I had a bully beating up on me beginning the first day of seventh grade. Her name was Diane James, it was 1963, and the school was John F. Kennedy Jr. High. I knew her name which was the same as mine, and that's all I knew about her, so I tried to be friendly. When I heard her name the first time, I smiled and said hello. She gave me a look of disgust and turned away.
Foolishly, I kept trying. I say "foolish" not because it was a bad thing to do but because I thought I could work on her and finally appeal to her enough to turn her into a friend. Though I had been bullied all my life, you see I had no idea how to deal with them. I was friendly, affable, and welcoming when I ran into her.
One day early in the year we had an assembly, I believe we were getting an orientation. Diane and her friend came in and picked the chairs immediately behind mine. Funny, out of all the other empty seats, those two looked the most appealing.
She waited till the lights went down and started kicking my chair. Silly me, I didn't recognize it as a hostile act, I just thought she was being a jerk and not paying attention to what rough treatment her feet were giving someone else's chair. Yes, I was that naive. I ignored her but she started kicking me harder and harder till it was actually painful. By this time she and the friend were rocking with barely-suppressed laughter.
I asked her to stop. She kicked me hard several times more. Again I asked, a little heatedly, and she kicked harder. So I reached behind me and pinched her ankle. I was not in the habit of telling a teacher about anything; their answer was always, "Quit making trouble. Go to the principal's office." But Diane James was, and she told a teacher.
I got in trouble, she walked away unscathed.
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