My dad saw Rory’s mother at church the other day. He doesn’t think of her as Rory’s mother of course. To him she’s Sister K., and an example of steadfastness, faith, and courage. To me she is simply Rory’s mother, and I always wonder how such a nice lady produced the holy terror of my early adolescence.
Mean Girls and Bully Boys
I’ve been thinking about schoolyard bullies and schoolgirl meanness a lot lately. A couple weeks ago Sally brought home a note about an incident on the playground. She seemed just the same as always, but the note informed us that the second grade bully punched her in the face as she and a friend walked towards the swings. I inspected her mouth for knocked-out teeth and peered anxiously at the tender skin around her eyes. She was unbruised, her skin unbroken, and her feelings were fine too.
I was somewhat less than fine, somewhere between “you’re never going back there again” and “you know where to kick him where it counts, right?” less-than-fine.
Usually I worry more about middle school mean girl clique-y-ness when I think of the storms of schoolday melodrama. I even had a minor dust-up with my own mean girls from North Sevier Middle School on Facebook the other day. I felt so dumb after that self-induced reminder of things long-gotten-past that I finally read the book my mom recommended, Reviving Ophelia. The task of shepherding three daughters to womanhood often makes me fierce and fearful, and reading Reviving Ophelia didn’t help. Oh, it validated my concerns about tween-age girls (unfortunately) but even though it’s fifteen years old now, it details bullying and sexual harassment from boys that makes my heart tremble for my daughters.
They’re so innocently strong-willed and invulnerable to slights now, so self-sufficient and secure. Sally is almost callous in her friendships, returning effusive greetings at the park or the WalMart with nonchalant “hi”‘s, shrugging it off when her erstwhile best friend decides to play with someone else for the day.
And as for the boys, this week Sally started riding her bike to school with three neighbor kids of the male variety. They come to get her every morning early, and off they ride. They walk their bikes up the big hill, and I imagine she forgoes the incessant “it’s too hard” whining that accompanies our family bike rides. The oldest boy, Mike, is the kind of boy I wouldn’t mind so much her dating in twenty or thirty years.
Unless he turns out like Rory, of course.
It seems impossible now that such a quiet, respectful boy could turn out like that tormentor of my early young womanhood, but I have to remember that Rory had a mother just as nice as Mike’s mother, and things are changing. Kids are growing up younger (whatever that means), and whenever I think of the — well, maybe I should just tell you what that boy was like.
Rory
My family moved in to the neighborhood when I was thirteen, at the end of eighth grade. Rory and his friends welcomed us by toilet-papering our house. My friends and I forked his lawn in return; we were pretty disappointed when we heard that Brother K. cleaned up the forks instead of leaving them for Rory, who was away for Boy Scouts.
Rory and I rode the same bus until we got our driver’s licenses. Those last few years of waiting for vehicular deliverance were excruciating, and the only alleviating factor was being old enough to command seats in the back of the bus. Naturally, Rory and his friends set up camp back there. But I was valiant, and fearless. When verbal threats didn’t work, those boys threw gum in my hair and poured Pepsi on my seat. While I was sitting on it.
One day, I think it was the Pepsi-on-the-seat day, I turned to Rory’s best friend and screamed, “Go to hell, Gavin.” I was long-suffering and patient, of course, but I wanted those boys to know that I’d had it. And even then they managed to turn the tables on me. Ever after that, every time I got on the bus, and every afternoon as I walked to my door, they chanted: “Go to HEAVEN, Shannon.”
(Stop smiling! It’s not funny. It was dang effective at the time!)
Things weren’t much better at our church youth camps. Sure, Rory and his friends usually got quiet and reverent at the final campfires and said things like “mumble-mumble-love-Jesus-my-Savior-mumble-mumble,” but by day they continued their campaign of harassment, the worst of which was the stink bombs they set off in our tent. One day we had a Learn-to-Cooperate-and-Trust-Each-Other activity involving a human chain and crossing a fairly swift-moving river. Rory disappeared (not being a fan of cooperate-and-trust, I guess), and later appeared, alone on the other side, peeling off a wetsuit he’d brought to the mountains for who knows what purpose. He always was a pretty big show-off.
I felt a bit miffed that Rory was president of the debate team in high school. I don’t want to admit to being intimidated out of joining the club, but it felt like debate was Rory’s domain, and I retreated to calculus and the Thoreau Society, despite my (vague, passing) interest in winning arguments.
Practically my last memory of Rory is the week-long Survival trip a bunch of us went on our senior year. I had Melinda with me, and Mark, who was all the protection I needed against my adolescent nemesis, but I may have been (slightly) glad that the boy who could produce a wetsuit in the most unlikely of circumstances was also there in the desert, with his well-oiled pocketknife.
I guess Rory wasn’t all bad, at least, not compared to the boys in the Reviving Ophelia book (or even compared to Sally’s second-grade bully). He never swore at me or said anything that made me feel stupid or ugly or inclined to be silent. Unwanted in the back of the bus, yes, but never unhappy or discontent in my own life. He never punched me in the face or hurt me or scared me. He never belittled me or made me question my femininity. He never made me ashamed of my changing body or feel like I should hide the brain I had. He never used sexual innuendo or said anything that made me uncomfortable that way.
I take that back. I did hear Rory talk about sex once. We were on a National Honors Society trip to Cedar City for a play. I don’t think Rory was a regular member of the Society, too nerdy for him, but he was dating Leslie, who was on the council. The girls were talking about sex, about how it was this big, scary thing, and what would our wedding nights be like? Would it hurt?
Rory said, “I don’t want to have sex on my wedding night; I just want to hold my wife.” I can still see his smirk –this big, fat smirk that crossed his face. What a funny guy! Who did he think he was kidding?
Rory’s Mother
Usually for Mother’s Day I write a tribute to my mother (who, like most mothers, is the best mother ever). But this year I keep thinking about Rory’s mother. I don’t have boys. I may never have boys to raise. Bringing up my girls, because I have some idea of just what they’ll face as they grow into their minds and their bodies, this is terrifying enough.
I think raising boys must be easier in some ways — they can’t get pregnant, for one thing. But good parents know that getting a girl pregnant is just as life-changing. Women who raise boys to be the kind of men I want my daughters to know are doing hard work.
And I’ve come to appreciate certain things I never thought I would, like Boy Scouts. I always thought it would be the worst waste of my time at church to have to attend pack meeting and bring salad to the blue and gold banquet. After all, my girls will never be involved in boy scouts. Then I hauled them (Dick was busy with his 11 year-old scouts) to my first pack meeting, and we watched the little nine-year-olds bringing in the flag. They were so serious and solemn in their miniature uniforms, so guileless about learning respect and order and taking oaths of honor and loyalty.
I haven’t seen Rory since we graduated. I know he served a mission for our church and works in his father’s business. I hear from my brother that he married a smart, beautiful girl we went to school with. Maybe he has children of his own now. I hope so. I hope he has to clean up after them, as his mom and dad cleaned up after him. (And my parents cleaned up after me, a time or two).
I hope he is as good a parent to his kids as his mom and dad were to him. I hope he teaches his sons that sex is something that happens (or doesn’t) on a wedding night.
I hope my daughters have tormentors as innocently mischievous as mine.
And so even though I can’t stop worrying about my daughters, and dreading the day when their father’s warm approval and genuine interest in their lives pales before the pull of a high school crush — even though mothering is not for the faint of heart, I am heartened.
I’m not saying I wish I had dated Rory, but maybe, even if Sally’s friend Mike down the street turns out to be just like him, maybe I’ll let her date him. When she’s forty.
Jane
—
Special thanks to Tara and Natasha for reading earlier versions of this. I labored mightily over it, and really appreciate their input, though any inelegancies remain my responsibility, of course.
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(It’s me again. I’m reading your blog now.) I love to hear the details of a person’s life, so I was reading about Rory’s with a certain anticipation of doom. You know, you’re the sweet, smart protagonist and he’s the evil, boy who’s up to no good foil. You get married and raise three beautiful daughters while he ends up never earning his Eagle and eventually spending his life wearing long black jackets and working at Blockbuster.
Glad to know you can both have happy endings. Though my version may serve a better “Don’t grow up like Rory story” example you think?
I was actually thinking the other day that really, that teasing and tormenting we receive through school is actually quite good for us if it’s not excessive that is. I say this with only my limited experience in mind, but those who homeschool often have children who are so sheltered and unexposed to being teased for their quirks–how are they to know they are quirky when their “normal” is their own family–that they grow up a bit different.
Love how your thoughts make me ponder a bit as well.
Jane Reply:
May 10th, 2009 at 9:42 pm
“spending his life wearing long black jackets and working at Blockbuster.”
Funny! But, I’d never to that (write the doomed version) to anyone’s mother, and especially not on Mother’s Day! (Well, unless I REALLY didn’t like them
I had a Rory, too. He is one of the handful of people who ever made me cry. One day he added me as a friend on facebook. After thinking about it a couple days, I added him. Turns out he seems to have a normal, happy life. And I realized that my disappointment in this was a problem I needed to work on.
Jane Reply:
May 10th, 2009 at 9:43 pm
My glee when realizing that the beauty pageant queen from my high school days is now just a little bit chubby is probably a problem I need to work on.
I was tormented in junior high, not like you were Jane, but really tormented, both garden variety and sexual harrassment. My parents and the school got involved and I was promised that it would stop. It didnt stop it just went into hiding. They learned to take it steps further while out of hearing of teachers, parents, and other kids….and they learned that the school wouldnt do anything about it so lng as it wasnt said in their hearing because I couldnt prove that it was being said anymore. I learned that boys could be awful creatures and that everyone was willing to ignore it because they were boys.
There are things I allow my boys to do because they are boys, but every single time I hear them say something to hurt feelings deliberately I teach to it. I am determined that they will never do to some girl what was done to me and if I were ever to find out that they are doing so God help them. I cannot abide by mean spirited teasing. It is my job to do everything in my power to make sure that they grow up to be strong, well developed, responsible, merciful, caring young men and I take that totally to heart.
High school girls on the other hand have the ability to be much more hateful in my book. Girls hit harder emotionally and their words strike further to the heart in my opinion than boys ever dream of.
Steff
Jane Reply:
May 11th, 2009 at 7:56 am
Steff — Thanks for sharing. I really recommend the Reviving Ophelia book. It doesn’t talk much about what mothers of boys can do to raise them better, but it might help you feel less alone in your own awful experience of sexual harassment, etc.
And the best thing is that you’ve turned into such a wonderful, strong mother, despite the type of serious bullying that often terribly damages our young women. And I agree with you that girls can be so much better at hurting us inside.
There was another boy at my high school, who lived in a different town, so I didn’t see him at church or anywhere outside of school. He was physically threatening to me. (He was tall, on the bball team, and I was small compared; he threw me in the snow, etc). My parents wanted to talk to the school, get a restraining order, etc, but I was too embarrassed. Luckily he lost interest after awhile, and it never accelerated.
I’m sorry it did in your case. One thing I felt on reading the Reviving Ophelia book was that I felt that same commitment to do everything in my power to see that my girls are neither the victims or perpetrators of bullying, even if that means switching schools or homeschooling or whatever. I want my kids to know that they are most important, and that our home/family life is the structure we revolve around — not the school institution.
You know of course that Rory only teased you because, one, you were so much fun to tease, and two, because secretly he liked you a little. Not to ruin your post, but I know you enjoyed retaliating against Rory. I remember being at his house for a survival reunion, and we were sneaking around trying to find his secret trap-door room, that he obviously must have had, where he kept all of his gear. Of course we never found it, but it was fun looking. I remember being on a campout with you in college too, and we were hearing noises outside the tent which we naturally assumed was a serial killer (which turned out to be a racoon) and you said something to the effect that, I wish Rory were here, because he would have some hi-tech way to protect us. Rory would never have done anything too mean or malicious. I think his toilet papering of your house was merely his way of saying, welcome to the neighborhood. I am sure he thought the war with you was a lot of fun, because you always reacted, and were smart enough to figure out how to get him back. Remember when the boys in Calculus class (who were all Rory’s friends) chased us down the hall and tried to tape us to the flag pole? That is what made high school exciting. Everyone needs a Rory to do battle with.
Jane Reply:
May 11th, 2009 at 8:20 am
I don’t remember ever actually going inside the enemy camp (Rory’s house), but searching it sure sounds like something we would have done!
(Ever since watching that movie He’s Just Not That Into You, I have been much more hesitant to interpret teasing as “he likes you, he just doesn’t know how to show it.” Because if it’s in a movie, it has to be the truth, right?
I feel all nostalgic for junior high after reading your post. So Rory was my “boyfriend” for a while–before you moved there? I hope. We were twelve or thirteen. I always felt more like a surveillance operation liaison than a girlfriend. It also caused me years of paranoia thinking he and/or his group of spy friends were watching me. Remarkably I moved on to even less healthy relationships. You describe him more favorably than I would have expected. You sure were fun to tease. So many boys found it (you) completely irresistible.
Jane Reply:
May 11th, 2009 at 4:25 pm
I think we’ve all had a few unhealthy relationships — the trick is to not stay in those, right? Even those people who seem to make all the right choices (like my sister) can be entangled with (or even married to) truly awful people.
(and Chantal O. mentioned on Facebook that she suffered the paranoia over spyglasses too.)
I felt much less positively towards Rory before I read the Reviving Ophelia book — halfway through reading it I had this epiphany that he wasn’t so bad after all.
[...] didn’t like my Rory post, the post that gave me FITS. He said I didn’t make the epiphany part clear enough or engaging [...]
First of all, I didn’t comment earlier because this post got buried behind another post and I didn’t see it until you commented that you didn’t get a lot of comments. So – well, there.
Craig Schmidt was my “Rory” and he teased me for having dark hair on my arms and calling me stupid. The label of stupid stuck with my psyche and is what propelled me to excel at school even though it was hard for me. In some regards I need to thank Craig – without his prodding I might never have gotten my grad degree.
I have a boy. I’m raising a boy. Right now he is sweet, precious, small, vulnerable and I worry about other boys pushing him around. Ironically, I don’t worry about how he will treat girls because he will look to his father as an example and my husband is sweet, tender, respectful and tender. I worry more about him being too risky with his life – making “boy” decisions that endanger his life. I worry about him experimenting in life – trying dangerous things because his friends are doing it.
I worry about my daughter too but more out of fear that her own naivete will lead her into dangerous situations versus consciously choosing to put herself in those situations (like my son). I’ve had enough of my own dangerous bad things happen to me that I want my daughter to be strong enough to survive. I can’t protect forever. I can’t even prevent, but I can prepare. I want to prepare her emotionally, spiritually and physically to be able to weather the storm of bad/disappointing/hurtful things.
Jane Reply:
May 12th, 2009 at 9:05 pm
Hey Beth,
So, I realized after I used that quote from Dick about the number of comments that I don’t want to gauge the worth of my writing based on that (and even more, don’t want to seem like I’m soliciting comments), but of course the feedback of comments is a big indicator of something.
I was trying to tell Dick that the women all got my point because of our common experiences with either or both garden variety and sexual harassment-type bullying. I told him he didn’t get it because he was male, not because of ANY fault in my writing
. That’s when he made the comment comment (but only because I had lamented it early; he’s not actively cruel).
So.
I love that you are excited to see your son grow up to be like his father. If all mothers could be confident in that vision of the future, I think our families would be a lot healthier and happier.
And crazy true that we owe those who pushed us to doing better so unintentionally.
Oh, and what I want most, if I can’t protect my daughters from predators of all kinds, is to instill in them such strength that they’ll never think, no matter what, that they “deserve it” or aren’t worth better or are stuck or have no where to go.
This bears almost no resemblance (in places) to the rough draft and it’s excellent.
I had a couple of bullies through the years, but I have no doubt they didn’t interpret their actions as bullying. I remember the smart guy in high school telling me that people didn’t like me because I talked about myself too much. But I was the new kid and felt like otherwise nobody would know me at all because they never asked. It really hurt. Many years later, and that smart kid was the first to find me after high school. It stunned me that he would remember me positively because I thought he really did hate me, or why would he be so cruel?
Turns out that it was a sore spot for me, and any comments would have seemed mean. He was merely making an observation, probably thinking he was doing me a favor. Almost 20 years later and that comment is still affecting how I make friendships. Maybe he really did do me a favor.
I did have some bullies that were actually mean. And one guy who sexually harassed me. I feel sorry for them mostly. And when I don’t, I turn to my husband who was harassed much more than I and thank the heavens that I have such an understanding man in my life. One who will help me teach our children to treat each other with respect.
Yeah, we can grow strong from these hardships, but how much of it is really necessary? Can’t we at least try to avoid some of the pain?
Jane Reply:
May 26th, 2009 at 10:59 pm
You make me feel a little bit embarrassed/ashamed. I confess I probably enjoyed the attention of Rory’s teasing more than not. Even when I thought it was a “bad” form of bullying.
Interesting the comment about talking too much about yourself. I would never have associated that kind of thing with you.
I do know that Tom and I have a few friends (couples) who, after we visit them, we always turn to each other and say how we feel like such jerks for talking about ourselves the whole time. These friends are excellent about asking questions and seeming genuinely interested in everything we have to say. They are seriously the kind of people you want to spend more time around. And they always encourage me (w/ no overt mention) to ask more questions of others.
(And to answer your question, I certainly want to help my own kids avoid as much of this sort of pain as possible, even if it just means helping them to see the humanity of the other person.)