An Eighth Grade Rumor Started it All
I remember that day. I was in eighth grade, school had just started, and I was in line in the cafeteria for lunch. I felt like I was being talked about and sure enough, I turned around and Bobby Jones, the rich kid down the street was pointing at me and whispering. He finally spoke out loud where I could hear him, asking me where I had gotten my falsies. He accused me of wearing a padded bra.
I cringed. I had hit a growth spurt over that summer and to my disappointment I was the only girl in our small class that apparently had done so. Unfortunately, the boys had noticed and they had definitely NOT had a growth spurt in common sense or maturity.
I was teased for several days about my fake top. Finally, one day at recess, I lifted my shirt and screamed “what do you think these are?” Everyone was speechless. The rumors about fake breasts and padded bras stopped, but after I shut the door in Bobby’s face later that afternoon when he stopped by my house, a new one started. I hated feeling like an outcast at school and began running around with some kids I met at the skating rink. One night they talked me into trying some pot and soon we were into alcohol and by eleventh grade, cocaine. I barely graduated, not even walking across the stage. My diploma was mailed to me and I was just fine with that, never wanting to lay eyes on some of those kids again.
My parents figured it out and got me into a treatment program. I cleaned up, got into college and then went into counseling, hoping to help someone else the way I was helped. I wanted young people to understand that words can hurt and some choices can literally destroy a person’s life. I lost a couple of friends to cocaine overdoses. I wanted these kids to understand that some rumor does not need to have the power to change a life.
I did not go to the tenth anniversary of my high school reunion, but when the invitation for the fifteenth anniversary came, I decided to go. I thought maybe it would help me to put closure on the past and in its own way, maybe even help some of the kids I cared about that crossed my path in a drug treatment rehab as a counselor. As I filled out the RSVP card, I briefly wondered if Bobby Jones would be there.
