Struggle For Acceptance

At ten, Las Vegas became home.  The road trip there slowly morphed from snow to sun, from trees to cactuses, from thousands of people to millions, from black minority to white minority.  I didn't fit in.  The change hit me hard, making me throw up on the first day I was supposed to go to my new school.  It was a new form of procrastination.  The next day however, I was sitting in my new desk praying for three p.m. to come.  After my first day of school, I thought of new creative ways of “throwing up”.  Mixing oatmeal, cream of wheat, and brown sugar in a bowl then dumping it in the toilet only worked for three days.  Inevitably, the day came that faking it no longer became an option.  “Mitch, get up.  It's time to get ready.”  Mom pulled back the blankets I had hanging from under the mattress of my bunk bed, creating my cave on the bottom half.  She quickly pulled the blinds open, allowing the heat of the Las Vegas sun to penetrate the room.  A stream of light hit the side of my face, being consumed immediately by unwelcome warmth.  My head hunkered down in the blankets like a nervous turtle.  I fought the claustrophobic feeling off as long as I could; breathing in the same oxygen I was breathing out, until finally I gave in, and apathetically rolled out of bed.  Using my ten year old brain, I thought of everything I could to persuade my mom not to make me go to school, “everything my teacher is going over I already learned in my old school” or “we can't leave our dog alone at the house all day, she'll die from starvation”.  Nothing worked.  Telling my mom the truth might have worked, how the kids told me I didn't belong, or that if I got in their  way during recess they would tie me up and leave me in the desert bushes behind the sand pit.  I cowered to my mother's request, and sat quietly in the front seat of our black Nissan Sentra, trying my hardest to control my rapidly increasing heartbeat.

                My teacher gave me the satisfaction of sitting in the very back of the room, that way I wouldn't have to feel the 25 pairs of eyeballs searing the back of my head.  In our class room, we randomly sat, according to the teacher's desire.  When recess came, the kids organized themselves into their own unique group; skaters, athletes, playground junkies, preps, nerds, and so forth.  The unspoken rule was you had to pick a group, and what that group's passion was became your passion.  My problem was I liked aspects from each group.  I loved books, sports, dressing nice on occasion, skating, biking, everything, especially if it was something new.  That wasn't allowed.  I tried going from group to group, but that got me into a lot of trouble, even threats.  Luckily, I was witty, and faster than the rest of my classmates, and was able to get away.  Recess became unbearable.  With no friends to play with, I found myself getting lost in the schools hallways and library, passing the time.  Hall monitors and teachers became worried and made me go outside to play.  They never listened to me when I told them that for me, inside alone was a lot safer.  Reading this, you might feel surprised that this can happen while only in elementary school.   I was too.   

Lunch time.  Tired of being shoved, tripped, and hit by other kids while teachers weren't looking, I remained always in the back of the line.  With my stomach churning and growling, I grabbed a lunch tray, and held it out for the nice old ladies to fill it for me.  With the once light paper tray now pulling heavily on my skinny arms, I turned towards the rest of the lunch room.  I searched instinctively for a safe place to sit alone.  Because I choose to wait in the back of the line for my food, all the tables are filled with groups of kids rowdily eating their lunches.  I was forced again, to break out of my comfort zone, and sit in the middle of the room, with a group that didn't want me there.  I never fit in.  I grew the habit of eating faster than everyone else, and despite me sitting down and starting to eat last, I finished before everyone.  This was done in order to avoid the bombardment of food being tossed at me regularly, again under the teacher's radar.  However, no matter how fast I ate, at least a few pieces of food found its way through the crowd to my face, back of my head, lunch tray or lap.  Some days I was unable to hide the stains on my clothes from the teachers, so they would uncaringly ask who did it and rush me to the bathroom to try and wash out the ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, and other condiments that embedded themselves in my 100% cotton clothes.  This happened because I was new, and I was different.

These same scenarios followed me out of the fifth grade, and into middle school.  Now, bigger kids were involved.  Walking to school my first day with my older brother, Kyle, I stopped to tie my shoelace.  Once I finished, I looked up, and saw Kyle a few feet ahead of me.  I stood up to try and catch up to him, but with one step, an older kid grabbed me and pushed me against light tan cinder block wall.  This area of the school was unpopulated; only me, Kyle, and a stranger.  “Where you goin’ so fast?” his breathe smelt bad, eyes blood shot, his clothes were at least three sizes too big.  I wanted to yell, but there was knot in my throat so big I thought I might choke to death that instant.  I closed my eyes, waiting for a punch, a kick, a throw, anything.  The pressure of hands tight around my shirt just above my chest loosened.  My size five shoes finally touched the ground, and blood shot through my body, helping my back to warm up after being pressed forcefully against the cold school wall.  Kyle grabbed the jerk, and shoved him backwards.  “Oh I’m sorry man, I was just jokin’ wit him, just jokin’.”  The stranger said as he stumbled around the corner.  I still was finding it hard to talk, and was unable to say thank-you.  We walked into the school together, Kyle showed me my classroom, and left when the first bell rang.  I'm grateful for family. 

For the first few weeks, I didn't talk to anyone in my new school.  All the unhealthy traditions from my previous elementary school seemed to carry on to middle school, only with more intensity.  Although I didn't remember the exact moment it happened, but I made a decision that I was going to accept everyone, whoever he or she was.  Tired of being alone, I started making friends.  I noticed that there were a lot of kids, like me, that sat alone, or tried to make themselves invisible (a talent that should never be perfected, unless you're planning on being a Spy).  I talked to them.  It was hard, but worth it.  I use to only see “groups” or “clicks”, but now all I see are people.  Friends.  The greatest thing happened, once I accepted others, they accepted me, despite our differences.  My only regret is that I waited so long to be accepted, before I gave others the chance to be accepted by me.