The Power of Words

   

     Have you ever received a word of encouragement that changed how you felt about a situation? I did, on the worst day of my life. It was the spring of my seventh-grade year. The year had been tumultuous with friend crises.

     Going back in time to the previous summer, I was confident that seventh grade would go like sixth, a raging success story. I had entered junior high as a sixth grader "Big", big hair, cool walk and big attitude. According to Seventeen magazine these components were all you needed to become popular. Popular, even saying the word made my heart flutter. True to the written word, I thought I was Big stuff in sixth grade, and the popular girls agreed for a time.

    It was a mid-July night when we gathered at my best friend’s house for her 13th Birthday party.  All the girls talked about the boys we liked and played party games. Around 9 o’clock I left after pizza and cake feeling happy with the experience. Little did I know, I had been tricked. The rest of the girls had been invited to spend the night. I could have gone on my merry little way not knowing I had been duped, but life very rarely gives us the easy way out.

    Around 10A.M. the next morning, I crossed the living room to answer the phone. 

Unsuspecting I answered, “Hello.”

     Snickering voices were heard in the background as a familiar voice spoke slowly and cruelly,   “Dianne we all stayed over at the party last night without you. After discussing all the things you have said about us, we have decided that you are no longer fit to be our friend. Someone like you doesn’t deserve friends.” Laughter rocketed in the background before a sudden dial tone filled my ear. 

    I stood frozen holding the receiver in my hand wondering what had happened. Did my best friend betray me? Was it true that all the popular girls had just labeled me "Loser?"

     Such thoughts were like a swinging stick smashing the Pinata and all the sweet dreams of being accepted crashing to the ground. As the ring of laughter echoed in my head emotions began to rise from somewhere deep within. “I’m ok, I’m ok, I’m ok,” I said as I held my head. The heat seemed to be rising in my veins and my heart began to pound. "Ring" "Ring" the telephone called out again. I wondered if I should answer it. What would Blair from “The Facts of Life” do? Picturing her assertive face in my mind I concluded that she would face this problem head on.

“Hello,” I said bracing myself.

“We hate you!” the chorus of girls called out in the background, then click. They hung up.

     Hot tears finally reached my eyes. As the idea of great loss came flooding over me I ran to my room to blast “Should’ve Known Better” by Richard Marx. Looking at the bulletin board covered in magazine clippings I tried to find a model I could try to look like, try to be. If I just looked prettier maybe then they would take me back. What did I say? Pausing on that question I thought, what didn’t I say?

    A true picture of these friendships turned out to be a shallow view. We got together to talk about each other. Who was the cutest, and who wasn't as cute. We discussed who was dating, and who we wished would break up. Who got told off and who should get told off. Now it became clear, it was my turn to be knocked off the ladder.

    Going into seventh grade was a lonely experience. For the first time, I noticed the other students. The majority of my peers had taken verbal abuse from the "populars". With a red face, I remembered the ugly words I had spewed out at other students that had been labeled geek, dork, or nerd. During the lunch hour when it was time to set my tray down at a table, a quick scan of the lunch room revealed no allies.

   Out of courageous desperation, I turned to the only people that knew me, the "populars". Maybe if I acted really nice they would forgive my sins. Graciously they allowed me to sit at the end of their table, but their bodies turned away from me in conversations. If there was a juicy secret they would whisper to one another while giving me the eye rolled message, “You can’t hear this, you are no longer one of us.”

    In Social Studies the class following lunch, I cried every day. Such tears flowed like an unwanted river in front of the “populars” within the class. Whispered snickers again communicated to me, that they had won. They had been able to crush the "Big" right out of me.

    Miraculously through crushing moments when humiliation permeates the air a new perspective can arise. Because I lost all my friends that year I was forced to look harder at the classmates around me. Instead of seeing their flaws like I had been trained to do the year before, I started to see their unique gifts. I joined a storytelling group that year because I made a new friend, Brooke. She also got me involved in an acting troop. It was also during this year that I grew close to my cousin Stacey, who pushed me to sing. As a result, we started taking voice lessons together. With all the good that was developing in my character and abilities, I still hoped to be popular again.

     On a spring day, we all gathered, the 400 students of Hoover Intermediate School for an assembly. The woman who spoke had various topics from AIDS awareness to self-esteem. At the end of her speech, she gave something like an altar call for anyone that would like to share something with their peers. My heart started beating in my ears as I felt a deep urgency. Before I could reconsider I felt my feet walking to the front of the auditorium and my hand reaching for the microphone.

     Looking out at the myriad of faces my throat became suddenly dry, “I just wanted to say I am sorry to all of you. This year I have learned how it feels to not have friends. I realized that in sixth grade I was mean to a lot of you, and I am sorry because I know how it feels, and I don’t ever want to do that again.”

     In tears, I went back to my seat as the students clapped in support. After the assembly, the group of "populars" came over to me. Each one took their turn to say that I was forgiven. I felt reinstated into my dream team. Maybe now I wouldn't feel as if I had to wear the scarlet letter every day. With a smile, I shut my locker after school, and quietly rode the bus home.

     The next morning I couldn’t wait to go to school. Looking in the mirror my bangs couldn’t be higher and my side part fanned out perfectly. My cardigan sweater with the white tee with shoulder pads underneath made me look taller as I slipped on my penny loafers over my blue checkered stirrup pants. I was feeling cute and forgiven.

     As I walked up the stairs to the seventh-grade hall the hustle and bustle suddenly quieted as my peers silently watched me walk by, gone were the praise and forgiveness. 

   In the first hour, the "populars" passed notes as they whispered about me. With flushed cheeks, I tried to keep my composure. Even my new friends avoided me that day at lunch. Sitting by myself I tried to list the good things in my life, and how I should seriously write a ballad about hating school.

     Finally, in the last hour of the day, Choir, I found my seat in the front row next to Eric Kresser. Feeling completely deflated I stared at my music pretending it was captivating when he broke my reverie.

“Dianne, I just want you to know I thought what you did yesterday took a lot of courage, and I am proud of you.” He said matter of factly.

     Looking at him and trying to keep from crying I said, “thank you, Eric.”

     From that moment on I felt the color come back to my cheeks, and hope come back to my heart. A dream died that day, the wish to be popular. In its place a new dream rose up, to be real, honest, and kind. Thank you, Eric, for helping me to see that such courage matters in a world that judges us by our appearance and how we can dominate others.

     His words transformed my worst day into a historical moment that has changed the course of my life. Words are powerful, I learned that the hard way that year. Words can break others down, but when they are used to build others up they will never be forgotten nor will the people who spoke them.