I was reflecting today on how cruel teenagers can be to each other, after I was unexpectedly thrust into the middle of a name-calling incident at McDonald's this morning around the breakfast hour.
At first, I was shocked by the demeaning slurs these young hoodlums hurled at each other (which caused every decent person within earshot to cringe) but then - it struck me - that my own generation often acted the same way when they got caught up in the "mob mentality" in a spontaneous fit of anger in the school yard or after hours in the playground.
In those vulnerable years, it is so important for these insecure young adults to feel a sense of belonging, to be cool.
That's why they copy-cat each other when it comes to fashion trends, rebel against their parents and authority figures, and do battle with their teachers.
For the most part, the immature little brats are totally unaware of the hurt they cause.
Or, at least, not until it is too late to make amends.
Yes, words have power.
Unfortunately, the ugly free-for-all, dredged up a handful of painful memories that weren't too pleasant to re-visit.
In the sixth grade, for example, I was attending Regent Heights High school in Toronto, when a misunderstanding with a neighborhood friend literally rocked my world and plummeted me to the edge of a frightful abyss.
Gordon McKinnon grew up in the house next to mine, and when I moved in, we became fast friends.
Gordon was thin as a rail - crowned with a carrot-top and freckles - and was blessed with an infectious grin.
Uh-huh!
He was quite the rambunctious high-strung kid.
And, blessed with a remarkable gift for tickling the ivories on the old piano, too.
Every day, we trotted off to school together - and oftentimes when class was out - we hung out at his home until his parents arrived back from the office around the dinner hour.
Then, out-of-the-blue one day, a silly misunderstanding caused a rift between us.
I can't recall what triggered the split in our friendship, but once Gordon spitefully dug his heels in, it was all out war.
The situation worsened to epic proportions over a bagged lunch.
Whenever my foster mother was out for the day, she bagged me - a sandwich, snack, and piece of fruit - to chow down on in the cafeteria.
Of course, I was keenly aware that if the other kids found out that Mrs. Collett wouldn't allow me to come home for lunch on my own if she was out, that they would taunt and tease me no end.
So, to avoid that embarrassment, I would sneak home each day that I was forced to pack a lunch - slip into the garage surreptitiously - and wolf down the meal with no one being the wiser (and my cool image would remain intact).
Unfortunately, one day when I was starting to climb in the back window of the garage, I was caught in the act.
Mrs. Collett returned early one day and noticed me walk up the drive with my lunch in tow.
After a brief interrogation, in which I noted that the other boys would make fun of me for having to take a bagged-lunch to school, she thoughtlessly called up Gordon's mother to complain about his inappropriate behaviour.
As you can well imagine, that didn't go over well with Gordon, because he ended up getting racked over the coals royally by his parents.
Consequently, one day when I was idly chatting with friends at recess, Gordon dashed up from out-of-nowhere and started to rant and rave.
"You don't belong here. You're from a poor part of town. Go back where you belong!"
Of course, he was reacting to the background information his mother relayed to him, about me being a foster child (everyone else thought I was a distant relative of the Collett family).
The disturbing mean-spirited remarks were uttered up to insult and demean me in front of the other kids.
Needless to say, I was deeply hurt, and in shock.
Frankly, I was emotionally scarred by the incident, too.
.
Unfortunately, it is not a memory from my youth that is easy to shake to this day.
But, in a positive light, I have to admit that it was an experience that has made me painfully aware - as an adult - about how important it is to shelter children from these kinds-of-abusive situations in childhood that can haunt an individual for life!
Today, I am an advocate of children's rights, because of it.
And, I know from whence I speak!
