Graduation and Me

It was years before I was able to recognize I had experienced trauma from years of bullying in school. I grew up in a small, blue collar town and though my family was there my heart never was. My relatives weren't very close and I was often unsure of how they felt about me. In the midst of a culture obsessed with lifted pickup trucks, hunting and football I was drawn to theater and punk rock. If acting drew a target on my back then punk rock made sure that target was painted aerosol neon red with my other cheek turned to be slapped as well.

When you're between the ages of 13 and 17 it's difficult to identify why you're hurting or that you even are. This was my case. Over the years I became hardened from the bullying I experienced and the indifference of the staff struggling to make their own ends met between low pay and waiting to transfer schools at the end of the year.

Enter sophomore year. In my morning Spanish class I said something dumb to make a scene. Was it a cry for attention? Yes. Did it deserve a sit-down talking to from staff? Yes. Did it deserve no conversation, two weeks suspension, and marks on my "permanent record"? No, probably not. But when you're 15 you don't always have much say in what the adults decide for you anyways.

My mom and stepdad had enough and they stood up to the superintendent. The talks didn't go well and my parents looked into transferring me to a different school. This is one of the first times in my life I witnessed what it was to have parents fight for you. Though I wouldn't have admitted it, I felt helpless and scared. I was stuck in a school system that seemed very indifferent to the student body that wasn't playing sports. Having my parents stand up for me gave me a sense of worth that I didn't realize I desperately needed.

After weeks of deliberation between my parents and a different school in a larger area, it was decided I would transfer. Life was immediately better. I made new friends, my GPA skyrocketed and I flourished in every area of my life. The thought of having other elected classes besides woodworking and FFA (Future Farmers of America) was mind boggling.

The years flew by and soon it was June 2008. It was time for me to walk for my graduation. A lot of feelings mixed together. It had felt like for so many years I was stuck in a place where I was truly miserable. Now I had found a place that I loved and it was already time to leave. I would be donning the purple cap before my family and so many others to show them that I had done it. There was a time it was doubtful I would even finish high school and now I was going to receive proof in the form of a diploma.

Time came to walk in front of everyone. I watched as my classmates joined from opposite doors to the middle and walked with their partner down the aisle. A ceremony as much for yourself as it is for your parents who are relieved that you made such a milestone. It was my turn to take a step out to join my partner. The gym was hot and muggy. Every seat was packed with Baby Boomers trying to get the flashes right on their digital cameras and fanning themselves with the graduation program. The school band was doing their best to blow out "Pomp and Circumstance" on their rented school instruments. As I took a step out a feeling overwhelmed me. Regardless of the bullying, public shaming by teachers, sexual harassment and physical violence I had witnessed I was here. My first steps towards the aisle turned into a full on strut that shocked my family and made many people laugh. Stepping into the aisle with my walking partner I raised my hands up into the air to make the crowd cheer and they did! The atmosphere was full of celebration as my raised hands prompted the audience to turn up their cheering just that much more. Maybe to some it wasn't much, but to me it was a moment full of the affirmation I needed. Affirmation to reassure my heart that regardless of the trials and the abuse, I was here. Because of my family, in front of my family, and for myself. This was me.