I don't really remember much of my childhood, but the parts I do recall don't exist on the same spectrum with each other. I have my happy memories and the stuff I try not to remember. I don't mean at home, but where I invested a larger part of my energy since I turned five, school. Let me describe something for you. As a child, I was a tiny little white girl, but my hair was not normal for a tiny pale thing like me. My mother has wavy hair and my father has tight tiny curls, so as a combination, my hair ended up EXTREMELY ethnic. And to make it worse, I am a redhead. So imagine a tiny little white redhead with hair bigger than her body. You probably think I'd be adorable and frankly, I was. I was a very cute little thing to everyone around me but my peers. To the children I was surrounded by everyday, I wasn't someone they wanted to be around. I met my first friend, Tara, because we were made fun of for the same reason, except she was black. All I remember about her was how nicely she treated me compared to our class. Kindergarten was where my self esteem started to falter. No child should have to grow up believing they aren't worth being treated kindly just because of they way they look. Especially a five year old.
From a very young age, I learned my parents moved a lot so my father could start college somewhere else (because where we were at that time wasn't what he wanted). I was born in Rexburg, Idaho while my parents were attending Rick's college -- now BYU Idaho. When I was six months old, my parents relocated to Florence, Oregon where my little brother was born when I was 14 months. Two years later, in Salem, Oregon, I was granted a little sister on my third birthday and another sister two years later. We then moved to Mesa, Arizona where we stayed for two more years before finally moving to this tiny county surrounded by mountains in Southeast Arizona where I gained my final sibling, a little brother. There are three towns here: Pima, Thatcher, and Safford. We first lived in Pima and now Safford where we have had our roots planted for almost eight years.
It doesn't seem like a lot of moving, but from kindergarten to the high school I graduated from a couple weeks ago, I have attended 14 schools. I had to learn how to make new friends 14 times. From kindergarten to fourth grade, my best friend was my brother. We were a little dynamic duo together, struggling to make friends every time we started somewhere new. It wasn't until we moved to Safford that I had actual friends. To those four blessed girls in my fifth grade class, I was an amazing human being, and they couldn't fathom how anyone would ever treat me less than I was. It was then in this tiny town in the middle of nowhere that I learned how much I was worth. I learned I was worth the kindness they showed me and I will never forget those four girls who showed me the value I had in this world. We aren't as close anymore, and we may hardly talk, but I will always remember their names.
By high school, I had self esteem and could easily make friends, but the same could not be said for my little brother. He had a small amount of friends, but they couldn't stop the bullying. During my sophomore year, it was so bad for him that he was suicidal. The words that all those other kids at school said to him almost ruined him, and we were pulled out by our mom. I recently graduated from an alternative school for drop outs, pregnant teens, and the kids the other schools consider problem children. Titus, my brother, is about to get his GED at 17, and he's so close to his Associates Degree at the college, and I can't help but wonder what life would be like if I didn't have him here. I don't know what I would do if my best friend had taken his life just because that's all he saw as his way out. My heart goes out to all those older sisters and brothers and the younger ones too, who have lost their sibling(s) to suicide.
Bullying is an extremely pressing issue in today's society. Everyone talks and talks for days about it, but does anyone actually try and stop it? My brother was surrounded by kids who saw what was happening and they did nothing. And to those who stood and did nothing, I hope that you know if he had actually hurt himself, I would blame you. I would blame you till the day I die, because standing and watching is just as bad as saying those mean words. Standing and watching is just as harmful as making that person think killing themselves is the only what to stop what they are feeling. Thankfully, my mom saved us, but others may not be so lucky. So to you my fellow humans, I say this: If you don't do your part to help the injustice that children, teenager, and adults around this world experience on a daily basis, you are just as bad as the bully.
“Don’t turn your face away.
Once you’ve seen, you can no longer act like you don’t know.
Open your eyes to the truth. It’s all around you.
Don’t deny what the eyes to your soul have revealed to you.
Now that you know, you cannot feign ignorance.
Now that you’re aware of the problem, you cannot pretend you don’t care.
To be concerned is to be human.
To act is to care.”
― Vashti Quiroz-Vega
And to that I say, Au Revoir.
