging up, I reflected on a few of my own experiences as a kid. Being a kid/pre-teen/teen is not easy. It wasn’t then, it isn’t now.

We all have defining moments in our lives, and I have a great deal to be thankful for. An incredible amount, actually. But for whatever reason, the other day I was reminded in particular of a “kid-years” neighborhood bully, and how I learned to handle those types of situations and people.

One sunny fall afternoon, I got home from school and was very, very sad. Likely confused. Most definitely angry. And I would guess there was a bit of sass mixed into all the emotion as well. My older brother (he was in high school, very cool) was in the 1970’s avocado green kitchen leaning up against the tree mural wall…and he noticed. Which is a lovely thing in itself, to have your emotions recognized and acknowledged.

“Hey, Hill, what’s wrong?”

And don’t breeze over that simple phrase, because asking that very question when someone is “in the moment” is one of the most powerful, kind things you can ever do. Read it again.

“Hey, Hill, what’s wrong?”

I have to believe I was in 4th grade when this happened, because most of my friends in the neighborhood had all transferred to a private school that year and I was riding the bus with a bunch of students I didn’t know very well.

I explained to my brother that just before the bus turned into our neighborhood, Ursula Mearing had been talking with her friends about a sleepover. The four of them were planning to wake up Saturday morning to watch the Smurfs.

“I love the Smurfs!” I exclaimed to the group of snarky little ten-year-old girls who all turned their noses up at my comment.

All except Ursula. Ursula did not turn her nose up. Ursula turned to me and said, “You can’t come to our sleepover. Nobody wants you there.”

But she didn’t stop there.

“Why would anyone want you there?” she spat the words across the aisle on the bus. “No one wants you around. Even your own mother didn’t want you around.”

By the time I told my brother that part, I was wiping tears off my face. I was adopted, you see, and Ursula Mearing was a terribly mean little girl.

But that was not the defining moment. The defining moment came within the conversation my brother and I shared that afternoon. The conversation in which he said, “Don’t you ever listen to that kind of bullshit again.” It was quite a serious conversation at that point, and the fact that we could swear when talking to each other now made me feel very grown up.

My brother went on to tell me that many, many kids are “not wanted” in the world, even when their parents gave birth to them.

“But that’s not the case for you,” he told me. “You are so lucky, actually. You were picked. We picked you. You were chosen to be a part of our family.”

Every crack in my heart mended at that moment, and the fierce love I have for both of my brothers was solidified.

The lesson did not stop there, and though he will tell you the rest is “fake news,” it is as true as time itself. My brother then taught me how to hold my fist just right if I ever wanted to throw a punch at Ursula Mearing, and he let me practice on his gut right there in doorway of the bright green kitchen on Woodcliff Drive. Over and over until he was sure I knew what I was doing.

He then said, “But probably don’t do that. Mom and Dad would be really mad and you’ll get grounded. Learn how to use your words so that no one talks to you like that again.”

I never did punch Ursula for real, though in my mind I worked her over a few times on a regular basis. But I did always remember how to hold my fist in case she ever mouthed off like that again.

And she did mouth off like that again, many times over. Instead of punching her, however, I learned the power of standing up for myself with words. To Ursula Mearing, I eventually became untouchable.

Kids are mean. Bullies are real.

I am lucky enough to have two older brothers who chose me to be their little sister. Not everyone has that.

Some of the kids in school go through their days feeling as though they have no one. The thought of any kid feeling like that haunts my heart.

And so…the banana bread is ready to be sliced. The students will return from spring break tomorrow with sleepy eyes, telling me that it was “boring” to be home for so many days. And they will always have a place in my classroom. I can’t let them punch me in the gut until I am sure they know how to do it properly, but I can bring them baked goods every Monday morning and make sure they know that I chose them to be in my classroom.