According to Wikipedia (the second most important source of all of Zohrbak’s knowledge, google being the first, of course), THURSDAY was named after the Norse god of Thunder, “Thor” in 1872 by a man named Marten Eskil Winge. Why do I tell you this? Because I can’t think of any other “catchy” title for today’s Confession Thursday. So I cheated.
Anywho, Thorsday is here, and so it’s time to make a confession.
Here it goes:
You should all be aware of my self-professed hatred of bullying. I am highly disturbed when I hear that Little B has been “punching”, “kicking” and even “choking” (GOODNESS!) other kids at school. I continually pound into my 12 year old daughter (Tween C) about how she has to be nice to all the kids, and not talk about other people, etc. etc. blah blah blah. That’s really why this is a confession.
When I was in Elementary School, I was a “Mean Girl.” I was a part of a very close-knit group of 4 girls. Nicole. Gigi. Brandi. and Me. We were the shizit. (Or so we thought.) It’s unfair to include all of these girls in the category of “mean” but as I recall, we all participated in some pretty mean things. I recall that one day we ambushed a girl that we didn’t like on her way home from school after an Easter party. I remember because she was carrying an Easter basket full of candy hanging off the handle bar of her bike. She had just crossed the tracks, and we cornered her just before she headed down the big hill. She had said something or done something smarty-pants that day at school, and we bullied and pushed down her bike, spilling her candy everywhere. She was mad, and fought back, scratching me (& Gigi, if I remember correctly) and pulling our hair. We pulled her hair, too, and she took off on her bike, leaving her basket and candy behind. When I got home, I was clawed up and had long black hair bits all over me. But it was no use in trying to hide it from my mom, because our victim’s mother had already called her. I think she made me call her or go see her and apologize. I do remember feeling like a dirtbag on that particular occasion. But there were other such occasions.
All that being said, I most definitely grew out of this phase. By the time I was in 5th or 6th grade, I was a perfectly normal, acceptably empathetic human being. (Well, pretty much.)
OKAY, YOUR TURN!