Memory v. Truth--elementary school version

I shudder to think of my childhood experiences at St. R from grades 1-8. Not that it was all bad, but there are certain highly unpleasant incidents that really stick out. These unhappy moments are part of the reason I am like a nazi when it comes to kids (particularly my kid) treating another kid in a mean-spirited way.

Here is a timeline of my memories from grade school:

1st and 2nd grade-- I played Star Wars on the playground with M.M. and G.H. I was Princess Leia, M.M. was Luke Skywalker, and G.H. was....well, I can't actually remember if he was Han Solo or Chewbaca, or maybe he played both roles as needed. M.M. was my "boyfriend" those two years. He eventually moved to another school, but he did invite me to a birthday party at his home and even had a nameplate at the far end of the table for me, as if he were the king and I were the queen.

3rd grade-- No outstanding memories here.

4th grade-- I wore these suede, mocassin-like boots to school and was made fun of by the "popular kids" for wearing what they lovingly called combat boots. Began to notice a difference between the "cool" kids and the dorks, nerds, and geeks, a category to which I and most of the other kids fell into.

5th grade-- Got into a fist fight of sorts with B.A., a girl with whom I had a very strange relationship. We had "on" years and "off" years. Fifth grade was an "off" year. During one of our "on" years, we made up romance stories for each other. She was in love with a basketball player, and I was in love with Nick Rhodes from Duran Duran (and only god knows why I selected him).

6th grade-- One of the moms who often worked in the cafeteria was walking out to her car one day while my class had recess. She had long, pretty red fingernails. She and my mom were friendly, so I ran over to her and commenced to ooooh and ahhhh over her nails. A couple of the popular girls, one named S.H., proceeded to ask me if I was gay. A short time later, S.H. had to leave St. R's because she was pregnant by an 18-year-old. I thought there was some divine justice in this.

7th grade-- The Year That Doth Sucked Ass.

I was never popular by any stretch of the imagination. I performed in the yearly talent shows, virtually always dancing to Duran Duran music, and some kids apparently hated me for this. Maybe I was a show-off? I just liked to dance, so my goal in dancing was never to piss anyone off but just because I really loved to dance. But the viewpoint of a child can be weird and certainly egocentric.

As in the case of this next memory. I remember being on the playground in 7th grade and being surrounded by what seemed like every kid in the 7th and 8th grade classes....or at least every popular, cliquish, bully-type kid. I remember one girl saying to me, "You're a bitch," to which I just replied, "Yeah, I know." Because what am I gonna say when I have all these kids hovering around me, eager to pounce on my ass if given the slightest opening? I don't remember there being any teachers around. And maybe it wasn't as many kids as it seemed. But I felt like a cornered animal. I have never, ever, ever gotten over that.

8th grade-- Perhaps as a result of this 7th grade incident, my goal in life became to "show them up," all the kids who made fun of me, made fun of my shoes, and generally made my life hell in 7th grade. I proceeded to get straight As, become a cheerleader (not the A team, but a cheerleader nonetheless), and win the Principal's Award, the highest honor at the school. I felt vindicated. It was the only way I knew to say a giant "FUCK YOU" to the mean girls.

BUT,

There is one memory that plagues me, and it was my behavior that was the problem. There was a girl named P.M., a short, kinda chunky girl with curly hair, who was simply one of the nicest, sweetest kids you could ever meet. I didn't play with her afterschool or on weekends, but she was always nice to me and we hung out with some other girls on the playground.

I don't know what age I was when I said this, but at one point, I was very mean to her and distinctly remember saying, "I don't want to hang out with you." Given the treatment that I had experienced, you'd think I wouldn't have been such as asshole, but I remember it to this day. I doubt P.M. does, or if she does, she realized what a jerk I was being and didn't let it bother her for longer than 5 seconds.

Recently, I saw one of the mean girls from my childhood. She was the bane of my St. R. existence. K.K. made fun of my shoes on a regular basis, whether it was the "combat boots" or the "buddies" I wore (my parents didn't buy me name brand shoes as her parents did). Her daughter and mine were in the same recital.

I saw her and just had to say something, if for no other reason than to show myself that I have gotten "over it." She was friendly, or about as friendly as I expected her to be, and introduced me to her kids. Her oldest child is in a wheelchair, apparently as a result of a pretty severe birth injury.

My feelings were mixed upon seeing her. We didn't talk for longer than 3 minutes because, really, we have nothing to say to each other. No common shared anything...other than dislike. I have to admit I wondered a lot about karma after seeing her, though, in light of her son's condition. And by this, I don't suggest that she got her "just desserts." I see children with disabilities as having their own special unique gifts and blessings that they bring to families. But I couldn't help find it odd that a child who made such fun of others for being different has such a different child of her own.

And so this is why I try to be vigilant about talking to N (and G later on) about children who are different from them, whether from Down Syndrome or race or whatever, and making them aware that they are to 1. treat them with respect and kindness, and 2. remember that all children just want to make friends and have fun. And bringing my kids down a notch with a tongue lashing if I ever hear them bragging about what they have and poo-poohing other kids who don't.