I always knew I was different. I know that phrase is grossly overused, but it is so true. I noticed that I was not like the other boys in so many ways. I did not find the same things interesting, I did not respond to situations in the same manner, and my mannerisms were different in relation to theirs.
I remember one day, specifically, playing on the playground in junior high. I seemed to assimilate into a group of boys over the course of my three years there. Once again, we were wildly different. They dressed differently, they spoke differently, and they found an interest in things that seemed to do everything but interest me.
But I tried to fit in, because I thought that would make me feel more normal. I tried to learn their hobbies and participate in their activities, but I always did so in vain. I found myself so exhausted, trying to pretend, that I must have looked so silly when trying desperately to fit in and failing. I remember sitting at lunch with them, almost always ending up as the butt of their jokes, and on more than one occasion, being rated highest on the "gay-o-meter." Now, it's kind of comical to think about how childish it was; however, at the time, it was anything but funny.
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I remember that year being especially tough because my sister was diagnosed with cancer then. Mom and Dad were preoccupied, and rightfully so, and that's probably when I began to go inward and close myself off from my family. I suppose I felt a need to take care of myself and not to increase their worries. Or maybe I was just embarrassed.
I was lucky enough to begin exploring other groups of friends, groups of friends that accepted me more for what I wanted to be, and helped me to come out of my shell. Some of these friends, I am still close with to this day.
The horribly ironic part about all of this was that my former group of friends were displeased when I decided to change my group of friends, one in particular. He was, of course, the one who was quick to poke fun and quick to single me out.
So, I was "hanging out" with my new friends, minding my own business. I remember it being a cloudy day, moderately cool. I felt somewhat free, empowered, because I had found something in myself to change groups of friends, even though it felt uncomfortable. While over by the four square courts, I heard some yelling. I can't remember exactly what they said now, but it was something derogatory. I tried to ignore it, but it became increasingly difficult. Suddenly, they made it absolutely impossible to ignore. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw them run nearer to the four square courts. One of the boys launched a football, from a very close proximity, and without a doubt directed it towards me, colliding with my side and knocking me over.
They laughed. And laughed. To this day, I'm not really sure why.
In the grand scheme of the world, it was a football. And it was thrown. Big deal. But on that day, I felt singled out, I felt different, and I felt judged. I found myself going further inward, not just with my family, but with friends as well. In fact, I felt the effects of these less than enriching friendships until late high school, when I still had trouble trusting that I could make actual friends.
Perhaps my differences evoked a fear in them that made them do that--a fear of deviation from the norm, a fear of being judged by their peers, or perhaps a fear that being friends with someone that they viewed as different meant that they, too, were different.
As the years went on, I believe they grew out of it, which is less than surprising. We were kids, and we did not know any better. I suppose we all have "footballs" thrown at us every day. Maybe instead of letting the football knock me down, I should have thrown it back. Maybe it would have helped them to learn a bit sooner.
Perhaps I let myself be the victim that day. Perhaps I had more control than I felt.
Maybe we need to teach today's kids not to let themselves be the victim, or maybe we need to teach them to pick up the football and throw it back. Because there will always be footballs, no matter how much we educate our kids, and no matter how much we try to help them develop empathy towards one another.
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