Middle School. It’s a hellish place for preteens to sit and fester in their own awkwardness. It’s bad enough that puberty has to strike during this time: sometimes hitting like a freight train, other times like a much needed fairy godmother. Unfortunately for some, the effects don’t go away at midnight. I was blessed enough to be what many call a “late bloomer.” Basically, my voice stayed nice and high, I grew no facial hair, I gained no weight in either fat or muscle, and I kept all my boyish facial features and enthusiasm.
Now while many adults would see me and think, “Aw, what an adorable little boy,” my peers were less positive. Those who were fortunate enough to hit puberty as a sixth grader took the opportunity to point out how much more manly they were. They would brag on and on about how much testosterone coursed through their veins as they flexed their meagre muscles and combed the seven gangly chin hairs they grew. Then they would inevitably zero in on me, and I would much rather have faced a pack of hungry wolves than a group of overly confident middle school boys. At least wolves have the common decency to kill you before they eat you; a well trained middle school bully can eat a poor nerd like myself alive and make it last for three painful years.
The taunts would start simple enough, nothing more than little jabs and jeers,
“He(voice crack)eey there Ian, ho(voice crack)oow are you doing?”
“Hey four eyes, bet you can’t catch me when I steal your books.”
“Where’s your little mommy to pick you up from daycare?”
Then they would start to discover their confident side. You see, middle schoolers occupy a strange hybrid of teenager and child. They are beginning to use more colorful vocabulary, but without the talent or breadth of knowledge of more experienced purveyors of profanity like high school or college students.
“Hey bitch, the teacher ain’t here to save you now?
“Awww is the little fucker gonna cry?”
“I don’t give a shit about your feelings, do my fucking homework!”
The middle school vocabulary is an interesting one, and I was fortunate enough to experience the full breadth of their well-crafted syntax. Then came the word. That one word that gets on my nerves more than any other word. See, I can handle being called a motherfucker by some pubescent little cockroach, but I absolutely hated this word.
“Hey faggot, get over here”
Now I should specify, I am not gay. There is nothing wrong with being gay, I’m just not. That does not mean there are not people I care very deeply about who are. My sister, for one, has recently come out as lesbian, and I could not be more proud. Some of my best friends were discovering their sexuality as their bodies went through changes. While some boys discovered the carnal joys of looking at scantily clad women on the internet, others found their solace in the presence of well-muscled, shirtless men. But just because I wasn’t gay doesn’t mean I can tolerate the use of such uncouth slurs. It wasn’t any more appropriate to call me a faggot than it would be to call me the n-word, and anyone who was unfortunate enough to call me that horrible word would experience the full extent of my wrath.
The wrath of little 12 year old me was a fearsome thing to behold. While I may have been skinny, I was by no means small. Add to that 6 years of karate and I make a fearsome opponent in any brawl. I would kick, punch, and claw my way through any group of little snots who decided to set their sights on me. I left more broken bones than a high school cheerleader does broken hearts. I sent a kid to the hospital once after he decided to keep pushing his luck with how far he could go. God better save you if you got on my bad side, because he’s the only one who could.
At least, that’s how it went in my head. I would stand up to the bully and fight him; I would be the hero Stoller middle school deserved, just not the one it needed right then. I would ride off triumphantly into the sunset with whatever girl crush I had at the time - it was always changing, you know how middle school boys are. I would be loved by most and feared by those who opposed me, and nobody would ever again bully a poor little nerd. Unfortunately, the universe had other plans for me, and they didn’t include being a hero. Someone would make fun of me, I’d think about how awesome it would be to stand up to them, then before I knew it, Bam..
I got my fair share of bruises, but at least I learned how to take a punch. I knew I’d inevitably have to do something, but I was more scared of what they would do if I told a teacher than I was of what they were currently doing to me. That is, until one fateful day, a particularly unpleasant young stoner by the name of Jeff (I'll keep his real name anonymous) set his crosshairs on me in the PE locker room. His matted, greasy hair swung back and forth as he sauntered in my direction. The kid couldn’t have had more than nine brain cells, and all of them were laser focused on making my life hell, at least when he wasn’t mind-bogglingly high. That day, however, he was sober, and rather pissed about it.
“Hey Ian, you piece of shit.” This is when he grabbed my change of clothes and threw them over the lockers.
“Get your faggoty ass out of my sight you fucking queer.”
At this point, I was confused at whether I should be enraged, scared, or confused at why he needed to be so ineffectively profane. You see, there comes a point when you swear so much it loses meaning. Jeff had passed that point long ago.
I made up my mind and decided I felt enraged, and I was finally gonna do something about it. So, naturally, I stood up to him. I gave that little punk a piece of my mind, and you can probably imagine how well that went. Suffice to say, the status quo remained unchanged, and I remained the bottom of the social ladder.
Looking back on that day, there’s something that concerns me. Not the fact that I almost died, but rather that no teacher came and intervened. Nobody got in trouble, everything went on as usual. Jeff and his buddies eventually moved on to larger prey, and I finished middle school in relative peace. I hit puberty not too long after eighth grade, and I turned from a tiny boy soprano to a bass who could shake the lights with my voice. Suffice to say, people gave me a healthy amount of respect. As for Jeff, I’m pretty sure he was arrested for possession of some hard drug. It’s too bad, I wish he could’ve straightened up and matured a bit, but while the people may physically mature, I guess some things never change.
