I must have been in 1st grade. It was recess, we were on the asphalt outside our classroom. A circle of boys formed, with one boy in the middle, helplessly being pushed around. I didn’t know what was going on. I don’t remember anyone’s name. I just remember everyone shouting “Ricki Lake. Ricki Lake.” Another boy took me by the shoulder, joining me into the circle. We started chanting louder.
Who was Ricki Lake? What was I doing? Why was everyone so enthused?
A teacher came and broke up the ring. She took down all of our names and we one by one went to different adults. Over the next few days, I’d visit a special faculty member. Looking back, this was either a counselor or a conflict resolution HR type of deal. In the moment, she just treated me as a kind lady asking questions.
She asked me why I called the boy Ricki Lake. I was confused, wasn’t that his name? She replied that his name was indeed Ricki, but that his last name was not Lake. She asked me why I thought his last name was that.
“All the boys were calling him that.”
“Ricki Lake is a television host.”
“So that’s not his name?”
She replied no, explaining that the kids were making fun of him. The boys were making fun of Ricki’s size, calling him the same name as an overweight celebrity.
“So you don’t know who Ricki Lake is?”
No, I replied. I really thought that was his name. I was just joining in with the other boys.
She asked me a few more questions about my family. I told her I was the only English speaker in my family and that my parents would use a mix of Chinese and English with me. She grabbed some flashcards and sat down with me. “So you don’t have any older brothers or older friends?” I replied no. I remember this question sticking with me, because in the future I’d refer back to it whenever I had a culture lapse.
She showed me a flashcard with a pear on it. I remember looking at the card and looking at her. “I know what this is but I don’t know how to say it. I only know how to say it in Chinese.”
She was kind. “How do you say it?”
“Li”
“In English, it’s called a pear.”
I told her how much I liked them. But only the Asian kind. My mother once gave me an American pear and it was really different. She laughed and agreed.
Shortly after, I never saw her again. She must have deemed me a good kid who lost their way. I don’t think I ever saw Ricki again or the other boys. I do remember becoming a lot more aware of social bullying after that, despite not remembering any direct teaching or scolding from that woman. Maybe she asked if I knew if it was wrong to bully people. In my eyes, I never wanted to bully him. And she probably saw that.
I would go on to join Breaking Down the Walls, an anti-bullying club in my high school that focused on short, informative skits and targeting popular kids to be a part of the club. I never really saw bullying in my high school, but that really was before cyberbullying and Facebook became prominent.
I once saw some bullying on a school bus. Some guys were hassling a girl for whatever reason. I told them to stop cause they were being obnoxious. She thanked me and a few months later invited me to her birthday. I lost the invitation.
I believe I still inadvertently bully people here and there. With social awareness and a good community, we should all be able to identify and stop bullying when we see it.
Leadership, Design, Writing 