Reflections on Middle School

Like most people, I would consider middle school to be one of the worst times in my life. I was incredibly uncool, even amongst the most uncool kids in school. I was part of a gifted program called Visions, which basically meant we were the smartest nerds in the district, and we were all clumped together from fifth through eighth grade. I had classes with those same 40 kids, give or take, for four years. And I would say that most of them didn't like me. Many hated me. And they had fairly good reason.

For one thing, I was kind of a brat and a bully. It didn't start that way, though. In fifth grade, when I joined the program, I was determined to make lots of friends and be well-liked. To accomplish this, I acted like a pathetic sycophant. This one girl in particular decided that I was a loser and made fun of my clothes, discluded me from group activity, and tried to trip me in the hallways. This other kid called me fat. (I was chubby at the time). Another kid mocked me, remarking that he was shocked that I was able to make it into the program. By the time sixth grade rolled around, I was jaded and tired of being nice. It really wasn't in my personality anyway.

Over the next year, I hardened up. I walked around with my fists balled up, hoping that anyone who saw me would know that I wouldn't hesitate to punch them if they got in my way. I wasn't mean yet, just defensive. And still very much disliked.

After another year, by the time eighth grade began, I had sort of developed a friendship with two girls. We were all pretty mean-spirited, but mostly just wanted to be pranksters. I feel like I had a reputation for being funny, but occasionally cruel and stupid. I liked to push boundaries and bend rules. To be fair, my brand of rebellion wasn't that extreme. I didn't pull fire alarms or vandalize stuff. I mostly just created distractions during and between classes, skipped Spanish, and lit things on fire unnecessarily during science lab.

One time, my English teacher was out for a surgery. The kids in class made a get well card and circulated it during Social Studies. I saw the card sitting on the teacher's desk. I looked into the trash can, saw it was empty, and pretended to throw the card away. I then commented that I was just kidding and began fishing it out of the garbage. The Social Studies teacher walked in the room at that moment and assumed I was only retrieving the card because I saw him coming. He then taunted me in front of my classmates, chanting, "Elizabeth's a meaner, Elizabether's a meaner." Like a child.

I sang back to him that he thought was cool but really no one liked him. After this he made me write an apology note to him and to the other teacher, who otherwise never knew this whole thing even happened. It was stupid on my part to pretend to throw away the card, but everything that occured after that was ridiculously immature on the part of my Social Studies teacher. I'd like to remind you that I was 13 and he was in his 30s.

Later that year, the seventh graders did a project about slavery and one of the options for that project was to create a model of a southern plantation. These projects were littered all over our English classroom. Our English teacher told us that the seventh graders had been instructed to take their projects home, but they were neglecting to do so. Then she told us the date that she would throw them away by if they didn't take them home.

That date came and went, and the projects were still everywhere, including behind my desk. Another obstacle, an overhead projector, was literally blocking my seat. In frustration, and knowing that these projects were already supposed to be trashed, I rolled the overhead projector over the plantation home so I could take my seat.

After class, during a free period, my friend and I plucked some of the farm animal figurines from the broken project and played with them. At the conclusion of the free period, my friend hid the animals so that we could mess around with them again the next day.

While I was in math class, a seventh grader was sent to the classroom with this message, "Mrs. [Redacted] would like to see Elizabeth... Something about farm animals?"

My friend, knowing that she hid them and where they were, stood up and volunteered to go get them. I thanked her and she left. When she came back, she didn't say anything about what kind of conversation she had with the English teacher about the broken project or the hidden figurines. I assumed everything was copacetic. Afterall, the project was supposed to have been trashed already and the figurines had been returned.

That afternoon, my mom got an email saying that I would have to serve a detention. My English teacher was disappointed that I broke the project, but seemed especially upset that I sent my "minion" (her word, not mine) to do my bidding for me instead of facing her myself. This narrative didn't reflect reality at all. I broke the project, but my friend hid the figurines. She volunteered, I didn't send her. Anyone present in the math classroom could have witnessed that.

Anyway, I served my first and only detention in eighth grade and got yelled at a lot by my parents. The middle school behavior problems I had were definitely exacerbated by teachers who didn't know how to enforce boundaries or communicate with their students. I never once was spoken to by my English teacher in any of that chain of events. I never got to tell her why I did what I did. I never got to tell her why I didn't go when she asked for me. I never once got to tell my side of the story.

Aside from being poor communicators, these teachers engaged in mockery and taunting of their students. Not just me, but others too. I remember one kid was nominated for the superlative of "least likely to succeed" at the end of eighth grade by our teachers. That was so inappropriate and mean. And no one ever did anything to stop them. My middle school teachers were liars and bullies who wanted nothing more than to be popular amongst 12 and 13 year old kids. They were more pathetic than 5th grade me. I wanted to impress my peers. They wanted to impress literal children. Add these horrible tendencies into the swirling hormonal mess that is junior high and you're practically begging for kids to lash out and test boundaries. What we got reprimanded for was arbitrary most of the time. We all just wanted to be funny and cool, so we did whatever crazy and irresponsible thing we could think of.

At the end of the day, middle school doesn't matter. It doesn't go on your college application, it doesn't factor into your future employment. No one cares when you're 30 if you were fat, ugly, and poorly behaved when you were 13. Most of the time, I don't even think about middle school. But when I do, I'm glad I remember these things, because some day, when I have a kid that acts out or feels alone, I won't worry that they're on the highway to hell and I can tell them with confidence that it will pass. Seasons in life come and go, and so do annoying people and tough situations. You'll grow into your feet, your voice will change, your boobs will get bigger. You just have to give it time.