“Holding on to anger is like drinking poison
and expecting the other person to die."
~ Buddha
My experience of sixth through eighth grades at Saint Gabriel School was not easy. I was convinced that I was the only person, out of the 150 students in my grade level, who was disliked, rejected, and bullied. Through the years, I held on to my resentment toward those who made my life miserable during that challenging time, as well as those who stood by passively and allowed it all to happen. It took a while, a long while, but I eventually realized that I was wrong in holding on to that anger.
I was not the only student who felt disliked, rejected, and bullied. In fact, this is a common experience of many, if not most, middle school students. In speaking with several of my former classmates in recent years, most of them acknowledged that they, too, had been socially ostracized by their peers at some point in our middle school years. I wish I’d known this sooner. Sixth through eighth grade is a period of tremendous developmental angst. Of course I wasn’t the only one to feel victimized during those years!
As I got older, I failed to consider that my classmates, too, were getting older. I continued to think of them, and judge them, based on my experience of them as eighth graders in 1968. For this reason, I did not attend any of our class reunions. I wanted nothing to do with them.
Fortunately, through the emergence of social media, I reestablished contact with a small number of my classmates, male and female. They were all, without exception, good, responsible, successful, and kind women and men. These former classmates are now some of my best friends.
At their urging, I attended our 50-year class reunion in 2018. I was apprehensive, as I was sure I would come face to face with some of my tormenters. I met one classmate outside the doors of the reunion venue. She was someone who was never mean to me, so I greeted her warmly by name as she stepped out of a car. She didn’t remember me. At the check-in table, I realized I was standing next to the one person most responsible for my negative middle school experience. He said hello, as if nothing had ever happened between us. Did he remember? Had he been waiting for me to arrive? I warily, yet cordially returned his greeting. Then I turned and entered the dining room. That was it. No drama. No apology. No retaliation. Just an uneasy, on my part, exchange of hellos. Then we moved on.
As the evening progressed, I recognized many of my former classmates. There were also a few I didn’t recognize. I went out of my way to greet some of those I knew. A number of my classmates went out of their way to greet me, too. No one mentioned any of the negative experiences that had weighed me down for the past fifty years. Everyone had grown up.
One conversation stands out above all the others from that night. Dave Dixon lived one block away from me on 38th Avenue. In our early elementary years, I would often play with Dave and another classmate, Rich Blake, who lived a few houses away from Dave. After sharing that he had devoted his life to working as a counselor for at-risk kids, he confided in me that he had been diagnosed with stage-4 throat cancer. Having shared with Dave that I had published a book on gratitude, he mentioned the possibility of us collaborating on a book about his work with the kids. He said that he had a story to share, but didn’t possess the writing skills to tell it. Unfortunately, that never happened. Dave passed away a short time later. I regret that we had not reconnected many years before. I think we would have been good friends.
When people ask me about my biggest regret in life, I would have to admit that what I regret most is carrying my resentment toward my middle school classmates for as long as I did. I had just turned fourteen when I graduated from eighth grade. I changed considerably through the years, and I’d like to believe that change was mostly for the good. Why had I not realized sooner that my classmates had most likely changed for the good, as well?
[Excerpt from The Ambassador of 38th Avenue
— to be published October 2022]
