Back in junior high (they call it middle school here in PA and that drives me crazy!), every day in the lunch line I was bullied. People would cut in front of me and then tell me that it was okay because I didn't need to eat anyway. "You got more rolls than a bakery, already!" People would pinch their nose and point to me. They would carry on with not-so-subtle jokes at my expense for the entire 20 minute wait in line.
The other unbearable thing was hearing about happy home lives. Vacations, boyfriends, football games, and people generally living fun normal teenaged lives. I didn't have that. I couldn't relate to that. It made me feel like I did not belong there. And they were telling me that I didn't. And they, the cool kids, the better kids, were telling me that my fat belly was the exact reason why I didn't belong. But it still growled. School lunch was always the first meal of the day and I wanted it.
At one point, I devised a plan. I would sit in the cafeteria until the line died down and then I would slip into the end of the line and get my food in peace. I would eat alone and then be one of the last out of the room, which was another bonus as I didn't have to wait in line to return my tray or get pushed trying to exit the room.
It lasted about 3 days. Then the principal noticed me getting into line so late in the hour. He was heavy set guy with a grey beard and glasses. He was a semi father figure at the time. The year before, he had pulled me into his office for a few hours to talk about my homelife and not having a father. He showed up at a few of my Girl Scout meetings to teach us all about tools. At that point in my life, that was the most male interaction I'd had outside of my mother's occasional boyfriends. Those few interactions = special person. For me, anyway. I guess not for him.
He asked me "What are you doing?"
I remember being instantly scared. "I have to eat."
He told me that I couldn't. I was supposed to stand in line like everyone else. He even went so far as to walk me up to the lunch ladies and tell them that if I ever got into the end of the line again that they were NOT to serve me lunch. I was terrified and mortified.
I already thought I deserved nothing, that I was ugly and fat and horrible and then I had this man, who I looked up to, tell me that I should not eat.
Looking back now, he probably thought I was getting seconds, but at the time I was frozen with fear. I didn't think to stand up for myself or tell him about the bullying. I should have. I'm sorry, Stacey. I should have fought for you.
