An all too familiar Facebook post came across my feed. A mother struggling with how to help a child who was facing demeaning comments and behaviors by peers, some of whom he thought of as friends. The overwhelming response from friends commenting was “Middle school sucks!”
I started reflecting on my own middle school years and for much of it, it did indeed suck! Visions of classmates I considered friends who had said and done really hurtful things flashed through my mind. The feeling of not really fitting in with any clique (and the 80s were ALL about cliques). The tears, the silence, the thoughts of running away, it all came back, but then another moment came to mind.
I remembered that we still had “recess” of sorts where we were allowed out on the blacktop during lunch. Many of those times I spent off to the of the blacktop in the somewhat brown grass with a friend. Each of us had an earbud attached to a Walkman and between us was the vocal selections of Les Miserables. We sang ALL the parts! And this experience helped fuel a life-long passion. Then, I remembered how much fun I had on some of the field trips. I remembered band class and how our director always wore the best 1980s prom fashion at every concert. I remembered teachers who supported me.
With these conflicting memories that were both 100% true, I dug a little deeper. I remembered that a few years ago in a bout of “self-discovery” I had reached out to people throughout my lifetime asking for memories of me at the age they knew me. One of them had known me through my middle school years. She mentioned I was smart and a part of me winced. It’s a part of me I truly appreciate and it’s not the most comfortable gift to have in junior high. She also mentioned that she thought I was brave and capable and shared specific memories to that effect. Then she continued that what she actually remembered was that I was kind. She specifically remembered that I was kind to someone who was not kind to me. In her story she mentions that she had thought of that during college when she was dealing with her own stuff.
I was in shock! I had left that school in October of my freshman year, moving 8 hours away. And since this was long before Facebook had lost touch with pretty much everyone by the end of that year. Yet, something of our time together had been helpful to her years later. A memory of kindness stuck with her.
I composed a message to my friend encouraging her as she stands by her son. I allowed her to share my story with her son with the reminder that we are remembered for who we are, not what others say we are. In truth, my middle school self may have been smarter, braver, more capable and kinder than the adult version of myself. And, it has been a good reminder to be the person I want to be remembered as because who we are is so much more important than what is said about us.