While We're On The Topic

I imagined those two girls who bothered me about my shoes were more more popular than me because I spent many years not being popular.

Mine was an armed forces family. We moved a lot. So I was always dealing with new groups of kids, kids who had lived next door to one another since the day they were born.

I was born and spent my early childhood in British Columbia. Then we moved to Winnipeg and I attended kindergarten in the basement of a house on Ness Avenue and grades 1 through 3 at Strathmillan School. 

Then we moved to Edmonton and I attended grade 4 at Prince Charles School, grades 5 and 6 at Prince Rupert School, grades 7 to 9 at McDougall Junior High School and grade 10 at Victoria Composite High School. 

Then we moved to Trenton and I attended grades 11 to 13 at Trenton High School.

I remember it was always a little tough finding and holding onto friends no matter where I was, but Edmonton was the worst. I don't recall being bullied in Winnipeg, and all that was behind me by the time my family moved to Trenton, but, from grades four through nine bullying was just part of my day.

I recall with neither rancour nor trauma, only crystal clarity, one spectacular example.

For our first year in Edmonton, we lived in a house on the corner of 120th Avenue NW and 122nd Street (see here for another story at that address) which put us in the catchment for Prince Charles Elementary school. I think it was the only school that all four Clark girls attended at the same time.

I'd made a friend with a girl whose name I can't recall who lived right across the street from the school, but she moved away. I then made friends with Heather whose house was on my way to school. I would call on her and we would walk the rest of the way together.

But, I had a rival. Bambi, another of Heather's friends, couldn't stand me. There were many fights and a final falling out. 

I had been on the outs with Heather and Bambi for a long time when, on the last day of school, they came skipping (seriously, skipping) up to me in the girls' playroom. They said they wanted to be my friend. All was forgiven.

I was completely happy.

I joined arms with them and we skipped together out the playroom door, across the asphalt tarmac and out onto the large turf playing field surrounding the school.

Suddenly, Heather and Bambi relinquished their hold on my arms, gave me a push, and ran like hell away from me. I managed to keep my feet and turned around, confused.

Right behind me were two of the big boys in my class (they were a couple of years older than the rest of us, having been held back a time or two). The biggest one grabbed me by the arm and socked me in the face with his fist. Then they both ran away.

There were no repercussions. It was the last day of school. I'm not even sure I told my parents.

Bambi and Heather's planning, however, was impressive. This bullying was scripted, choreographed, strategically timed and included accomplices. 

Six years later, I saw Bambi again. She was working in the coat check room at the Bonanza Restaurant, the place where my friend Jill Parry and I used to hang out on Sunday afternoons, eating bacon cheeseburgers, drinking banana milkshakes and smoking Players cigarettes. 

I recognized Bambi right away. 

She did not remember me at all.

Thanks for reading.

Karen