(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their privacy. Some information may be disturbing for some readers. Read at your discretion. 18+)
I was twelve years old, living in a new place, and going to a new school, in Kanata, Ontario, when I met a lovely girl named Sydney. I hung around with Sydney for the remaining half of grade six, and most of the summer before entering grade seven. We were the same age. Like two peas in a pod.
My parents had moved my brother Craig, and I, to Kanata, mid way through my grade sixth year of elementary school. I was relieved when we first moved to Kanata. I was bullied relentlessly at Christie Public School, which was located near the westside of Ottawa, and where I met Necklace Man.
I was, what one would consider, a smart cookie in school. I enjoyed learning. I just hated socializing or making friends. Quite often I came home with all A’s, or A’s with one or two B’s. In grade six, I had a teacher named Mr. Beale. He was an awesome teacher. He was fair and firm. I could respect him. Mr. Beale could command respect in a room. Rather than demand respect in a room through a sense of entitlement. He also showed that he believed in the kids, and in what he was doing. I think Mr. Beale would be an excellent character for a motivational movie about teachers making a positive difference. His character back then, in my eyes, would fit a role like that, perfectly. I am grateful I had Mr. Beale for my teacher. He saved my spirit one day.
For a few weeks or so, Mr. Beale asked me if I would be willing to tutor a new student named Vincent. Vincent had recently moved to the area from Yellowknife, situated in the Northwest Territories of Canada, approximately two months before I was scheduled to move to Kanata with my family. I believe his nationality would have been referred to as, Inuit? From what I understand, in the area where Vincent grew up, up until that point, english was not a language he was exposed to.
Vincent needed a bit of help in both reading, and writing of the english language. With my grades being what they were, I was the perfect candidate to help. I had a habit of finishing my in school class work long before the other students, on a fairly regular basis. When I was finished, I would usually sit and read quietly to myself at my desk. Waiting for the other students to finish.
Observing this habit of mine back then, Mr. Beale asked me if I would tutor Vincent. I said yes. Vincent and I sat in a designated area at the back of the class each afternoon. We would work on his exercise sheets, as well as other topics being discussed in class that day. The other kids became somewhat jealous, to put it lightly.
Vincent was a strapping young man. He towered over me by a good four or five inches. He had tanned skin, with beautiful brown eyes, and thick, wavy, jet black hair. I was on the shorter side in comparison to some of the other female students in my class. Usually with pants on, or shorts on, a t-shirt, long blonde hair in a messy ponytail, and a baseball cap on my head when outside. I was a proverbial tomboy. Vincent was also two years older than me. He was placed in my grade to get caught up to the level of students at his age level. We got along extremely well.
Vincent would walk me halfway home from school each day. He acted as a bodyguard for me. He may not have understood english too well. He could read body language, and energy between people like a hawk can narrow in on its prey. I felt so safe with him that a part of me felt invincible. Each day after school, Vincent and I would break off at an intersection closest to the school, after we had crossed it to get to the other side of the residential road. Once we reached the other side of the crosswalk, Vincent would keep walking up the same street. I made a right turn, crossed another crosswalk, and kept in that direction home.
On one particular day, four girls were picking on me. Alexis, the leader of the mean girls, was ruthless. “You fucking teacher’s pet. Why don’t you go kiss his ass. You fucking loser!” Then Alexis would chant, “Vincent and Clair sitting in a tree k.i.s.s.i.n.g. First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes a baby in a baby carriage. You are such a slut!”
Alexis went back and forth between singing the kissing song, and throwing a profanity my way. The other girls, Kathy, Helen, and Tanya were all cackling and laughing alongside Alexis. Tanya took it a bit too far. She said “if I were you, I’d go kill myself. You loser!”.
As soon as Vincent heard those words come out of Tanya’s mouth, he went to take a swing at her. His white knuckled fist was headed straight for Tanya’s face. The moment I saw Vincent’s arm raised, I grabbed for it and yelled, “Vincent don’t! It’s not worth it!”.
I yanked Vincent’s arm down towards me. He relinquished his threat towards Tanya, then turned to look at me. He was livid. He also had sad eyes for me. Vincent didn’t speak a word. I looked at him and said “I’m okay Vincent. It’s okay. They are not worth it. Go home Vincent. I’m going home too.”
As I spoke those words to Vincent, I made hand gestures pointing in different directions to better help him understand. As I was talking to Vincent, the girls took off. As I walked away from Vincent, I looked back after about two minutes or so. Vincent didn’t walk up the hill like he normally would have. He stood at the corner of that intersection, watching to make certain the three girls, Kathy, Helen, and Tanya, who were walking a few feet in front of me, were not going to hurt me again. Once the girls were out of sight, Vincent was gone.
I didn’t see Vincent again after that day. I moved before he returned to school. The next day, with Vincent not being at school, it became prime time for the bullies to get back at me for the altercation the day before at the intersection.
During lunch recess, my entire grade six class, with the exception of one quiet student named Sean Barns, surrounded me on the playground. They formed a large circle with me in the middle. “Not so brave now that your bodyguard is gone, are ya? You freak!” Along with other, not so nice, words exploding from Alexis’s mouth.
All the other kids egged Alexis on. “Fight! Fight! Fight!” They all chanted. Next thing I knew, I was being tossed back and forth, like a ragdoll, towards one student and then another. Each time I was pushed, the student who they pushed me into, kicked me, or punched me, before tossing me to the next student. I was ganged up on by my entire class. Both boys and girls were having a field day using me as a punching bag. I couldn’t hit back or defend myself because I could hardly keep myself from falling over. I was being pushed so aggressively, and frequently my head was spinning.
I was experiencing a ton of emotions when the recess teacher came over to break up the fight. “What are you all doing?! Stop this! Right now!” As the teacher waved all the students away, she came over to me and asked, “do you want to go inside? You are welcomed to if you wish?” I took her up on her offer. I went inside and hid in the bathroom until the bell rang.
It was after the afternoon recess bell chimed, when Mr. Beale came over to me to chastise me for not telling him what the other students had done. I guess the lunch recess teacher had explained to him what happened whilst I was crying in the bathroom stall in private.
“Why didn’t you tell me they did that to you? You should have come to me or gone to another teacher. You should have told us you were being bullied.” I didn’t blame Mr. Beale for being upset with me for not telling him. I think his intuition told him I was being bullied for tutoring Vincent at his request. He likely felt somewhat responsible.
After the beating, just like when the man with the necklace attacked me, I kept quiet about it. I sat in class, did my schoolwork, and remained neutral in body language. Inside, I was numb. I went about the rest of my day like nothing happened. All the while, screaming underneath the numbness, deep within my mind, “why doesn’t anyone like me?! Why am I not loveable? Why am I an It?”.
Notice a pattern? Those questions are similar to the questions I had asked myself when I was walking that March winter night when Rosie locked me out of his apartment. Almost forty years later, I was still wondering why I wasn’t loved by others, or might it be better to say “why didn’t I love myself?” Everything ties in. We are all creatures of habit.
I stayed home the next day from school after that beating. I can’t remember if I played sick, or, if I was allowed to stay home. The next day, which was the last day of school for me, before the big move to Kanata, Mr. Beale had planned a surprise going away party for me. During lunch hour, Mr. Beale had decorated the entire class with balloons, party supplies, and cake. Then he had all the kids come back inside moments before the bell rang. I went in when the bell rang not being any the wiser. When I walked into the classroom, Mr. Beale and all the students yelled “Surprise!”.
Mr. Beale ended regular scheduled class for the rest of the afternoon. Instead, we listened to music on a boom box one of the other students brought to school. I heard some apologies from some of the students, and Mr. Beale read my three page poem about friendship. Mr. Beale made me feel seen, appreciated, and loved. He is one of my secret heros to this day. He turned a very painful experience into a learning one with love.
I left Christie Public School with mixed emotions. Both pain and pleasure, depending on which one I was choosing to focus on. That surprise party experience Mr. Beale so lovingly gave to me, is a valued core memory for me. The students bullying me, and the “should of, could of, would of” from Mr. Beale chastising me, was a bit harder to digest.
With that said, all my experiences at that elementary school had helped me to come to terms with the fact that I have no control over other people’s perception of me. I only have control over my own. Knowing this truth allows my mind to soften the rest of my memories with that school.
No matter what you do, there will always be someone who will agree with you, or who will disagree with you. There will be those that like you for breathing, and others who despise you for breathing. As long as you recognize your intentions, and those intentions are pure, keep doing you. Everyone else will be okay, eventually.
Since it wasn’t that long meeting Sydney after I moved, and the continued bullying I received at that new school as well, I cherished my friendship with her. So much so, I had decided not to tell her what her father did to me on one fateful camping weekend. At least not until over a year later, when we were in grade nine science class together. I was seated right in front of her. Her sitting there triggered me so much that I had an overwhelming impulse to tell her. I couldn’t ignore it.
I turned around in my seat, when no one else was in the classroom with us, and finally caved. I told her. Sydney’s response to me was “I suspect my dad did that to my sister’s friends too.” We never spoke of it again after that. My heart sank for her. I was also angry at the idea of her knowing what her father could be like, and still invited me to be alone with him. Just like I did after her father’s attack on my innocence that traumatic weekend, I stopped talking with Sydney all over again.
This is the truth between Sydney and I. You reading this now, are the next to know what truly happened between me and Sydney’s father.
It was a Wednesday when Sydney asked me if I would like to go with her and her family to their camp. “Wanna come to our camp this weekend? We have a camper with bunk beds and everything. We can go swimming, and have a campfire with s’mores.” It sounded awesome to me. “Yeah! I’ll ask my parents and let you know.” That night I asked my parents. After their due diligence of asking with whom, where, and when, they allowed me to go. They felt I would be safe enough with both Sydney’s parents there.
Friday came. I was excited. I had been looking forward to going from the moment Sydney mentioned it to me. I thought about us going hiking on the trails. I thought about the water sports Sydney said we would do. I also relished the idea of being away from my parents and brother for a few days too. I walked to Sydney’s house about ten minutes from my own, with a bag in hand and a wide grin. When I approached Sydney’s driveway, her father was loading their station wagon with all their weekend gear. Sydney was inside. “Hi Clair. Go on inside. Syd’s just getting her stuff together.”
I went inside their house, as Sydney’s dad had suggested. When I reached Syd’s room, she was picking up her packed duffle bag off of her bed. “Hey Clair. It’s just gonna be me, you, and my Dad this weekend. My mom and sister both have to work.” I had an instant flutter in my stomach the moment she told me that. I had a quick thought of “don’t go. Turn around and go back home. This could be bad.”
I chose to ignore those thoughts. I shrugged the inner knowing as paranoia because men scared me. Her dad was always nice to me up until that point, and he kept his distance. Sydney and I had been hanging out for a good few months by that point. It was the summer before entering grade seven. I figured since he was a dad, I was safe. I was wrong.
After a day of water sports, campfire cooking with hotdogs and s’mores, we all went inside the camper to play cards before bedtime. Sydney’s father offered both Sydney and I a glass of wine. “Treat this like a vacation away from responsibility. Have fun. No one will know. I’ve got your back.” My curiosity about alcohol in that moment got the better of me. I chose to drink the wine. Whilst Sydney’s father waited patiently for the right moment to pounce.
LivWithClairity 
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