The Hill Man’s Blogspot

The Bite

He took my pencil. He wouldn’t give it back. I got mad and then next thing you know, I bit him.

I was in second grade and it was my first year in Jarrettown Elementary School. I moved from Cedar Grove Christian Academy in Philadelphia to this suburban area. I had no friends at this time because I was very shy. I sat in the little chair and observed the other students listening intently to the Mrs. Carminati’s instructions or drawing little pictures on their notebooks, or conversing quietly with each other. During recess I would look around the playground and observe my classmates playing. I would always wonder when I would find my own group of friends.

I was always the quiet girl in the corner of the room or the girl who played by herself with the woodchips at the jungle gym. Sometimes my peers did not notice that I was in the same class with them. From time to time, people asked me for a pencil, crayon, marker, or paper. I would respond with a short answer such as “yes”, “no”, “sure”, “yeah”, or “I don’t have any”. No one was ever mean or did cruel things. They left me alone and I left them alone.

For a second grader, he was taller than most students and looked more like a man than any another boy in class 2B. From what I observed, J.J. was the trouble-maker kid: teasing other students, taking other’s belongings, and thinking that he was the cool kid. He and his friends would always pick a new victim everyday or every other day. Whoever was not in his posse were his victims. He was the head lion and they were the zebras. Then the day came when I was the zebra.

As usual, I sat at my desk doing what I do best: being quiet. Mrs. Carminati gave everyone in 2B a writing assignment. I was working diligently when suddenly a shadow came over me. I slowly lift my head and looked up. The last person I wanted to see was standing in front of me. My eyes were wide open and waited for him to state what he wanted from me.

I had a pencil on my desk and he swooped that away. I looked back at the emptiness of the desk. He took the paper’s best match, the pencil. As a , I would have just stayed in my seat and ignored his action. I would have let him have my pencil and keep it for himself. However, something stirred in me and changed my view. I transformed into the Hulk in that classroom. My body did not want to take bullying from him. I did not want to be like the other victims and my mind was telling me to keep away from trouble.

The next thing you know, I stood up to the manly second grader and said, “Give me my pencil.” Deep down, I was so frightened. I wanted to go back to my seat and pretend that I never did that. He responded back with a simple no. Then, as a pure reflex, I took his hand and bit his arm. He yelped and Mrs. Carminati came over to ask what had happened. He simply told the story while I was looking down on the floor feeling ashamed of my actions. The teacher told me what I did was wrong and later contacted my father.

When my father came home from work, he mentioned the incident that occurred at school. He also told me that what I did was wrong, but ended the conversation with laughter on his face. My father tells me that in the future I will look back upon this experience and laugh about it.

Filed by Mr. Hillman at March 28th, 2008 under I eat paste and other childhood reflections