Tortured Kid

Tortured Kid 1984

Age: Ten

There I was: A big fourth grader. I say this because the fourth grade was a big deal at my school. Not only did the fourth graders have their own wing of the school, they also were the lucky ones who delivered milk to the kindergarteners.

“Delivered milk?” You say?

Why yes, it was a sought after responsibility.

The fourth grade wing was in the basement of the school and we had our own bathrooms and were located right next to the school refrigerator. Now that I think of it, I am not exactly sure why there was a large, random refrigerator down there, but there was and it was cool. Every day the kindergarteners needed milk for their snack break and we got to take turns delivering it to them. Everyone looked forward to their shot at milk duty.

I loved the responsibility of collecting the milk and bringing it to the little kids. We were sort of heroes as we walked into the classroom and I embraced the mentor idea. I was one to do the right things for the right reasons and being a good role model came naturally to me. I had always idolized the upper classmen who were good to me and set a good example. I wanted to turn around and do the same thing for the younger kids when I grew up. And fourth grade was very grown up.

Along with mentoring, I also felt the need to protect those kids who were bullied by others. Treating others poorly just because they were different from me made zero sense in my mind. I’m not saying that I always agreed with everyone, I would just use my head and find some common ground. I was a self-proclaimed peacekeeper. For the most part, my Pollyanna attitude worked and I managed to help my friends or random kids work through their differences; until I met Matt.

Matt was an odd kid to say the least. He had grown twice as fast as everyone in his grade so he looked more like a fifth grader than a second grader. He was tall, a bit on the heavy side, and his clothes never seemed to fit. One would think that a kid his size would be too big for any of the Catholic School uniforms we were forced to wear, but Matt actually seemed to drown in his outfits. He was constantly grabbing the back of his pants by the waist and pulling them up. I would have suggested a belt, but he had other problems to tackle.

Matt’s personality was not the most attractive. He would often rough house with the guys in his class pinning them down until they begged for mercy. He seemed to think rough play was fun and did not realize that he was being a jerk. After repeated offenses, he began to reach outcast status. Tripping him on the way to the bus, teasing his oversized wardrobe and the “oh so popular” spitball attack were often launched at Matt’s expense. Kids can be so mean. I could not understand why some kids felt that bullying was the answer.

Now, my observations of Matt were made on the playground, in the hallway and on the way to the bus. I was two years older so I actually never had a class with him and had never even spoken to him, but I still felt that he deserved my sympathies. He seemed to be the kind of guy that deserved anybody’s sympathies.