For me, the bullying started in Grade 4 and lasted straight into Grade 8. The neighborhood I grew up in had very few immigrant families. We were surrounded by caucasians and we stuck out like a sore thumb. Especially me. Loud, brash, fiesty and ...brown. And kids were mean. If you were different, they were threatened. Fearing what they did not know. There were many days I would come home, bury my head in my mother's lap, crying.
"Mamma, I was on my way to Krista's house and those boys stopped my bike and threw me off," I sighed, wiping my tears away. I climbed back on and had to take another longer route to get to her house. Every morning on the way to school, these older boys would stop me, knowing I would be barrelling down their street to pick up my friend. A part of me wanted to avoid that route, but the other part, a more sound and brave part convinced myself that I had just as much right to travel on that road as they did. Everyday, the colour of my skin betrayed me.
"Go back to your home, you PAKI!" the ugliest boy spat at me. He had red hair and freckles all over his body. When he saw me coming, he ran out of his house and grabbed my handlebars. I frantically looked around to see if any adult was witnessing the scene.
I sucked in my breath and lashed out: "This is my country! I was born here so if you want me to go home, I AM home, you moron!" My attempts of challenging his intellect did not help the situation. His friends laughed which enraged him further. He tipped me off my bike. I fell onto the sidewalk and scraped my knee. Blood trickled out and was diluted with water. Where was the water coming from? I then realized it was from my own tears. When I looked up, Krista was standing behind the boys.
"Leave her alone! She is my friend. Why do you bother her everyday? If you don't leave her alone, I will not let my brother play with you!" she exclaimed. She grabbed my hand and picked up my bike. We were a block away when she turned around and faced me.
"Don't show it. When you do, they win. Ignore them. You are giving them what they want."
"Show them what?" I asked confused.
"Your emotion. Do not react. You are playing right into their hands," Krista reasoned.
I went home after school that day and looked up at my mother's face as she stroked my hair. I told her the whole story but she disagreed with Krista.
"They stop you because they like you, my dear. You are smart, pretty and fun. They just want to be part of your life," she smiled. Somehow I was unconvinced. I assumed my mother had no idea what I was going through. She lived with all her friends in Pakistan where everyone was brown, girls had moustaches and unibrows and no one asked what cricket was. Here in Canada, blond hair was easily camoflaged with fair skin, people had roast beef with mashed potatoes and drove cars that did not need a coat hanger to keep the trunk closed. It was hard to believe that any boy wanted a part of my culture where tandoori chicken was the staple, riding a boy's bike spray painted pink was normal and my clothes were that week's KMart special.
I so desperately wanted my mom's conclusion to be true. Maybe they liked me because I was not your run-of-the-mill type of girl and that my differences appealed to them. So from that day on, I endeavoured to test out this hypothesis. Only to be humiliated once again.
The next day, I went to school, happy about my new-found appeal. My confidence shot up and I walked onto the playground with a renewed spirit. I had a crush on the most popular boy in our Grade 5 class. He was a soccer player and all the girls swooned over him everytime he played. I still remember his name. David. We watched from the bleachers during gym class. I was sitting at the end with my one friend, Krista. I told her what my mother told me and she shook her head sadly. I didn't care. I was going to tell David that I liked him. When the soccer ball came towards us, I grabbed the ball and walked over to David who was coming over to retrieve it. He looked at me oddly as I stood proudly, holding the ball and smiling over at him. When he was close enough, I was prepared to deliver my speech.
"David! Here is your ball. I wanted to tell you that I really, really, really like you. I play soccer in my backyard and I would love for you to come and play with me," I asked.
David looked around and noticed that his buddies where now in earshot of my proclaimation. They all looked at me incredulously, with my pigtails, eyeglasses, unibrow and moustache...looking back at all of them with satisfaction. I felt liberated and extremely giddy. I was sure he was going to accept my invitation and I waited breathlessly for his answer.
Instead, he snatched the soccerball from my hands and whipped it at my head! Dumbfounded, I took two steps back. Everyone was laughing on the bleachers. The teacher came running over and yelled at me.
"Why did you pick up the ball? It was still in play!" Mr. White exclaimed.
"Mr. White, Dave hit me in the head! Aren't you going to do something?" I inquired. This was not how I anticipated the scene to play out. I looked down at my feet. The teacher blew his whistle and asked us to line up outside our portable. Krista grabbed my arm.
"I told you so." She walked away and I struggled to grasp what had just happened.
We were in line and his friends heckled me. Dave kept a far distance and cursed at me from the front of the line. "I wouldn't come to your house if you were the last girl on Earth!" I swallowed the lump in my throat with a sunken feeling in my chest. When Mr. White came around, I tugged at his arm.
"Did you hear them? It's not fair. I get this everyday and no one does anything. This is not right. What do I do?" I pleaded. He gave me an icy stare that made me stop.
"Ignore them. That is all I can tell you. Just ignore it!" and he walked off to open the doors for us. Back then, bullying was never an issue. Nor was racism. There were clear favorites in his class and I was not one of them. I was always picked last for team sports, even by my teacher and when he selected students for school events, I was an afterthought.Even though I felt it, I never let it get the better of me. The principal elected me to be the year long morning announcements girl because I was the best speaker and reader in my school. Upon hearing me every morning, Mr. White, despite David's protests, made me his reading buddy because his reading and writing skills were so dismal. Divine retribution.
From that day on, it took me a long time to trust any boy after that. Even when I was complimented and asked out in high school, that chip remained on my shoulder. After enduring four years of bullying, it took high school to change my adversaries who once, after maturing, accepted my differences. But I never changed for them or anyone. I stayed true to myself and I owed it all to my mother.
When I went home that day, explaining to her how Dave had hit my head with a soccer ball, she did not change her reasoning. She told me, one day, I would realize that he truly did like me but was too afraid to show it because of peer pressure. Even though I was on the receiving end of much bullying and blatant racism, I became a champion for the underdog. I never forgot that girl on the soccer field who just wanted to share her happiness with someone else.
The boys came and went in high school. On the surface, they were my friends. However, a few captured my heart. In the beginning, the chip on my shoulder was, in actuality, a huge rock which took many boys to work on, mainly because of my trust issues. Their friendliness and compliments I mistook as a ruse or attempts to toy with my feelings. The bullying of the past would resurrect at these times. I was a late bloomer - when guys liked me for more than my mind, I became shy and unsure how to react. On the other hand, my mother, seeing all the attention I was garnering, always maintained her inner beauty argument.
"You can prick the skin of anyone: black, brown, yellow, blond and blue-eyed. But we all bleed the same colour. Never be red like anger or envy. You can beautify the outside but if the inside is sick and black, no amount of makeup will ever mask it from the truth."
Back to the hospital and the doctor.
Salma was told to wait outside with my sister as the young doctor pulled back the curtain. She begrudgingly left but winked at me on her way out. I was utterly mortified. Was he my doctor? He must be a nurse, I reasoned. Despite the pain, I was conscious enough to assess the situation.
"Are you going to treat me?" I asked. He had called over a nurse.
"Please undress her and get her into a gown. Yes, I am Dr. So and So. I am the emergency doctor on call right now. Don't worry, we will figure out the source of your pain." The nurse came over, pulled back the covers and unzipped my pants. I was in too much pain to remove my own clothes but extrememly aware of the fact that I was being stripped down in front of a good looking doctor. My problem? Pride? Embaressment? Chastity? All my doctors until this point... had been women. My pediatrician, my family doctor, my dentist, my orthodonist...you name it. I was in too much pain to bargain for a female doctor. I closed my eyes and pretended he was not there. She had stripped me completely and I felt her tying the gown behind my back.
"Darling, am I hurting you? Please open your eyes," the nurse asked me. I opened them slowly. The doctor was not there. The nurse watched me as I looked around and then understood.
"He is a professional. I know this is embaressing for you but we really need to figure what is wrong. Don't be shy. He has seen many naked bodies!" she laughed. I tried to smile. Mind over matter. The pain was less but was it because I was more worried about being examined by a male model pretending to be a doctor? Before I could psychoanalyze the situation further, he came back.
"Alright, let's examine your stomach. He placed his hand over my abdomen and pelvic area. I looked at him directly, searching his face for clues. He looked back.
"Wow. You have very nice eyes. Almond-shaped. Very different." I turned and looked at the wall next to me, wondering where this was coming from. My defenses were on high alert and the chip on my shoulder returned. I stiffened as the pain surged through my body when he touched my right side.
"Where do you feel the pain?" he asked. He was smiling at me. I knew he was trying to distract me. All I wanted to do was clock him!
"Everywhere," I moaned. I tried to focus my attention on the nurse. She had pulled out a needle and was tapping it with her finger. I looked back at the doctor. He spoke some medical jargon to her. She put the needle down and then collected some vials. She instructed me to give her my arm for bloodwork. I nodded and lay still. The doctor disappeared and went to check on another patient.
"Seriously, what do you think it is?" I asked. The nurse swabbed my arm and gently inserted the needle. I watched as she emptied out my blood and pride.
"We will figure it out from the blood work. Then he will come back for a rectal exam. He should be back soon."
SQUEEZE ME?! Did she say RECTAL? No, I pretended not to hear her. I am sure she meant...no, that is what I heard. This was not happening. It was a surreal moment. Under ordinary circumstances, I certainly wouldn't have minded his prodding and observation but I was wary of the fact that I had no choice in the matter.
The room become blurry and the old pain returned. I winced and pulled at the sheets.
"I am going to give you a shot of morphine for the pain, my dear."
The doctor came back. He motioned for the nurse to pass the surgical gloves. I closed my eyes and left my body for a second. I travelled to the ceiling and looked below as this poor, limp, pale girl lying motionless on a stretcher while GQ doctor fitted on his gloves. I felt a prick in my arm.
I became woozy and dizzy all at once but I fought the feeling as long as I could. He explained that he had to administer this last test to understand the source of my pain. At that point, I did not care how good looking the dude was. All I knew was that he was not coming near me. I violently shook my head side to side.
"Are you telling me I am about to get it up the a**?!" I exclaimed. He looked at the nurse in shock and then back at me. Take that, you minor. How do you handle patient outbursts? He was trying hard not to laugh. He smiled and I knew it was no use.
"Close your eyes. They are so nice to look at but you need to close them now and focus your mind somewhere else."
There it was again. The toying of my emotions. Empty compliments. I didn't need the test. The blood exam would certainly show the results. I wasn't about to be bullied into this.
The room went dark. Yes, I blacked out at the most opportune time. I don't remember if it was me or the morphine.
All I remember was, in the next moment, he was right beside me, telling me to open up my "beautiful" eyes.
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