Friday, May 4, 2012

Born Too Late

Dolly Parton and her breasts.
As a friend of mine pointed out recently, there must be one heck of an ad agency in charge of the bullying account. Bullying is big! Today it commands the respect of our government, all the way to the president. (Last October Obama released an anti-bullying video in which he lamented the deaths of teenagers who were bullied for being gay and took their own lives.)

 There are books about it--3,028 in paperback, 805 hard cover and 702 for Kindle to be exact. TV shows condemn it and national organizations work to stamp it out. In 2006, National Bullying Prevention Month was inaugurated.This was not always true; in the old days, bullying was compulsory for any self-respecting young man and nobody took it too seriously. Kids who got picked on were on their own and guess what--we survived.

I speak from experience. When I was in the 4th grade, my breasts showed up. By 5th grade I was wearing a C-cup, and by the time I entered junior high I could have understudied for Dolly Parton in "9 to 5." (See photo) Naturally, the prepubescent and already pubescent boys had a grand old time: hooting and hollering, calling me names, and doing their favorite thing, which was chasing me home from school like the prey in a foxhunt, pushing me down on the ground and snapping the back of my bra. In the school halls, the most obnoxious among them would shout "Here they come!" as I approached. I was often asked if I needed help carrying them.

The teachers did nothing, except for the male teachers who leered. There were no special meetings called. My mother told me to get over it and focus on a time, a few years later, when those same boys would beg me for a date. Nobody called it bullying. I did not commit suicide, threaten suicide, or even contemplate suicide. What I did was hate those boys and hunch over a lot.

Today the treatment I received would be called bullying. There would be closed-door meetings and seminars on how to stop the adolescent boys from tormenting the (big-breasted) adolescent girls. There would be posters and an ad campaign. I would stay home from school. I might make a tearful video and post it on YouTube. My parents would get a lawyer and sue somebody, possibly the school and the parents of the bullying boys. They would win a big settlement that would pay for my breast reduction surgery. Today I would have better posture and fewer backaches.

5 comments:

  1. I had no idea! You could have turned into a Roller Derby Champion, maybe the first female professional boxer, a porn star, or some kind of celebrity. sorry.

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  2. everything really is about you, isn't it?

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  3. Anonymous: Yes, everything here is about me when I choose it to be--this is after all MY blog. I don't write it as a public service, I don't get paid for it, and reading it is optional. Sometimes I choose to write about current events or politics or child-rearing or death and dying, other times I recount stories from my childhood to illustrate a point. You got a problem with that? Why not tell me what it is, and while you're at, it sign your name you lily-livered wimp.

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  4. This is a great testimonial about a young developing girl/woman coping with changes to her body. I especially would like my details about how her classmate reacted to the stage at and after 15 years old for further understanding.

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