This is a picture of my favourite pink shirt. I have been retired from the school library for a few years now and when I brought it out today for “Pink Shirt Day”, it spoke volumes to me that I would never have imagined all those years ago when I bought it. I have nothing personal against pink, but my mother told me for many years growing up never to wear pink because it did not look good on me. I would often be drawn to pink clothing and would try it on. Friends would tell me how good it looked on me and the view I saw in the mirror backed them up…but when it came right down to making the purchase, I would put it back and grab the navy blue version. This shirt did not come in any other colours and the “are you going to make me use my librarian voice?” made me giggle so I threw caution to the wind because I thought it would make students smile (and it did). I didn’t wear it often, but when Pink Shirt Day was established, I would wear it because it was the only pink shirt I owned. It saw the light of day at least once a year. I’m 65 years old and to this day still hear my mother’s voice in my head, every time I see this in my closet.
I’ve always been an advocate for those students who suffered under bullies. I was critically aware of it in my interaction with students, or at least thought I was. I felt like my radar was always going – watching student interactions, reactions, attitudes, and postures. In grade 6, I was the target of bullies. My mother was an alcoholic and I fended for myself in a lot of areas. My school had a strict PE dress code – white blouse and blue shorts. No other uniform was required at the school. The only other mandate was that girls were not allowed to wear pants to school. If it was cold we had to wear slacks under our dresses and then take them off when we got to the classroom. My mom wasn’t always on top of the laundry, nor was she awake when I went to school, and she certainly wasn’t aware of what day I needed the special PE outfit. I was terrified of being singled out at school for not wearing the right clothes to gym class, so much so that I would dig through the laundry to find the white blouse and blue shorts I had stuffed in the week before. I was 11 at the time and at no time did it ever cross my mind that it might have carried a certain odor by that point. Never mind that the cotton blouse was wrinkled beyond reason, I had a white blouse and blue shorts that would steer me clear of academic repercussions.
That was the year I was labeled “BO” (for body odor). Another girl in my class started having skin eruptions due to the onset of puberty. She was labeled “bacteria”. We were taunted mercilessly in the classroom and on the playground. My friends did not stand up for me and certainly the teachers turned a blind eye. Could they not hear the taunts within the walls of their classroom? They were hardly quiet. They didn’t need to be. It was just kids being kids, right?
I am 65 years old and I still hear their taunts. As I write this my stomach is jittery and I can see their faces and feel the shame. (Hard to believe these bullies are now seniors just like me and their words still hurt). My parents never knew. At least I like to think they never knew. I was scared they would find out and take on the battle and life would be worse for it. I just went to school each day knowing that I would be a target. The next school year we moved to the other side of town closer to my father’s job. It was a modern apartment building with a laundry room with coin-operated washers and dryers. We had an electric dryer in our old apartment, but a wringer washer that I could not use. I was now able to do my own laundry (and that of my family) and there was no reason that I could not be ready for PE day. The restrictions weren’t quite so stringent but shorts were mandatory. That’s not to say that PE day didn’t sneak up on me from time to time. Waking up in the realization that I had forgotten was enough to make me physically sick.
School never felt like a safe place. Fast forward and I find myself with a career in one. I am the librarian and I used my librarian voice many times over the years to bring awareness to bullying and to advocate for students both from the bullying of their classmates, and, sometimes even from their teachers. Bullying – it’s not just for kids. I always had a small cadre of students who found my library a safe haven. Lunch hours and recesses found them at my desk under the guise of “helping” when in reality we just hung out together. My hope was that I could be a calm space on their stormy days.
I would begin my school year with a lesson about my expectations in the library. Over time I was able to share the PG version of my school bullies and the effects I still felt all these years later. I would tell them that they had an ally in me and that I would tolerate no bullying behaviour. I liked to think I was on top of things until years later I was speaking with a student who had graduated several years before and was now an adult. She described to me how difficult life was while she was in school. I never would have guessed. She was not a student I was particularly close to, but still I didn’t notice any of the signs. We become masters of disguising our pain – to prevent affording further ammunition to the bully and to prevent others from being privy to that pain. A wounded animal in the jungle would behave no differently.
I would like to say that bullying ended when I left school, but we are all fools if we believe that. It changes monikers over time. Sexual harassment comes immediately to mind. Bosses and male coworkers that made sexual remarks due to my oversize breasts. People who gawked and made rude comments when I walked down a street. My first day on the job as an educational assistant found me walking into a classroom where two 9-year-old boys in grade 4 made the comment, “oh look, it’s Dolly Parton”. If only the floor could have opened up and swallowed me. When I had my breast reduction surgery a few years later I told everyone (and even myself) it was to prevent back problems later in life. In reality, I just wanted to be divested of these attention grabbers and be able to disappear into the background. Over the years, I have comforted more than one coworker who has been bullied and I, too, have been at the receiving end. Now I feel the effects of ageism coming into play. Call it what you will, a bully is a bully.
At my age you would think that bullying is something I wouldn’t need to worry about, but triggers come in all shapes and sizes. I have long since learned to stand my ground but that harassed 11 year old is still in there. It doesn’t take quite as long to comfort her and I no longer believe what the bully says – but it does take a moment not to allow myself to be pulled back. Nowadays it just takes more energy than I am willing to expend. I am grateful that I can simply walk away. I am in no way forced to go back like a student lawfully required to attend school. I am no longer the sole provider for my children and unable to walk away from a job that hurts me.
Most recently I felt bullied in my misadventure in becoming a part of what I thought was a collaborative project. Nothing I did was right and none of my ideas were worthy of consideration. I felt gaslighted, confused, and disoriented. What I had been led to believe, didn’t exist. There was only one queen bee and it was made abundantly clear that as long as I was content to just be a drone, I was welcome. But I don’t take crap from anyone, not anymore. Explain to me why I’m wrong and I will amend my thoughts. Give me clear direction and I will follow. I walked away from the drama and chaos this project brought to my soul. This project that I had so excitedly taken on and poured my heart and soul into was going forward without me and it still stung even though it is exactly what needed to happen in this instance. I am nothing if not resilient. Something better this way comes. Experience hasn’t been the kindest of teachers throughout the years, but lessons have been learned nonetheless. The biggest lesson, be true to yourself.
As an adult, I can walk away. You be you and I be me. Kids are not afforded that privilege. I read profusely as a child. It helped me navigate a world in which my parents were emotionally absent and in which my every waking moment was fraught with fear and torment – between alcoholism, emotional abuse, bullying, and familial instability, books saved my life. Many kids are losing the choice now to read what they need to help them navigate their world. And that is where this shirt now serves double duty. Once a librarian, always a librarian and I will continue to use my voice to advocate for all children and for the books that deserve to be on shelves for them to find.
Along my journey I have found my voice – fallible in its humanity, but it is mine. It is strong, loud, and unwavering in my desire to be whole. A bully took a piece of me a long time ago and it affected my life in more ways that I can possibly write here. I have worked many years to find that missing piece of my personal puzzle, and while that piece may not fit perfectly because of the growth that has transpired across the decades, and while the spot still feels tender from time to time, that piece is mine to own and I do.
Note: I still have my issues…when I went to post a pic of the shirt, I was acutely aware of the wrinkles it sustained from being folded in my closet. I was instantly reminded the wrinkled white blouse from the laundry hamper 54 years ago. I found I could not bring myself to post it so, firstly, I tried using photoshop to remove the wrinkles but as I am not adept at doing that, abandoned the effort and went in search of my iron. The wrinkles were quickly and easily removed but it’s not so easy to smooth the mind. Bella seemed to like it wrinkles and all, which makes me love her even more.
Retirement and The Chase of the Lady Aurora 