The Seventh Grade Lie

Most people go through some kind of change in their younger years. It takes a while, and, most of the time, people would say that they "grew out of it" or something of the like. It's a natural process of evolution that we call maturing. It has to do with learning from your life's mistakes and trying to make it better. These changes vary in intensity and can occur so slowly that people wouldn't really notice… and, in some cases, when times call for a new way of life, it has to be done instantly and very much consciously. In my case, I felt very much the same for a very long time… but, when something happened, I was forced to transform… No, no I'm not going to tell you yet. I'm going to give you the proper context first. In order to understand what happened in as much detail as possible, you must first understand just the kind of kid I was.

I was what the word outcast refers to. I was just the kind of kid that teachers didn't want in their class, the kind of kid that people feared, the kind of kid that other kids could never feel very comfortable around. I wasn't supposed to be that way, but I was never built for this life from the very beginning. I was made into something I was not, just because of how I reacted to the way people treated me. I was a tough guy. To quote from my father's cousin: "He would stand up against a 600 pound bear."

That was a grave flaw only because it was that pronounced. Otherwise, it would be good; everyone wishes they had the guts to stand up for themselves. Well, I had that and much more… too much to say the least. My first grade teacher, which I liked very much, wanted to fail me simply because I was too much of a troublemaker. In elementary school, I held the record for being sent to the principle's office the most. There was a year that I almost spent as much time there as I did in class. That's because the teacher thought she deserved a lot of breaks. I would actually sleep the principle's office. There was a little folding bed there with my name on it. However, during class was not the place I had the most problems… my problems were directly associated with the other kids and the supervisors roaming around in the school zone.

I don't know if anyone else noticed, but, in the 90's, there was a bit of a phase change in public schools. It was a question of ethics, really. Previously, adults believed it was best to let the kids work things out on their own to make them build their independence and so on. They would just be around in case things got out of hand and let the kids learn form their action… the real life way. However, at this period, there was a beginning of a change. It was the start of the phase where the adults were changing their minds and taking more charge in the relationships the kids had in between themselves. Because of the kind of kid I was, I would have preferred the old ways. I didn't need anyone. I was capable of taking care of myself… always. But the midway phase change caused so much confusion to everyone that it made things far worse for me. Imagine someone who doesn't trust anyone and that was always on his own, finding solutions to his own problems, having complete and total strangers make decisions for him all of a sudden. It was very confusing and more troublesome than anything else. I didn't trust anyone, and no one trusted me… it could never work.

I made many new records at that school following this new ethic business: I fought more than anyone else; I ran away more than anyone (though my brother holds the record for being gone for the longest); I stole the most marbles (that was a very popular game at the time, and, because my parents would refuse to get me some… I got some myself. I went from nothing to getting anything I wanted.); I got to see every weapon that was brought to the school, from the switch knives to the BB guns… I saw it all; most importantly, I was forced to lie the most. I was made into a compulsive liar. It's simple really: the truth never worked. I always got punished. It wasn't about right or wrong anymore: it was about getting punished for participating in something that was not right. I knew my rights from wrong very well. I was always very aware of it all, but, at that age, some wrongs just had to be done. I was almost a bully… something that I was never fond of. But to some people, that's what I was. I was never too bad though. I know what it felt like to be bullied, and it sucked ass. There was only one person at that school that was ever able to bully me: he was far older than I was. He was the same guy who singed my older brother's forearm hairs off and shot me with a BB gun, just a couple of inches next to my testicles.

I was in trouble even more than my brother, and that's very surprising because he's the kind of guy who got angry very easily. He was very ill-tempered and would throw a desk at the principle when he was angry. He holds the record for climbing on the roof of the school the most… I was close behind. He was a tough guy too, but not nearly as bad. We were both outcasts. We were sent to summer camp at another school for many years in a row. There was no way in hell we could ever fit in over there. It was our hell. From the very first day, we became enemies with everyone. It was supposed to be a happy place: we would go out to water parks, beaches, rollercoaster parks, laser quest… random recreational places every week. My mother was fooled by this great service. She didn't understand what was really going on even if we got in trouble almost every day. We tried to forget that place, but, every year, we were forced to go back. My mother never knew just how close to the limit we were. It's one thing to learn how to deal with things like that; it builds character… but it's another to put us through the same torture every day of our summers. My brother and I stuck together most of the time. There was just so much pain that I almost forgot it all.

He and I played football in a team together when I was 10. I wasn't much more than a benchwarmer the first year, mostly because the coach sucked and he didn't know how to recognize people's skills and potential. It didn't matter much. The second year, I was alone to play football. That was a great year for our team. We had a superb coach. You know how American football is right? People who usually coach that are complete jerks that only care about the image that the game meant. This coach was different. He had great confidence and he paid attention to details. I was given the greatest position for a person like me. I was strong and fast. He considered making me a secondary runningbacker because I was a quick runner, but I was just a little too short, and I was only the second fastest. After many practices though, he recognized my potential and placed me in the most suitable position: safety. It was because I was the most fearless guy on the field. I was also a lot stronger than I looked. He laughed every time I would take out the biggest and strongest guys of the team during the exercises. I made the perfect safety. For those who don't know what this safety thing is all about, picture the guy at the very back of the defensive line. My target was the runningbacker, no one else. I stood at the very back and kept my eyes on the ball. Every time the ball was given to the runningbacker, I would predict where he would go and intercept him. Most of the time, I would intercept in a head to head impact. I was a fast runner and I was smashing into the fastest runner of the other team at full speed, in opposite directions. I was the best at that. It was kind of like a game of chicken that I could never lose. According to my father, I was very skilled. That was just before grade 7 (sec.1). That part was funny because you hear all these tough guys say they play hockey and they can kick anyone's ass… then you tell them that you play football, and they don't believe you. One time, my brother, his friend and I were at a park. There was a dude there who was making fun of us. He was alone, we were three. He was my brother's age (a year older than me). He was acting all tough and stuff and we challenged him. Obviously, we believe in a fair fight, 1 vs 1, and we let him choose who he wanted to fight. He chose me because I was the youngest and the smallest. We all laughed our asses off because of how big of a mistake that was. He should have chosen my brother's friend… that would have been fairer. He underestimated me. He thought he would have an easy fight. I made him see things our way.

That's how everything was, until I went to high school. I had a fresh start to get it right. I can say I got unlucky. I was stuck in the worst group there was. It was around the worst kids in the school, and I have never let go of my intolerance. I was still that fighting machine from the past… that characteristic to defend my honor and that of my friends… every time. Luckily, the people were a lot more reluctant to fight because high school is closer to being a prison than anything else, and the consequences are far more severe. I still had enemies, and it took a longer time to shake them off because they wouldn't fight. I only got into a few fights. There was one person in particular who gave me a lot of trouble. A fight was inevitable. Just like any fight, it was hard to determine just how far it would go each time. I depended on signs from others to determine when to stop because, otherwise, it never would. I had no limits. I would fight anyone. However, after I only fought this guy once before he realized it was a bad idea. Instead, he used greater numbers to intimidate me. One day, he followed me home with his friends. He wanted to see where I lived so that he may trash my home. I didn't give him the luxury of that. I fooled them away from my home and built up enough distance to disappear. They gave up after that. They still wouldn't fight me though.

Anyway, I got into a lot of trouble then too. I was in detention a lot and I could cover it most of the time. I was perfectly set up to either avoid it altogether or pretend like I was never there. I could fool the secretary, the principle and my parents. I pushed that to the limit. Most of the time, I just wouldn't get caught. I was such a hypocrite. Everyone knew this about me. They could ask for my help, and, sometimes, I could get them out of trouble or take the fall for them. I could hide anything and people wouldn't find it. There was a time where someone had a can of fart spray and stunk up the whole class. The teacher searched everyone, but never found it. I had it. That's how things were. I had tricks and lies to get out of almost anything.

We had a teacher that we picked on. There were many that we didn't like, but most of them were too imposing to challenge too much. This teacher had all of our group's frustration ganged up on her. If I remember correctly, the other group took it all out on her as well, but our group was by far the worst. I wasn't actually a witness to this event because I was in detention at the time, but, during one class, someone shot a milk carton on her forehead and made her cry. I did witness liquidpaper and pennies being thrown before too. I was never there when she cried, and I had to see it happen. One day, I bought a dozen eggs. I told a lot of people of my plans and collected some money off of people to purchase them. Everyone was very excited to get their hands on them. There was no way the teacher could pinpoint who threw the eggs if everyone got a shot when her back was turned. No one in particular would get caught. At the beginning of the class, I distributed the eggs to the daredevils. The moment the second bell rang, the door opened and the security guards came in. They searched everyone and a dozen eggs is something hard to hide… but there was something else in my bag that I couldn't exactly hide. It was a Zippo lighter with a bottle of lighter fluid. I was a pyromaniac; many people in my class were. I would burn random things. I didn't thing these items were much of a problem to own or possess, but I was wrong. I was sent to the office to be punished. At the time, there was nothing else on my mind except the thought of who betrayed me. When I entered a special office, I was greeted by a police officer. Something was clearly wrong. The teacher had already made it clear that she never wanted to see my face again. What was left to be discussed was somewhat different.

I was being investigated by a policewoman. It was obvious that, because of how much of a troublemaker I was, the teachers didn't put in any good words for me. They wanted me out… to expel me from the school system. They were convinced that I was a bad kid beyond saving: a kid that had troubles at home that manifested in my anger at school. What they saw in my bag wasn't what I saw it as: they believed it to be some criminal's cry for help. Everyone was convinced that my intention was to burn down the school. My records didn't help me much in that effect either… I was associated with causing fires in class before. I was not a smoker and I had no reason to own a lighter. However, that wasn't what gave it away. There were incidences in my group… events that placed me as a suspect to criminal fires. My group was known to set fire to the recycling bin during class. I was there once; they had to send a security guard with a fire extinguisher to put it out. It wasn't a smart thing to do, and I'd have to say that was the only reason why I never did it. Like I said though, people could trust me to keep them out of trouble. I was the best at concealing things. That time it worked: I took the lighter and kept it out of sight. No one was directly held responsible for the fire as a result, but a group of people got punished instead. From that moment, I was called upon for help a few times and lighters were entrusted to me. That's when I acquired the taste of being a pyro. I would set pencils or papers or liquidpaper… or anything ( … like the desk itself) on fire during class with other people's lighters. Obviously, I never got caught with a lighter and no one could really say it was me… except my own classmates. I was betrayed once by the very owner of the lighter I was entrusted with. It was simple really, no matter how much people could trust me, the opposite wasn't true. I should have taken that as a hint for future references. People I thought were friends at the time really weren't. It was a lot like the past; people who were my "friends" were just so because they didn't want to be on my bad side. They didn't trust me, they feared me or they simply couldn't understand what I was supposed to be.

It reminded me of a fight I had with a friend of mine a very long time ago. It was in elementary school. My class was playing soccer on lunch time. For some reason, this girl I knew well was insulting me during the game. I took that as a hostile intent and reacted to it. She was bigger than I was. She was by far the strongest girl in the school, and, at the time, she was a match to my physical strength. I didn't feel too bad about fighting a girl like her because she was a far better match than most people I would fight. It was a very close fight. She was heavier than I was, but I had much more experience. Without some tricks I had, I would have lost. However, there was an unwritten rule that prevented fights between boys and girls. I got her down to the ground and made her eat a bit of snow to prove my point. It was apparent that she had enough, and I immediately got off of her. I started walking away only to be jumped on the back by my victim. She tried to pull me down and I resisted until her closest friends helped her trip me. Our positions were reversed; I was the one biting the snow and she was sitting on my back, pulling my hair. She wanted revenge, and she had it. It was important that she gave me a taste of my own medicine, and she kept it going for as long as it took. I resisted. I had no limits. Sensibly enough, she got off of me, knowing that the fight was supposed to be over long ago. There were no words spoken between us, but, from the looks of her face, all tension between us was lost. Her friends, however, thought differently. They all knew I was tough as hell and that I could take more beating… Needless to say, I was kicked while I was already down. The worst part is that everyone got involved: everyone had a chance to lay down a kick of their own… everyone. My whole class surrounded me… people that were supposed to be friends. They looked at this as being their chance to let me have it… for whatever reason. The snow had time to melt under me as all the kids kicked me over and over again. All except the girl I had fought. She was more of a friend than the rest, it seemed. In the end, I was all wet from the melted snow, and I was softened by all the kicks. When they finally let me back on my feet, I simply picked up my hat and walked away. Nothing could have hurt me more. This betrayal that day in sec.1 felt the same. It was all about fake friends. People who would turn on you, people who couldn't be trusted… ever. That's almost all the only kind of friends I ever had. I had to protect myself against these people.

That was what I cared most about and I tuned everything else out except this pain of betrayal; the pain of being alone and unwanted; the pain of having no one to trust and no one that understood who I was. No one ever thought of me as anything else but a troubled child and a liar. No one ever thought of me as a person. No one wanted to. Not even my teachers. I was just the boy who cried wolf; the boy that no one felt they could believe a word he said. How could they think differently of my intentions, knowing that they can't trust me? That's why this policewoman was there. She had to run this investigation to determine if I had to be dealt with professionally or if I could ever function like everyone else. The power to give me a permanent criminal record rested in her hands. The decision was hers alone. It was a moment in my life that could have ruined it all. A criminal record is something very hard to explain at a job interview. That's what I mean by being so close to the limit. No one else knew how close I was to this. This had to change. This cop was the only link I had to leading a normal life. I had to be honest with her. I had to draw the line somewhere. It was the day to do that. I told this woman just the kind of guy I really was. I needed to let her know that I wasn't this monster people believed me to be. I had no troubles at home. I was a good kid. I made other parents envy mine. All of my troubles were about school. I had no problem with adults, but I didn't respect authority. School was a prison. There was no other way to look at it through my eyes. The torture that I lived through every day of my life was real. That's why I was troubled. Not because I had a dangerous personality… or a criminal temperament. I got lucky; this woman could see this about me. She recommended that I was given one more chance. She promised me that I wouldn't have a criminal record but that she had to make a file anyway… some kind of potential criminal record she said. In the end, all that happened as a result of this is that I had to promise not to get into much trouble in the future. I was expelled for the last week of school. I wasn't allowed to show up for my exam and I failed that class.

That was a long summer. I didn't want anyone else to believe I was a bad kid. My family would never believe I could be like that, and it was better that way. It would only hurt them to know what happened in school. I had to protect who I really was, and, as a consequence, I kept my mouth shut about it. In fact, even my friends didn't know exactly what happened. The story was the same, but the level of detail was what made all the difference in the world. No one person got the full amount of detail. It had to be that way. The next year, I had to change. I got in my classroom and I didn't talk to anyone. I didn't joke around or cause much trouble. I just stayed in my own prison. I kept my distance from everyone and everything that was dangerous to me. I became who I had to be. I shut myself permanently from the influence of others. That way, I was able to be who I wanted to be even if no one noticed. It didn't matter much because I didn't trust anyone. I completely refused to be the way I had been. I paid a high price, but I became more myself.