The Voices of THOSE KIDS: I’d Rather Be Not Liked for Being Mean Than Not Liked for Being Me

 

The minute I hit school, it was pretty much game over for me.  I was one of THOSE KIDS.  It didn’t matter what I did or didn’t do – you made the decision for me.  My brother was one of THOSE KIDS and my sister was one of THOSE KIDS and so my same last name automatically placed me in group where I would very soon belong. 

In early elementary school, I wasn’t the greatest student, but I think I was a pretty good kid.  I remember liking school and I think I got along with most kids.  Somewhere over the next few years, something changed.  I started struggling in school – it was hard for me, especially reading and writing.  You acted like I wasn’t trying – that I didn’t care and didn’t want to learn.  That wasn’t it – it was really hard.  I didn’t have help at home.  I don’t think anyone really realized how hard my home was sometimes.  It definitely impacted how I did in school.  I wish you knew how much I wanted to do well.  I didn’t want to be THAT student. Why wouldn’t I want to know how to read and write?  Do you know how much easier it would be for me now if I could?  

By the time middle school came along, I had lived up to everything that was expected of me.  I had not only become one of THOSE KIDS, I was leading the pack.  Kids didn’t like me.  They bullied me.  Teachers didn’t like me.  They had given up on me. There were several years of me not fitting in.  Everyone knew I didn’t fit in.  I knew it.  My teachers knew it.  My principal knew it.  I know they saw it, but no one helped me or tried to teach me how to do better.  I am pretty sure even the adults felt I deserved the treatment I was getting.

Being not liked for so long wears you down, especially when you don’t know exactly what you did. Kids who used to be nice to me were now really mean. I don’t why I was so unlikeable.  What was wrong with me?  Was it because I came from a bad family?  Was it because I was just a bad kid? There is nothing worse than feeling like something is wrong with you. I hated that feeling and so I figured out a way to stop it.  I figured out a way to survive.

All those kids and teachers who didn’t like me – I gave them a reason.  I was rude and arrogant and loud and mean.  I yelled and cussed and fought.  It was much better to be not liked for being the mean kid instead of being not liked for being me.  This method worked for academics too.  If I didn’t try and if I didn’t care, then the risk of failing on my own was gone.  I could hide behind my actions.  This was how I survived.  I tried a few times to be better, but it was too hard to do by myself.  It was much easier to jump back into the behaviors I knew would work.

I’m in a really bad place now.  I’m not with my family and friends. I’m locked in place where I have absolutely no freedom.  I struggling to comply even with all the people around me trying to support me. I have no idea what my future holds.  I don’t know what you can do for me, but I do know what I hope you do when you see another kid like me.

I hope you quit using the word “Fail” so much. Stop saying what you’re doing will make you fail this class and fail in life.  Stop saying you are working harder at failing than being successful.  See that you don’t know how hard I was working.  You weren’t giving me any credit for the battles I fought before I even got to school some days or the trauma that met me when I returned home. Maybe ask me if I have goals and if I want to succeed.  I do.  I just have no idea how.  Show me and tell me and help me.  Teach me. This means you must talk to me.  I had one teacher in 10 years who got to know me.  He talked to me and asked questions about my life.  He tried to understand.  It was one of the only times I tried.  He made more of a difference than he will probably ever know. Know that I’m going to earn my label as one of THOSE KIDS.  I won’t make good choices and I won’t cope well.  I’m going to act like I don’t want help and I don’t care and I don’t need you.  But kids like me, we need you.  I need you.  I really, really need you.

The story of a 15 year old boy co-written with Candace Boehm.