Odd Girl Out

Today, on my day off from work in celebration of Independence Movement Day, I have to admit that I've spent most of the day curled up with a book. I’m currently reading Odd Girl Out: The Hidden Culture of Aggression in Girls by Rachel Simmons, which I honestly think everyone should read – especially parents of girls. It’s about the ways in which girls deal with anger and aggression, as opposed to the ways in which boys do. The premise is that boys tend to be more direct in their aggression - physical confrontation - while in contrast, girls use an indirect approach known as relational aggression. Wikipedia's definition of relational aggression is a form of aggression where the group is used as a weapon to assault others and others' relationships. It uses lies, secrets, betrayals and a host of other two-faced tactics to destroy or damage the relationships and social standing of others in the group. [wikipedia article] To be honest, reading this book has brought up a lot of memories. The following is the most vivid.

When I was little, I was an incredibly outgoing kid. I would talk to just about anybody, anywhere. I didn’t worry about making friends; it was just something that happened as I went along. I was very outspoken, too.

That all changed in the third grade. Even though I’m now 28 years old, my third grade year still ranks as one of the worst in my life. Third grade actually started off quite well. T. and H., girls who had been two of my best friends for several years, were in my class. There were also other girls in my class whom I easily befriended. One of these girls was K.

K was a year older than the rest of us; her mother had requested that she be held back, that she repeat the third grade, because she didn’t feel her daughter was mature enough to enter the fourth grade. If only her mother hadn’t made that decision, I probably would have turned out to be a very different person. At the beginning of the year, K became friends with H., T. and me. My birthday was in September, and that year I had my first ever birthday party. I invited six girls, and K. was one of them. We all had a great time.

One day in early October, during recess, as I was approaching T. and K., I heard them talking; they didn’t notice me behind them. K. was asking T. to play with her that day, and specifically asking her *not* to play with H., and T. agreed. I didn’t say anything to them; instead, I went and found H., and repeated the story to her. We concocted a plan to have T. and K. overhear H. asking me not to play with K. We put our plan into action, and that act of retribution was how one of the worst periods of my life began.

Immediately, K. began turning the rest of the class against us. She made up stories about us, told lies to other students about us, and once even told lies about me to my mother (who was a classroom volunteer). Instead of playing K’s game and trying to turn others against her, we simply defended ourselves; yet her campaign of hate was successful. Within a week, my third grade experience had gone from being great to being hell. Additionally, H. and I were enrolled in our school’s Gifted program. This meant that once a week she and I went to a special Gifted class, instead of to regular class with everyone else. For this, K. denounced us as nerds, and said that because we were “Gifted”, we thought we were better than everybody else. In addition to being nerds, she claimed that we were weird, strange, and not the sort of person one should be friends with. Suddenly no one in my class liked me and H. People whom I had liked now refused to talk to me – or if they did talk to me, it was only to call me names or to threaten me. Then, to make matters worse, I got glasses. I certainly need glasses – and I needed them back then – but nothing gives third graders ammunition like glasses. I was taunted relentlessly, and called Four Eyes more times than I could count. I had my glasses snatched off my face during recess. I had them held over my head, just out of reach (I have always been short).

I don’t know if my third grade teacher knew what was going on or not. One thing was certain: K. was one of my teacher’s favorites. K. had been in that class during her first time through third grade. As I mentioned above, she hadn’t failed the third grade; in fact, her grades had been quite decent. As such, she didn’t need to learn the third grade curriculum. Instead, the teacher drafted her to be somewhat of a teacher’s aide, a classroom watchman, and all about helper. Several times I was lectured by my teacher for various actions (both real and imaginary) reported to my teacher by K. The few attempts I made to convince the teacher that K was the one causing problems were met by disbelief and/or the advice of “Don’t be a tattle-tale.”

I had started the third grade outgoing, friendly, willing to strike up a conversation with anybody, and always willing to speak my mind. By the end of the year I was quiet, introverted, speaking only to my closest friends, and often only when spoken to.

I’m 28 now; the events that happened above occurred nineteen years ago, and yet I still think about them periodically. I wonder what my life would have been like had K gone into the fourth grade that year. Or if H. and I hadn’t gone through our retaliatory charade. Or if my teacher had done something to stop K’s behavior. Would I have continued to be gregariously outgoing all through my school years? Would I have lived my life differently? Would I still have become the socially anxious oddball that I am now?