Every advice I give is a reminder to myself first and foremost.

How do you earn respect? Well if you’ve watched the show Everybody Hates Chris, Chris’s father, Julius, would tell you that to earn respect, you’ve got to be the type of person to deserve it. And if you’re asking, “How can I be the type of person to deserve respect?”, then Julius would answer, “Respect yourself!” It isn’t as easy as it sounds though is it?

I wasn’t a very respected kid in elementary school, and I especially wasn’t on top of the popularity list in the 5th grade. Although I wasn’t outright bullied, I was the sort of goofy kid that everyone would like to poke fun at. Unfortunately, that everyone included my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. L Williams. She was probably the only true bully I faced in my years in P.S.12 (my elementary school), and it was because of her that my last year in elementary school was also one my harshest years.

“You Bozo.” Bozo was my official class nickname and, apparently, Bozo was supposed to refer to the infamous Bozo the Clown. I was, therefore, by the authority of Ms. L Williams, the appointed class clown. It was Ms. Williams who gave me the name, and almost no one called me by it except for the oppressive teacher herself. It wasn’t that I was a funny kid who cracked a lot of jokes that made her call me a clown, but the simple fact that I was just a clumsy, awkward, weird student. My oversized body didn’t help shape my image either. In fact, it made me one of the easiest targets in the classroom and all the more reason to poke fun at me. The bullying was very frequent,, there would only be a few days where she wouldn’t bother me and those were usually Fridays when we had our weekly spelling tests (I scored perfect on them all the time so she’d just keep her mouth shut).

Other than the good Fridays though, all I could do was pray that she wouldn’t make a mean comment about me in class for the other four days. On a normal basis, she would call me out for the smallest things. I would get in trouble for talking, even though there were people literally a couple feet away from me who were chatting their hearts out. I would even get in trouble for the way I handed my scissor to someone. If she accidentally caught me handing it with the blade pointing up, she made sure the whole class heard that I made a mistake. Eventually, though, I decided that enough was enough. One night, I began to tell myself that I had had enough of the bullying, and that if she made a comment about me again, I would make sure she knew exactly how I felt, and I didn’t care if anyone made fun of me for it.

The next day, I sat in my seat next to my class-neighbor Jefferson. We were assigned a group task during the middle of the day so class got loud and chatty like it usually did. Jefferson was one of the playful types and loved messing with me (in the friendly way). But of all days, it was that day that he chose to pick up his pencil and start poking me with it.

“Hey, stop that!” I said laughingly. I picked up my pencil and poked him.

“YOU stop!” Jefferson poked me again, harder this time.

As I landed my pencil on Jefferson’s arm, Ms. William saw what was going on and became furious. “WHAT IS GOING ON!? STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. At first I thought we were both in trouble, but when I faced her I realized she hadn’t even bothered to glance at Jefferson. Instead, she was staring straight at me.

“What do you think you’re doing you Bozo!? You could’ve hurt him!”

“He was doing the same thing to me too! Why am I getting in trouble!?”

“I saw YOU do it. If he jumped off the bridge would you do it too? Do you have any idea what would’ve happened if it went in his eye!?”

At that point I completely lost my cool. “YES I WOULD JUMP OFF! I WAS HITTING HIS SHOULDER! And he was doing the same thing to me! Why am I the one that’s always getting in trouble? Why do you have to bother me so much? All you do is blame it on me and it’s really unfair!”

To be completely honest, I regret saying the “I would jump off the bridge” part, but the entire class, including Ms. Williams, was too stunned that I had just raised my voice at the teacher. Ms. Williams didn’t say another word and instead announced to the class, “Go back to work.” None of my groupmates said anything except Jefferson who kept apologizing for what happened but I was too annoyed so I just shrugged it off and told him it’s okay.

The minute our class started walking out of class to lunch, people started coming up to me and patting me on the back. Jonathan F., who used to make fun of me all the time, patted me on the back and said, “Bro that was crazy, I really respect you for that.” At lunch I was celebrity. All the guys talked about how brave it was that I spoke my mind (although they didn’t leave out how dumb I was to jump off a bridge). Eventually, news reached the other classes and soon everyone knew about the encounter.

It didn’t take much more than a day for my classmates to stop patting me on the back, but they never forgot what happened. They started to get friendlier (they still had to make fun of me here and there) and I ended up graduating with a class I truly loved. But what really changed from that day, was that Ms. L Williams never called me Bozo ever again. Up to graduation, Ms. Williams changed her entire attitude with me. She smiled when I gave in papers or asked her questions, she tried to be understanding when I was misbehaving, and I knew that I had finally earned her respect as well as the respect of my classmates.

And it began when I told myself that I don’t want to be the person who deserves to be made fun of. All I knew at the time was that I was sick and tired of being made fun of. I was fed up because my teacher, who was supposed to protect me, instead bullied me. What I didn’t know at the time, was that I respected myself enough to speak out for what I thought was justified.

My friend Shipon Eunus once told me, “If you act like a victim and don't respond people will treat you like it, when you do something about it and stand up for yourself and even up the playing ground, that’s when things become better.” If you feel like you’re not being treated the way you should be, speak up, and don’t let what people say get the better of you. Speaking up doesn’t mean you have to do it with anger, it means you should respect yourself and respect the other person enough to know that both of you can do better.

I must admit, the way I acted with my teacher wasn’t right, and thank goodness my anger didn’t sway my teacher’s judgement. I regret not going to her personally and telling her how I really felt instead of shouting at her. A couple of weeks after sixth grade started, I went to pick up my younger brother from P.S.12 and saw Ms. Williams again. We didn’t say much to each other, except smile and say hi and talked a little about how my middle school was. But I knew my anger that day hurt her a little too and she felt a little awkward talking to me as a good old student.

Anyone can earn respect, but not everyone deserves it. If you know you’re being bullied, you’re being treated unfairly, or you think you’re voice is being hear, tell yourself you’re better than someone who deserves to be pushed around. Because if you respect yourself, it doesn’t matter what other people say, you’ve earned it for yourself and that deserves a pat on the back.

And of course, whatever I say of benefit comes from the God that I believe in, and whatever I say that is harmful and wrong is from me and only me.