the culler yeller

Walking through the familiar halls made everything seem small back then. My hand slowly grazed over the nubbly textured walls, once coated with a duller paint. It was now cleaner and thicker, as if to deny the cinderblock walls were ever there. Now they touted my alma matter’s team colors as if to attempt a neatly ingrained school spirit with a stripe, dividing the two-toned wall. The bold stripe rose upwards at the exits, seeming to cheer its students and staff to the entry path towards the gym and stadium.

Flecks of light filtered in through the glass inlays of the exit doors. Dust and rays suspended in the air. Even though the walls of the past had been covered and the floors have been cleaned, they were still the same. Here, I could not help but to consider the thousands of lives that lived throughout these hallways. How many stories unfolded before these walls? What had the walls seen, and how many memories and secrets are held within them? No matter what they held, they had the luxury of being absent the emotions of the bodies that lived and breathed portions of their lives within these enclosed corridors and classrooms.

The hallway, once seeming so absent of any life but mine, slowly came alive with haunted reflections from my past. Listening to my shoes echo in their solitude, brought to mind the once crowded scuffling. As my thoughts began to drift, a mumbled mixture of chatter, laughter, and whispers came to mind with a presence I could not shake. I turned to see if my solitude remained, and I learnt nothing had changed- just as the past seemed at this moment. Similarly to my times spent in the hallways I now roamed, I was isolated.

Despite the happier moments I had during my school years, seventh grade was not one of them. Those times had moved onwards as my friends seemed to that dreadful year. During those times, I could not fathom what my purpose was, other than to be ridiculed, or what I had done to drive away those I loved. Back then, I wished I could have followed my friends and rebirth the carefree memories of my past. Now, I wish I would have had more self awareness and understood the riddles of human behaviors; it may have prevented my heartache.

When this began, would never be as clear to me as how it evolved and instilled in me a self-consciousness I sometimes default to and struggle with in my adulthood. Once I experienced my unfortunate awakening to the melodramatic adolescent events unfolding before me, I could no longer fight back my tears. Children can be so cruel. Some can elevate their cruelty to a twisted art form.

The color yellow. It is funny how a color associated with sunshine and happiness was associated with my rejection and sorrow. I remain clueless to the origins of this moniker, and I certainly did not ask for it. However, I was branded with this new and unwanted, unwarranted identity. The "culler yeller" was despised and revolting and the color green provided the key to inclusion, welcoming friendship, and love. The color green held a society of bullies, as to which I was the sole outcast.

To this day, especially as I have witnessed adults practicing identical unbecoming behaviors, I am amazed at the audacity of mankind assuming their voices cannot be heard by the victims of their onslaught. Back then, I was subject to their outcries of ugliness. Not only can I still remember what was said, but also, nothing has had the power to prevent the insurgence of feelings that creep back through your soul and cut you to your core. Some may have thought their voices could not be detected, but many do not care they can be overheard. That is a quintessential factor to their power.

"Get away from the Culler Yeller!", they would holler. "Don't touch the Culler Yeller!", they snickered. The worst of the matter is they would include me in their twisted idea of fun and games. Under the impression that our game was make-believe silliness, I would happily participate. When I assumed they were laughing with me, they were in hysterics that I was duped and making fun of myself. They told me the Culler Yeller was invisible... Yes, I was, but I was not enough for their taunting to dissipate. Like glue, every little bit stuck.

Once I learnt I was The Culler Yeller, I was devastated. From that moment onward, I wished I was the "invisible" color, instead. Every day, The Culler Yeller would arrive and face the seemingly endless hours of mockery. Every lonely night, The Culler Yeller would pray to wake up transformed and placed into a new and unknown, not predetermined, identity. However, nothing would change. I seemed doomed to remain the favorite topic of jokes and ridicule. Even my best friend left me to become another lemming, and I was to face the juvenile cliques alone. It was not until later that I truly felt her betrayal, once I learnt she had been the originator of my title. I was wrong to assume her a coward, because she turned out to be brave; she had the courage to betray and bully the girl she had once called her best friend.

The torment I went through left me with significant time to reflect, especially as I was without answers as to why I was chosen as their target. I have always been one to believe God had given everyone gifts that others may not have- that somehow he balanced everyone out and no one was lesser or greater than the other. Although, during this school year, I could not help but forget my philosophy and focus on the unfair nature of mankind. Still, I fail to grasp what it is about colors that influence the way people feel and why particular colors illicit unique feelings. Especially now, in our current climate, why do certain colors make people uncomfortable? What is the difference between human races other than color? It seems so simple, but the results have been so complicated. To me, it is incomprehensible some humans seem fixated on colors and that difference frightens them; it is thought to be bad, despite us all being human and that it is a simple matter of color.

Although mine is a unique story about the effects of color, the root of it is not incredibly different. I believe differences are beautiful. Diversity makes our worlds more interesting; they open our eyes to see things in new ways that we may be incapable of seeing on our own. Even though being an original and different from the norm can cause hurt, pain can have its rewards. Being this way and living these experiences generates empathy. We learn to feel more than our personal feelings and feel those outside of ourselves. Through our struggles, we learn we are not alone in them. We share the foundation of the human experience and develop ourselves fully because of these trials. My time of reflection brought me to comprehend my situation in a new light. As odd as it may seem, I became grateful.

Being The Culler Yeller was an ordeal more horrible than I have described. That is because I survived the hurt and pain and became a better person. There are still moments, just as this one in my old middle school's hallway, where I space back and relive those horrific moments. However, now, I know I saw my way out. I can hold my head high, as I know I survived their bullying, and I thrived through learning about my experience and about others- empathizing with them and their journey. Most importantly, I have learnt that no matter what, I am the person who will never treat anyone as I once was, especially not because of a color. I have made the choice to embrace life and others in it. Now, I love the color yellow and all of the diverse colors of our world.