I was generally considered a model child, well behaved to the point of being labeled a wuss. Not alot, just enough to remind me where I stood. I was never the target of any physical violence - the other kids knew I wouldn’t fight back, or perhaps I was just able to talk my way out of things. Perhaps they were awed by my precocious rapier wit. Or perhaps our town just had a higher class of hoodlums.
Being breathtakingly unathletic didn’t help. I couldn’t function in any sport that involved equipment, including sneakers. But, somehow I managed to fly under the radar until 8th grade, when I began noticing this one girl. Actually, she began noticing me. She was a prototype ‘mean girl’ before that phrase was coined, with some really annoying friends, and was always verbally harassing me. Usually in front of others. Many of her comments were sexual in nature, some of which I didn’t get at age 14. Maybe she liked me; I couldn’t stand her but she wasn’t easy to avoid. Believe me I tried, using every corridor I could to bypass her locker. She always seemed to find me, though. This torment lasted until one evening near the end of 9th grade.
I had a solo in the school musical, while the girl and her posse were in the chorus. After the last performance, one of the cast members invited us to her house for a party. But first we all stopped at the Dairy Queen on Route 4, driven there in various parents’ station wagons. I ordered a large green Mr. Mistee. The girl and company were up to their usual snotty tricks, with the girl making fun of my stage debut among other things. Having been the victim of this harassment for almost two years, I’d finally had enough and something inside me snapped. Once the girl’s back was turned, I quietly walked up behind her and calmly dumped my entire Mr. Mistee over her head.
The girl screamed, her friends screamed, and when these girls screamed birds flew out of trees for miles. I ran out of that parking lot faster than I’ve ever run before or since, with the girl in hot green pursuit. Into the next parking lot, and the next, and the one after that, seemingly ending up about a mile away, hearing the cheers of my friends and onlookers who couldn’t have been more shocked by what I’d done than I was. Finally, the girl gave up, threw her empty sundae cup at me and made her way back to the DQ where she and her friends slunk off in some station wagon that I hope had vinyl upholstery. She never made it to the party, I was finally famous for a good reason, and I’ve never felt so vindicated in my entire life.
Shortly after this liberating experience, for which I never paid any price nor apologized, it was announced that the 9th grade class would be having a graduation ceremony in front of the entire Board of Education. We were told we’d have to dress up for the occasion. I asked my homeroom teacher if parents were allowed and he said no, just the Board. This totally violated my sense of fairness, so I told him it was ridiculous - why should we dress up if nobody’s invited? The Board is invited, he answered, but nobody else. I went home and told my parents, who were not happy, as they would have attended the opening of an envelope if I was involved.
Back in homeroom the next day we were reminded of our need to dress up, and I very politely told the teacher I wouldn’t do it. He looked surprised and said that perhaps I would like to discuss this with the principal. I said okay and off we marched to the principal’s office. The teacher went in first, explained the situation, then I was escorted in. The principal invited me to sit down, asked what this was all about, and I respectfully told him that I didn’t think it was right to have us all dress up if we couldn’t have our parents or anybody we’d want to invite in the audience. I thought it was a dog-and-pony show and exclusionary.
He took in what I’d said, finally replying that while he respected my opinion this was a school-mandated function, and if I didn’t follow directions there could be consequences. I told him I’d considered that and thanked him for hearing me out.
I always wondered what those consequences would have been, exactly – not allowing me to participate in the ceremony? No big deal. I was already going on to high school and my grades were great, so they couldn’t threaten me with anything scholastic, either. Which apparently I realized before anybody else did.
So the next day I arrived at school in a polo shirt and jeans and, while even the bad kids were dressed up, we all lined up in alphabetical order, marched into the empty auditorium and looked up at the stage where the entire Board of Education, Principal and Vice-principals sat. And handing out the diplomas as we were all called up one by one was the President of the Board, who just happened to be the girl’s father. I’d never met him but knew who he was.
I got lots of glares from the adults - many of whom knew my parents, smiles from my friends and curious looks from the other students who were probably wondering why they were all dressed up and I wasn’t. My only statement was my attire. I walked up the steps, across the stage to where the girl’s father stood, he handed me the diploma with one hand while extending his other to shake mine and said with a big smile, “Benn, I’ve heard a lot about you.”
An early experience with speechlessness, along with that vague feeling you get when you think you might have done something right after all. But walking down the steps I realized I should have at least asked if his wife had been able to get all that green out of the girl’s clothes.
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