Dear XXX,

Wow, doesn’t it just feel like just yesterday we were all hanging outside by the track during lunch talking about school, plans for the weekends, and our excitement for high school? Those innocent moments of relaxation in between classes soon became my living hell. At first, you guys let me into your exclusive “group” with open arms. You pretended to think I was funny, lively, and worthy of membership into this social circle. For the first time in so long, I felt as though I was finally normal. I was like the other boys. I mean if they liked me, I would be able to put my guard down, right? However, this comfortable setting was short lived.

It all started with “jokes.” These “jokes” were made up of innocuous comments about what I was wearing that day, how I talked, and who I associated with. Even though the other boys, myself included, laughed it off at first, this was the spark that ignited myself consciousness and social anxiety towards heterosexual men; something I still struggle with today. This is not something to be laughed about. These comments made me begin to question who was really there for me, how I could change myself to fit in better, and why was I always the target of these “jokes.” I felt like the cycle started again. The cycle of not being good enough and abnormal compared to all the other boys my age.

Unfortunately, these “jokes” developed into a more serious situation. I can remember one day at the end of sixth grade, we were all sitting at our "elite" table in the back of the lunch room, and I was suddenly pulled aside by one of the “members.” I was told that in order to be able to continue associating with the rest of the “leaders,” I would have to be more masculine because I was appearing “gayer than XXX (another student in my grade)” to everyone else. I was not even given the chance to respond before the tears began to run down my face. The situation was made worst when someone had thrown a bag at me as I was walking home, and screamed “fag.” I was in survival mode: how would I be able to protect myself from the hateful outside world which consisted of poorly raised, middle class, young, white males? The only logical answer would be to distance myself. From that day on, I vowed I would not talk to them ever again.

Even though I promised myself that I would never speak to them again, the loneliness set in. Who would I talk to? Where would I sit at lunch? How would I get through the day? However, I was lucky to find an innocent soul in sixth grade, who unfortunately fell into the wrong hands years later. You took me under your wing and ensured I would be able to deconstruct the wall that I had put up between myself and the other boys my age. I was no longer smiling and laughing to hide my internal pain because I was truly happy. Despite no longer associating with you, I truly appreciate how you exposed me to what friendship is supposed to be: no judgment, a plethora of support, and actual comical situations. This lesson has made my future friendships stronger, and more stable. You know who you are, and I wish I could repay you for what you taught me.

Years later, when I talked about this specific situation to my current friends, I was asked why did I not approach the school administration with what was going on. Let’s be honest, the American school administration is corrupt. My main issue with it is that both of us would have probably been reprimanded for the action. There is a ridiculous amount of bias, favoritism, and influence from parents that would have misconstrued what the student had done and what I had done. Today, administrators believe that they are controlling the bullying situation by bringing in some random speaker to talk for 45 minutes about bullying. In actuality, no one pays attention, and due to the immaturity of pre-pubescent children, everyone makes it into a comical situation. There needs to be a better solution, and it stems from parents. Please take responsibility for your children’s actions, and raise them correctly. Your children are a representation of your character unless they can see through your toxicity.

My final words to my old bullies are: I wish you the best. You were young, naive, and bigoted from a young age. I wish you the best because even though you weighed me down for a period of my life, I no longer waste my time thinking about you. You are irrelevant, and no longer are an active “member” (to use your words) in my life. You showed me how strong I am, and how no matter what anyone ever tells you, you can always find inner strength and peace. I am now well beyond the days of wishing that I could meet your standards and have used who I truly am to impact the lives of others. I sincerely wish you all a life full of happiness, but more importantly, an education. I hope your future children do not become who you were.

Sincerely,