Stand Up for Yourself

Stand Up for Yourself

Suzanne Marsh

Growing up in the sixties was not easy; then again it was not like it is now for children in school. The only thing we really had to worry about was the wrath of the nuns. Sometimes that was more than enough. I was in sixth grade when Cheryl Miller, joined our class. Cheryl had failed two grades and had blossomed forth into a young woman while the rest of the girls in sixth grade remained flat in the chest. It was hard for Cheryl to adapt to our class since she was five years older. Her health was not that great; most of the class made fun of her since she was different. The boys in class were notorious for attempting to look down her shirt. That proved to be impossible since we wore navy blue jumpers and white cotton shirts; the jumpers emblazoned with BS on the pocket.

I watched as the boys tried to intimidate her. One child, his name was Mike smuggled in a pen knife, threatening Cheryl that if she did not show him her chest, he would stab her. Obviously, that was not about to happen. Mike grabbed her pink pencil case and stabbed it with the small pen knife. I wasn’t exactly ready to say anything at this point. I contemplated going to Sister Mary Vernon but decided against it. The nasty tricks on Cheryl were becoming a bit much even for me. I was always part of “the gang” but somehow, I just could not participate in hurting Cheryl, because she was different.

Time began to pass, Cheryl sat down one day to find a dead snake on her seat at her desk. She screamed, Sister Mary Vernon jumped about ten foot in the air; just as Father Washburn was entering the classroom to hand out report cards. He was more than amazed to find Sister Mary Vernon up on her desk screaming like a banshee. He sighed:

“Good heavens Sister what are you doing on the desk?”

Sister gave him one of those looks as if to say: ‘what do you think I am doing up here twiddling my toes?’ He helped her off the desktop and walked around the classroom; he eyed Cheryl several times noting that she was flushed and scared. I sat there with a straight face since Sister was watching me very closely. She thought I was the prankster, but I was not: that was Mike. Once there was quiet in the classroom; Father Washburn began:

“Since this class is so lively you can all write five hundred times, I will not bring dead

snakes to class.”

Somehow that did not seem fair, but you did not argue with Father Washburn, all two hundred pounds of him. I always thought he should have been a running back, who knows maybe he was. Suddenly Cheryl rose from her seat; she ran past Father Washburn and out into the hall. She was crying as she passed by me. Somehow something snapped in me. I raised my hand:

“Father Washburn, my I please go out and speak to Cheryl. She did not deserve to have had this

happen.”

Father nodded his approval. I scurried out the door; Cheryl was already on her way out of the school building. I ran after her, calling her name. She turned to face me; her face tear stained:

“What do you want? You want to make fun of me like everyone else?”

“No, Cheryl I don’t. Yeah, I am friends with Mike, we have been in same class since

kindergarten: but that does not excuse what he did today. Why did you run? I know

you must have been embarrassed but running away is not going to solve the problem.”

Cheryl, tears still streaming down her face, knew I was correct but how could she face the thirty-one of us again? She was still fighting the tears back as I stood there with a rather perplexed look on my face:

“March back into that classroom and show Mike you are not afraid of him or his stupid tricks.”

“I don’t think I can. I am scared of him. Why are you even talking to me?”

“I want to help; I guess I have always wanted to help, but was to shy to stand up against

Mike and the rest of the gang.”

“I appreciate that but I just can’t face anyone, especially Sister Mary Vernon. She

thinks I put the dead snake on my seat.”

“Cheryl, I assure you she does not think that; she was watching me like a hawk and

Father Washburn thought the whole thing was funny, he passed me in the hall laughing.”

Things are not as bad as they seem.”

Cheryl smiled, her false teeth gleaming white, she had lost all her teeth earlier in the school year. I took her hand as we walked back toward the classroom: you could have heard a pin drop as Cheryl walked back in. Sister Mary Vernon stopped mid-sentence, which for her took some doing. Cheryl began to gather her strength:

“Sister, I want to apologize for leaving class so abruptly. I should not have done that.

I was frightened and humiliated. I thought I was going fail again. Mike, I know you were

the one who put the dead snake on my seat. I hope you enjoyed watching the reactions.

that was really unkind. I hope when you someday are old you will remember how

you hurt me. Humiliation is not a pleasant thing Mike; I will get over it. I was

going to transfer out of this class but I decided to stay with some help from a friend.”

The entire class sat there, eyes wide staring at the girl they thought was a freak, a misfit. She had more courage than anyone of them did. Sister let out a small gasp and grabbed her rosary beads. Father Washburn stood quietly at the door of the classroom smiling; here was a young woman standing up

for herself. She had won!