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"You do not have to extend compassion to your childhood tormentors."

Your thoughts?

"Greaser" girls (think "West Side Story" ) bullied me in junior high, threatening to beat me up at the bus stop. They hated me because of my good grades and flute playing. A skinny little thing, I was about 4 feet tall (felt like it) and 80 lbs.

Terrified, I hid in the counselor's office. In frigid Michigan winters, I walked two miles to another bus stop for three years. To my relief, those girls dropped out of school.

Seventh grade was the worst year of my life. When I entered science class, boys in the back of the room sang loudly:

"She's a carpenter's dream... flat as a board!"

  • "She's a pirate's dream... a sunken chest!"*

They collapsed with laughter. That's when I developed dignity and good posture: straight back, head high, with shoulders back, I icily ignored then.

Our 10-year high school reunion was great. Those same guys hung all over me, moaning, "You were the prettiest girl in high school! Why didn't you ever date any of us?"

"I had an older, more mature boyfriend," I replied, smiling.

Photo: Age 12 with my little sister, 7, at Echo Lake, Michigan. Loved that swimsuit. Silly me, I thought the padded top made me appear to have a figure.

[slate.com]

LiterateHiker 9 Feb 23
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