When I was a kid, I used to think pork chops and karate chops were the same thing. I though they were both pork chops. And because my grandmother thought is was cute and because it was my favorite, she let me keep doing it. Not really a big deal. One day, before I realized fat kids were not designed to climb trees, I fell out of a tree and bruised the right side of my body. I didnt tell my grandmother about it because I was scared I would get in trouble for playing somewhere I shouldnt have been. A few days later, my gym coach noticed the bruise and I got sent to the principles office. From there I was sent to another small room with a really nice lady who asked me all kinds of questions about my life at home. I saw no reason to lie. As far as I was concerned, life was pretty good. I told her, Whenever Im say my grandmother gives me karate chops. This led to a full scale investigation and I was removed from my house for 3 days, until they finally decided to ask me how I got the bruises. News of the silly story quickly spread around the school and I earned my first nickname. Pork Chop. To this day, I HATE pork chops. I;m not the only kid who grew up this way. Surrounded by people who used to say that rhyme, about sticks and stones. As if broken bones hurt worse than the names we got called, and we got called them all. So we grew up believing no one would ever fall in love with us. That wed be lonely forever. That wed never meet someone to make us feel like the sun was something they built for us in their tool shed. So, broken heart strings bled the blues, as we tried to empty ourselves so we would feel nothing. Dont tell me that hurts worse than a broken bone. That an ingrown life is something that surgeons can cut away. That theres no way for it to metastasize. It does. She was 8 years old. Our first day of grade 3 when she got called ugly. We both got moved to the back of class so we would stop getting bombarded by spit balls. But the schools halls were a battlefield where we found ourselves outnumbered day after wretched day. We used to stay inside for recess because the outside was worse. Outside wed have to rehearse running away or stay still like statues, giving no clues that we were there. In grade 5, they taped a sign to her desk that read Beware of dog. To this day, despit a loving husband, she doesnt think shes beautiful because of a birthmark that takes up a little less than half of her face. Kids used to say she looked like a wrong answer someone tried to erase but couldnt quite get the job done. And theyll never understand that she is raising 2 kids whose definition of beauty begins with the word MOM. Because they see her heart before they see her skin. Because shes only ever always been amazing. He was a broken branch grafted onto a different family tree. Adopted. But not because his parents opted for a different destiny. He was 3 when he became a mixed drink of one part left alone and two parts tragedy. Started therapy in the eighth grade. Had a personality made up of test and pills. Lived like the uphills were mountains and the downhills were cliffs 4/5 suicidal. A tidal wave of antidepressants and an adolescence of being called Popper. One part because of the pills, 99 parts because of the cruelty. He tried to kill himself in grade 10, when a kid who could still go home to his mom and dad had the audacity to tell him, Get over it. As if depression can be something that can be remedied by any of the contents found in a first aid kit. To this day, he is a stick of TNT lit at from both ends. Could describe to you, in detail, the way the sky bends in moments before its about to fall and despite an army of friends who call him an inspiration, he remains a conversation piece between people who cant understand. Sometimes becoming drug free has less to do with addiction and more to do with sanity. We werent the only kids who grew up this way. To this day kids are still being called names. The classics were :Hey stupid! Hey spaz! It seems like every school has an arsenal of names getting updated every year and if a kids breaks in a school, and no one around chooses to hear, do they make a sound? Are they just the background noise of a soundtrack stuck on repeat when people say things like kids can be cruel? Every school was a big top circus tent and the pecking order went from acrobats to lion tamers, from clowns to carnies. All of these were a mile ahead of who we were. We were freaks. Lobster claw boys and bearded ladies. Oddities juggling depression and loneliness. Playing Solitaire, Spin-the-Bottle, trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves and heal. But at night while the others slept, we kept walking the tightrope. It was practice. And yeah, some of us fell, but I want to tell them that all of this is just debris left over when we finally decide to smash all the things we thought we used to be. And if you cant see anything beautiful about yourself, get a better mirror, look a little closer, stare a little longer because theres something inside of you that made you keep trying. Despite everyone who told you to quit. You built a cast around your broken heart and signed it yourself. You signed it, They were wrong!! Because maybe you didnt belong to a group or a clique, maybe they decided to choose you last for basketball or everything, maybe you used to bring broken teeth and bruises to show and tell but never told because how could you hold our ground if everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it? You have to believe that they were wrong. They have to be wrong. Why else would we still be here? We grew up learning to cheer on the underdog because we see ourselves in them. We stem from a root planted in the belief that we are not what we are called. We are not abandoned cars stalled out and sitting empty on some highway, and if some way we are, dont worry. We only got out to walk and get gas. We are graduating members from the class, We made it. Not the faded echoes of voices crying out, Names will never hurt me. Of course they did. But our lives will only ever always continue to be a balancing act that has less to do with pain...and more to do with BEAUTY!!!! To This Day project - Shane Kayczan
Posted on: Sat, 19 Oct 2013 15:11:00 +0000
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