Never let them see you sweat...or cry...

So let me preface this blog by saying I despise bullying.  I am one of the many who suffered immeasurably at the hands of bullies – one in particular, although I won’t mention names (Donna Richards) OOPS, did I say that with my outside voice?  My life was completely miserable because of the relentless harassment from 8^th grade all the way through high school. Would you believe that even graduation night, the person who made my life utter hell was seated DIRECTLY behind me?  I thought my life sucked.  I thought it would always suck.  Thankfully, I was wrong. Not only does my life not suck, my life is glorious, and filled with so many wonderful people and things that I sometimes pinch myself just to make sure I’m not dreaming.

So imagine my level of fury when I talked to Bill on the phone yesterday only to find out my daughter came home crying a river of tears because someone was bullying her.  She had just mentioned the day before that there was a kid named – we will call him “Nick” – that had been calling her truly awful names and cursing at her, even punched her once.  I, of course, gave her the “if he even thinks about bothering you, you need to tell me immediately…not tomorrow, not next week, RIGHT FREAKING NOW.  She said she would.  Low and behold, the next day, voilá! The little prick was at it again.  But wait, it gets better.  When he became relentless in his verbal abusive, something in my sweet dear child snapped. Not like Ralphie in a Christmas Story snapped, but it was pretty cool! She grabbed him by the shirt and just stared him down for about a ten seconds, although I’m sure it seemed longer to her.  Of course, then the delinquent pushed her and started to kick her, which was not the optimal outcome, but WOW, just WOW. She stood up to him.  She didn’t back down or break down, at least not until she got home. Where did she get the guts, the moxie?  I told her she was right to tell Bill and me what happened, but she should never have touched him, not that I actually agree with that, but the school has some bullshit “zero tolerance” policy, so for her “lay her hands on him” would cause my flute-playing, straight A, happy, compassionate, sweet child to be suspended along with the juvenile delinquent – not fair in my opinion. Bill called the school principal (who is a personal friend of Bill’s from childhood – bad news for ol’ Nick) and the principal said he would “handle it.”  And today, magically, it was “handled.”  Nick will no longer be bothering my daughter. In fact, he is not allowed to talk to her at all. Looking at her might not be a good idea either. Score one for Tricia.

The whole thing brought back so many memories, and it is amazing how seared those experiences are in my brain.  People say kids “should suck it up” and learn how to deal with teasing and abuse. First of all, bullying was bad when I was a kid, when anyone is a kid.  Imagine it now, in a world of social media, cell phones, and other avenues that didn't exist "back in the day." It is a whole different world out there. I do make Tricia handle some things on her own, and it has helped her develop amazing coping skills.  But some situations really just require more attention, and definitely some action.  No child should have to tolerate bullying.  It is scary, and worse yet, it is humiliating.  Humiliation does not build character. Humiliation tears out a child’s heart, and destroys their self-esteem.  Don’t agree with me? That’s ok, you don’t have to agree with one word of this.  But it will not be my child. I want her to grow up with a strong sense of who she is, and what she is capable of in her life.  I certainly will not allow some snot-nosed brat to take that away from her.  

I’ve said it to her a million times, “you won’t even remember these people when you get out of high school.”  But you know what? She will.  The thing I want her to remember is how she dealt with the situation, and more importantly, that she had the benefit of parents who love her that stood up for her, and protected her when the chips were down.  I think of all the kids over the past few years who ended their lives because they felt it was their only escape.  I never want that to be my child.  I don’t want it to be anyone’s child really. No child should feel that alone.

In a way, I feel sorry for Nick. He must have one hell of a family life to think that hitting or kicking a girl is ok.  I wonder how many times his father raised a hand to his mother, or a sibling, or to him. Bullies are usually crying out for someone, anyone to notice them.  Negative attention is better than no attention at all.  I’ll still have his ass arrested for assault if he lays a hand on my daughter again, but wouldn’t it be nice if every child could come from a home that sets a loving example for “how life is supposed to be”?  I know not every bully comes from a broken home, just as not every kid from a broken home becomes a bully.  Somewhere, somehow, the cycle needs to stop.  If it takes a village, then so be it.  Everyone should step up to the plate and protect those who cannot protect themselves.

I am very proud of my daughter.  She has the intestinal fortitude to not take someone else’s crap, and even though maybe it was not the “best” way to handle it, she was able to walk away knowing she did not let him have the upper hand.  She stood up for herself, and I have to believe she took something valuable away from that experience.  

I hope she always remembers that lesson.  Because as we all know, the bullies are there long after high school.

Hug your child tonight. Thanks.

The price and the payoff of a good laugh...

Laughing at yourself is fun…laughing at others is even better...

Now before you skewer me and throw me over an open flame as punishment for that statement, let me explain…

I am not talking about the kind of laughter that comes from watching another suffer at the hands of cruelty or mean-spiritedness. I am talking about watching your dearest friend, who is clearly overserved, try to do the bump and grind on the dance floor with someone who is also overserved. I am referring to watching someone you adore emerge from the ladies room…with her skirt tucked neatly in the back of her tights. I live for those moments, I really do. And I have been the subject of such moments many times in my life. I have laughed at many, and been laughed at by many. In the end, I was always able to laugh right along with the rest of them, noting to myself that someday…someday, it would be their turn. It pays to have a sense of humor and a long memory. You never know when opportunity will present itself.

I remember such an occasion in 1988 or so. I was about 24 years old living in downtown DC, and running around with the world in my back pocket. My best friends and I spent many a night hitting the club scene, dressed to kill and drinking cheap champagne for as long as we could before we poured ourselves into a cab and headed home. Our favorite hangout was an upscale spot along the Georgetown waterfront called the River Club. We owned that joint. We were STARS.

I can remember leaving work, planning my fabulous wardrobe choice for the evening in my mind as I walked the two blocks back to my teeny studio apartment. I was going to look HOT, I just knew it. I walked in the door, poured a glass of wine and jumped in the shower.

Now I know not all of you will remember the miracle of shoulder pads and remember them with quite the fondness that I do, but believe me, I thought they were THE BOMB. No outfit of mine was ever complete without big hair, a short skirt and the biggest shoulder pads I could find (wow, seems not much has changed in my style since then...gotta work on that.) That evening I chose a micro mini skirt, a silk camisole, a pair of stilt heels, and an oversided blazer. My hair was fresh with a spiral perm, so big it needed its own zip code. Oh, I was going to be the envy of every woman, and the object of every man’s desires. As I put on the blazer, I realized that the shoulder pads included inside said blazer were nowhere NEAR as big as was required. I pulled out my bag (yes, bag) of extra shoulder pads, and found a pair of squared off babies that were no less than two inches thick, with Velcro straps, of course, to secure them. I fastened over my bra and camisole straps, and put on the blazer. Another fluff of the hair, followed by a shellacing of Aquanet and I was good to go. Look out world, the Redhead has arrived.

I hailed a cab to my friend Nancy’s apartment, where we met our other two friends. Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda had nothing on us, let me tell you. We gave ourselves a standing ovation for our stunning appearance and shared a cab to the River Club, where we simply walked to the front of the line and went in. I always loved those contemptuous looks from the other women forced to stand in line. Full of myself back then? You betcha. I knew everyone. Where is the champagne? We need a few shots…

As the evening progressed, and the bottles of less than vintage champagne were downed, we hit the dance floor. By this point, I was in my element and living the dream. I remember it was warm, really really warm. I took off my blazer and hung it over a railing. I kept dancing – God, this is a great song! Dancing, dancing…what the hell, no one else is dancing now. The music is still playing. Why is Nancy laughing? Wait, people are staring…at me. Wow, I must really be shaking my moneymaker because they look like they may start applauding. Oh, if they only had a pole…then it hit me…

THE DAMN SHOULDER PADS!!!!! I’m out there like Denny Terrio on Dance Fever, without the blazer, and the shoulder pads are bouncing around like freaking waterwings for the entire room to see. All three friends, and several others who were at the bar, are now doubled over laughing so hard I’m pretty sure a couple of them peed just a little. For a moment, I was flushed with embarrassment. I even momentarily thought about just leaving. Damn them for letting me go on like that. I’m mortified, completely humiliated…eh, I would have done exactly the same thing to them, so who am I to point fingers? I grabbed my blazer, took a bow, and headed back to the bar. I was sure a bottle of champagne with my name on it was waiting for me. It did take months to live down that moment. It has never been equalled, but hope springs eternal.

Since then I have had my share of finger-pointing moments at the expense of a friend who was forced to suffer as I did. All in good fun. No one was hurt, no one had to go into therapy, no one committed a felony as revenge. Life should be full of laughter and memorable times. In the end, those are the moments we will remember with great fondness, and chances are we will wonder why didn’t put ourselves out there more, and laugh even louder.

Because the fact is, if you can't laugh at yourself, then how can you laugh at others with any honesty or conviction?