The Pain of Anger Bullied Me

During the ages of 13 and 17 I was a very angry child. I spent most of my time trying to make other people’s lives as miserable as I thought mine was. Looking back now, of course, I realize I had very little to be angry about. Then it was overwhelming to have just lost my dad to Cancer right after he had given his life to God to become a Methodist preacher.  I had been forced to move back to Mississippi from New York where I thought I had found myself.  I was then expected to go to a predominately white school and get a long with rich white kids looking down their noses at me. I was suppose to respect white teachers who didn’t care to educate me on real stuff, like how to get rich and/or how to live as a strong black woman.  Not to mention that my "friends" didn’t remain loyal from one day to the next.

So I turned to everything -as a mother- I’d hate for my little girl to go through. I turned to gangs for security and love. I turned to boys for attention. I turned to misbehavior for something to do. I did all of this in the spirit of rebellion. I was made at God for taking my daddy from me. I was angry with my mother for moving back to Mississippi after I had learned how to live in New York. I was angry with the white girls in the hallways who always had something to smile about. I was angry with my sisters and brothers for not being angry with me. 

Simply, I was just angry with life.

Eventually I learned that the best way to make myself feel better was to lend some of my agony to others. Who better to do that to than the white girls who were always happy and who already feared me by the clothes I wore and the way I talked to the teachers, plus, I was simply a delinquent. I spent many hours in detention. I had teachers tell me they were concerned when I didn’t have detention. I started bullying the girls who had lockers beside mine. I’d make their lives miserable.   They’d hate to see me coming. It made me feel magnificent to have that amount of power over a white girl who I had always perceived as being perfect and having a perfect existence. I didn’t want to have any white friends. I didn’t want to understand their issues. I didn’t care. All I wanted was to make them afraid to be anywhere near me. I wanted their locker space and I wanted them to give me a reason to fight them so that I could be suspended. I wanted to go home and give my mother a reason to be a parent to me. I needed a reason for her to take two seconds away from her busy day to concentrate on me. 

That really didn’t work. 

After about the third suspension my mother gave me over to God. She began to talk to the Assistant Principal who started watching me closely.   Seemed like everywhere I turned there was Mr. Burchfield. He was a rather handsome white man too. Mr. Burchfield told me one day after I was in trouble for letting my boyfriend use my lunch card, because I was on free lunch and he wasn’t, “You are worrying your mother to death. Why are you getting into so much trouble? Why do you come to school just to get into trouble?” I immediately thought, "This man thinks he's scaring me. Well he isn’t. I don’t care about what he saying to me. Who does he think he is?"

I went home to tell my mother that I was suspended -- yet again. Before I could even tell her why, she began to weep. She said many things to me on that couch that day through all those tears. But there is only one thing that I can still hear clearly, “Funmi, what am I suppose to do with you. You know if your father was here you would not be acting like this.” She was absolutely right. Of course I wouldn’t be acting like this. 

Thankfully by senior year, I had straightened up a bit. I was able to save my grades and stopped getting into (as much) trouble at school. I was also able to mend relationships with some of the girls by my locker. They never became friends of mine, but I did ask them for forgiveness and they welcomed the opportunity to forgive me. 

It was just that easy.

Parents today must understand that if their child is being bullied at school or if the child is being a bully, there is a reason. Sure kids will be kids.  But there is a reason for everything.  Something is happening. Don't wait until your child has been pushed so far that they try to take a weapon to school to protect themselves from the person who has been taunting them or pushing/shoving them; making their lives hell.  Don't wait until your child has pushed some kid into the concrete wall and the child ends up busting his head open and needing stitches.  That's a criminal offense and your child will be headed straight to a detention center.  Do you want that for your child?  Are you one who'd rather pull the wool over your eyes and proclaim, "Not my child"?  Yes, it can be your child and if you don't pay close attention, it will be your child.   

One thing I learned through this journey is that every child needs attention from their parent and will do whatever they think is needed to get it. For some it’s getting perfect grades and excelling in school. For others it’s doing well in daddy’s favorite sport. Then some, who don’t necessarily thrive in school or sports, get into trouble to grab a bit of attention. Don’t get so involved in your life, your job, your relationship, that you let your child get away from you. I was well on my way to thug-dom in a very short period of time – about two years exactly. Because I was angry and my mother was no longer a stay-at-home mom like she had been most of my life up to my father’s death. She had to start working full time to take care of us. I didn’t understand not being watched all the time; made no sense to me. I took that as free reign to do whatever I wanted to do. I had been kept under such strict rules prior to my father’s transition, that now, I felt fancy free and foot loose. The freedom coupled with the anger caused me to change drastically mentally and emotionally. 

Something as small as moving to another school can shake up your child’s entire existence. Watch your child carefully. Notice when the headaches become more frequent, or when homework takes longer than usual to get done, or cries to miss school come more often, or a sudden interest in mature entertainment occurs, etc. Children are not always going to run to their mother or father to tell them what’s happening to them at school. Chances are they don’t think you understand. They don’t know that you once did what they’re doing. They think they’re smarter than you are and you are old and out of touch with life. You are the first line of defense in keeping your child from being hurt or hurting someone. My mother went to the Assistant Principal and asked him to help her. That may not be as easy to accomplish these days, but there are other ways to get help for your child. Just pay attention to the warning signs and be attentive to your child. Your baby only gets two parents; one mommy and one daddy. Be a parent!