Marbles In The Sand

I sit watching out the window of the school bus, feeling like all the other kids are watching me, judging me. I hear laughter, I know they are laughing at me; laughing at my clothes; my haircut; my school bag or maybe they are laughing at my house; who knows? The point is they were laughing and it was at me.

I sit with my face plastered to the window we’re passing fields of grain and pastures: there are cows and horses, farm houses… I don’t see any of it; it’s just a blur as my mind tries to prepare myself for the rest of the day. I hate this day, the first day of school; it’s always the worst. And what makes it the worst for me is that it’s the first day of school in a new school, and I’m the new kid.

The bus comes to a halt and I hear more kids getting on the bus. I don’t dare look yet I can feel each one of them stop and stare at the back of my head, burning through into my thoughts, exposing my feelings. I know they are making instant judgments about me. Each kid passes my seat dismissing the room to sit just like they are dismissing me.

Each time the bus stops more kids get on and pattern is repeated.  Nobody wants to sit next to the new kid. I stare out the window, stress and fear building up inside of me. I hate the bus ride to school; it seems to be taking forever and, I know the day is only going to get worse.

Finally the bus pulls up to the school and all the kids rush to get off the bus, packed together like sardines as they push and shove each other. I sit still staring out the window until a tall boy, a high schooler, suddenly appears on the other side of the window making faces at me. I quickly look down at my hands and wait for the bus to empty out before I get up and leave the bus.

The school is a maze and I have no idea in which classroom I belong. I walk down the hall looking for a friendly face but there aren’t any; everyone is hurrying to get somewhere. I suddenly feel a tug on my school bag from behind me. Another boy is pulling the bag from my shoulder then from my hand. The boy has a mean smile on his face and says, “Hey, new kid kindergartner is in the next building.” “Nice school bag.” The boy then turns the bag upside down and pours its contents onto the hall floor. Other kids are laughing and pointing while others step on the books, pads and pencils kicking them all over the hall way.

I do my best to control the tears and the stress as I frantically gather my supplies together and retrieve my school bag the boy had thrown down the hall. Finally, I get my stuff together, the halls are clearing out and I hear a school bell ring. Kids are shuffling into classrooms up and down the hallway as I stand there with my bag. I can feel the tears welling up inside me as I do my best to shake them off.

Suddenly I hear a woman’s voice, “Young man get to your homeroom, the final bell is about to ring.” That did it and the tears start flowing. Now, I can see the woman:  she’s very tall with her hair piled up on top of her head. The woman walks up to me, “Now, young man there is no reason to be crying. You just need to get to your room and join your class.”

Through the tears I explained, I don’t know where my classroom is. The woman makes a huffing sound then grabs me by the hand and leads me down the hall to the principal’s office. At the front desk was another woman; she too is tall but has short hair. “Miss Campbell, I found this lost little boy, will you deal with him?” The other woman looks over the desk at me and asks my name. And so it began, the second reason I hated the first day of school in a new school. I reached in my pocket and pulled out a scrape of paper, on which my mother had written my name, Bert Haagenstad, and below my name, third grade. Miss Campbell tried pronouncing my last name and, of course, she butchered it badly. Then, as the first woman was exiting the principal’s office, she said, “Miss Black, he’s one of yours.” My heart sank as I wiped the last of my tears away.

Miss Black turned around quickly and made the huffing sound again before she returned to me and took my hand again. Miss Campbell handed Miss Black the paper with my name on it. “Should have known”, was all Miss Black said as she led me down the hall and into a nearby class room.

Inside the classroom were approximately thirty kids, all of them were running around and making noise until Miss Black and I stepped in room. Suddenly the kids moved to their seats and went silent. I could feel all their eyes on me, burning into my soul, my heart and mostly into knowing the horror that about to follow. “Class we have a new student.” Miss Black looked at the piece of paper. “This is Bart Hog-in-stead” There it was, it was out there. I didn’t have to look at the classroom full of kids I could hear the whispering, the giggles and I imagined the evil smiles and the nasty thoughts the kids were thinking.

Miss Black directed me to a desk at the front of the room. I sat down and tried to compose myself as best I could. Miss Black got right to work handing out school books and worksheets. It was much later, after class started, that I felt something hit the back of my head, it was light not much more then a touch. I didn’t have to look… I knew what it was: it was a spit wade. Then another and another, I stared straight ahead and continued to watch Miss Black writing on the blackboard. I knew that to react was to give who ever was doing it the satisfaction that they desperately needed. I refuse to turn and face my tormentor. This continued through out the hour, finally Miss Black announced that our next class was in room 107 just down the hall on the right, just as the bell rang.

I followed the group of kids as they filed out the room into the mob of kids all trying to get to the next class before the next bell. I picked one other kid from my class, he was wearing a bright red sweater and I knew I could keep him in sight. Once in room, 107 the kids all found desks to sit at. I was again left with a desk at the front of the room. The teacher Miss Kennedy was a younger woman then Miss Black and she had the most beautiful blonde hair. Miss Kennedy was writing on the board as we entered, after everyone was seated Miss Kennedy zeroed in on me. With a smile and cheery tone Miss Kennedy said, “Class we have a new student.” Looking at me with an innocent look on her face Miss Kennedy asked, “Would you please come to the front of the classroom and introduce yourself to the class?”

With wobbly knees and a lump in my throat I walked to the front of Miss Kennedy’s desk and turned to face thirty kids; thirty laughing kids; thirty judges. I stated my name and the giggling started I saw the nasty smiles of the faces of some of the boys and even a few of the girls. I started back to my desk but, Miss Kennedy stopped me. “Where did you move from?” I shrugged my shoulders because was too stressed to remember the name of the last town. This time several of the kids laughed out loud. Miss Kennedy said, “Class!” She then allowed me to sit down.

One more class and one more classroom this one was just as bad as Miss Kennedy’s class except this time everyone had to introduce themselves to the class and of course the teacher called everyone by their last name and she butchered my name completely. Once again I was the target of spit-wads and stares from the other students.

Now, the third reason I hated first day at a new school:  recess. The bell rang and the kids all yelled and screamed as they ran from classrooms, down the halls and out through the big doublewide door to the playground. I followed to the doors and then stood there watching the other kids running around breaking into their little groups. I would have been content to watch from the door but a man walked up behind me and told me to get outside, that the fresh air would do me good.

I walked around the playground until I found a tree with nobody around; I sat down and started to watch the other kids at play. There were kids playing basketball, baseball and several other games. I wanted to join in but I was the new kid and I knew nobody wanted the new kid on his or her team, and I would have been the last kid picked. I had been through that before, and didn’t want to do it again.

Three boys came walking across the playground. I recognized them as boys from my class; the tall one was Kirk the other two were Tommy and Randy. As they approached I got to my feet and readied myself for the attack. Kirk had a nasty smile on his face and the other two were smirking. Kirk said, “What’s the matter hog boy nobody wants to play with you?” Randy added, “Yea, hog boy.” And he made snorting sounds. Tommy leaned towards me, “Hey Kirk he even smells like a hog. Your daddy raise other hogs on that farm of his?”

All three boys laughed at me and started making snorting sounds. I tried to walk away but Kirk grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me to the ground. Kirk said, “That’s a good place for you hog-in-stead, in the dirt with the rest of the hogs. Tommy and Randy kicked dust and dirt on me before they ran off laughing. I got to my feet and brushed the dirt from my clothes. I wasn’t about to let the boys know this was only one of two pairs of jeans I had for school and only one of three shirts. They would catch on to that soon enough.

The rest of the day went the same way as the first three classes did, spit-wads, wadded up paper tossed at me, laughs and finger pointing, girls giggling and hateful stares from the boys. When the final bell rang and school was out, I made my way to where the buses were parked. I remembered the bus driver but not the bus number so I walked from bus to bus until I saw the bus driver and I boarded his bus. I had just sat down when Kirk, Tommy and Randy boarded the same bus. Any hopes for uneventful ride home flew out the window. Of course they sat directly behind me. At first they left me alone but I could hear them whispering to the other kids on the bus. It wasn’t long before every kid knew my name and the nick-name Kirk had made up for me. The giggling and stares continued all the way home with occasional snorting from Kirk and the other kids. I stared out the window and ignored the targeting and the abuse. Then Kirk stared reaching over the seat and snapping the top of my head; I made myself as small as possible and continued to ignore Kirk and the others.

Stop after stop I waited hoping that this was where Kirk got off, each time I was disappointed. Finally I could see my house so I figured Kirk must have gotten on after me that morning. That would have been too easy; a mile from my house the bus drove down a long driveway to a large farm with a house, a barn and several out buildings. Kirk was my next-door neighbor! As Kirk stood to leave he leaned over me and said, “See you tomorrow hog boy.” The bus burst into laughter, and I stuffed myself into the corner of my seat a little bit more.

The next day started with the bus ride from hell again. I took a seat as far away from Kirk and the boys as I could but it didn’t matter the boys moved and sat right behind me. The teasing and taunting began the second they sat down. I tuned them out as best as I could but it wasn’t easy; between the poking my head and snorting sounds, I was fast moving towards an over-load. I had to keep it together, I had to control my emotions and not give into the teasing.

During recess I kept walking around the perimeter of the playground, not wanting to be an easy target. Kirk had different ideas; he started a baseball game and as they were picking teams Kirk yelled for me to join his team. I knew this trick and I wasn’t going for it. If I went over there, Kirk would only tease me or make a fool out of me so I kept walking. Suddenly I was hit from behind and knocked to the ground. Sure enough when I looked up Kirk was standing over me. “What’s the matter hog, not good enough to play baseball with me?”

I answered, “I’m not interested.”

“Well, you need to learn something, I run this playground and when I say we play a game everyone plays.”

“I’m not interested in playing baseball.”

Kirk’s face turned red and anger filled his eyes, “Listen here you sawed off hog boy, I’ve had just about enough out of you.” Kirk kicked me very hard in the back. Before I could react a crowd of students had surrounded us and Kirk apparently took this as an opportunity to vent his frustration even more. Kirk pulled me to my feet and began punching me in the shoulder.

For what seamed like hours Kirk kept hitting me, just as he finally knocked me to the ground again, the school bell rang and the crowd broke up. Kirk leaned over me and hit me one more time. “Tell a teacher and I hurt you twice as bad tomorrow.”

I dusted myself off as best I could and made my way to my next class. No teacher asked so I didn’t tell.

The next day during recess I notice three boys playing marbles in the sandbox; I made my way over and asked if I could play? One of the boys looked up and said, “Do you have any marbles?

I answered, “No, not with me but I have some at home.”

The boy said, “Bring them and we’ll see.”

The following day I approached the three boys playing marbles again. I told them I brought my marbles, can I play now?”

The same boy looked up at me and said, “We’re done playing marbles.” Then he told the other boys it was time to leave and they all picked up their marbles and walked away.

I stood there with my bag of marbles not knowing what to do. A few minutes later I felt someone run into me knocking me to the ground, it was Kirk. Kirk stood over me and that evil smile crossed his face. “What’s the matter hog boy the other kids don’t want to play with you, you smell and you’re too small to play here. Why don’t you go play by your self?” With that comment Kirk reached down and grabbed the bag of marbles from my hand, then he through the bag up on top of the school building; and walked away laughing.

This harassment continued on the bus to and from school, during class and mostly during recess until the end of school. The attacks, the beatings and the name calling became less and less frequent until the following year when we were all bused to a nearby town because of limited space in my old school. This meant long bus rides, more time to be harassed and a bunch of new classmates to hear my name and see the way I dressed so the teasing, the giggling all started all over again, only more of it. The good thing was that Kirk was not the tormentor of the playground any more, a kid nicknamed Gopher was. Gopher never really bothered me he was too busy being cool and trying to impress the other students. But I was still the odd man out: nobody wanted to sit with me, nobody wanted to play with me and the teachers still butchered my name.

Two months before school ended my dad announced that we were moving to a new town. I knew what this meant: another new school, being the new kid again and the harassment starting all over. We moved to this small town that had a one-stall garage converted into a post office. It had one bar and about five streets in it. It was small. The school was three blocks from my house so I walked to school.

By this time I had learned from my oldest brother that if I pronounced our last name different it caused me less headaches, although the teachers still butchered both my first name and my last name. I was quick to correct them by pronouncing my last name hay-gen-sted. I also learned that my name wasn’t the source of all the teasing. We were poor and we could not afford the clothes that the other students had. I was still the out-cast, and although I did make some friends, it was short lived.

The following year we again were bused to a nearby town because the school in town could only handle so many students and so many classes. Even though I knew several of the students that were bused from the small town my friends were separated into small groups in the new school and I was the one left out. I survived my last year of grade school and was bound and determined not to go back into the school system again even though I needed to get an education. I signed up for High School by mail and started to work on the farm next to my dad.

Two months short of my 16^th birthday my father passed away from a heart attack while working on a farm. Being the youngest of five children did not make it easier to deal with. My father was a good hard-working man, not perfect but good.

By this time I had learned that I was better off if I hung around adults, they didn’t tease, at least not the same way. I had also learned to that instead of being the target of jokes I could tell jokes and I developed a sense of humor about life and even comments that were directed at me. The more time I spent with adults and talked with them the more self-confidence I had and by tell stories and jokes, the more I was accepted. Soon I realized that I could talk to just about anyone and I could carry on a conversation, even with girls.

For Kirk and all the other kids that teased and harassed me I can only hope they grew out of their childish ways and that they didn’t hurt too many other kids like they did me. I realized that like with most bullies, they themselves were bullied and have low self-esteem, which is why they act out toward others. The bullying has to stop some where, for me it ended with me. To this day I find myself defending other that I see being bullied, because I know so well how it feels. 

I went on to get my GED; I went to a technical school I studied computer graphic design. Later I got a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice.

I was never the one that collected friends like some people do but, the friends I have collected over the years have turned into life long friends. In my own quiet way I have learned to deal with many things:  mispronouncing of my name, bullies, and ignorant people. I have learned to be a leader and to value the knowledge of other people to help me lead.

I’m still shy in some situations but, I have grown as a person and as a friend to others and to myself. I have grown from the boy on the playground who couldn’t play marbles in the sand to a person who knows his self-worth and appreciates the worthiness of others.

"You can't Fix Stupid" - Unknown