Walk into any American school, and you will see all kinds of kids. Some are pale and bony, and some are fleshy and plump. You will see a rainbow of skin colors, an extensive spectrum of whites, browns and blacks. There will be girls with flawlessly made-up faces and shiny hair. There will be those few unfortunate kids who sweat and smell regardless of the temperature and their activity level. You can tell a lot about someone by their appearance.

But the exterior cannot disclose everything about a person. In the vicious hallways of a typical middle school or high school, looks can be deceiving. Unfortunately, a person’s appearance will never reveal that person’s character and attitude. As a fifteen-year-old sophomore, I have seen my fair share of bullies. I have been enrolled in public and private school, and bullies can be found in both environments.

One particular incident has been engrained in my memory for many years. It occurred in my seventh-grade Spanish class. The curriculum of that class called for the students to learn how to conjugate simple verbs and master basic vocabulary. Of course, at the naïve age of twelve, that is not what the students were focused upon. Instead, they invested their energy into something that was no bueno. Many of the students were concentrated on teasing a certain spectacled boy with greasy brown hair and a pair of diamond earrings in his lobes.

The two main offenders did not have a threatening demeanor. One was a pimpled boy with curly brown hair. The other had shaggy red hair and was incredibly small. I always thought to myself that the latter looked a bit elfish. Neither boy was exceptionally good-looking or athletic, like the stereotypical preteen delinquent that is often featured in movies and television. They were average kids. I never understood why they were so determined to belittle their victim.

These two boys sat at the back of the classroom. The boy with the earrings was placed in a desk a few feet in front of them. He was quiet, and he didn’t have many friends in this class. In fact, he did not have many friends at all. Somehow, his high-pitched voice and his partiality towards pierced ears caused for his sexuality to be called into question.

“Are you gay?” hissed the curly-haired boy.

“Yeah,” sneered the elf, “he definitely is. Listen to him talk. He sounds like a girl.”

The boy with the earrings exhaled slowly, as if to stop himself from bursting into tears. But he had dealt with comments like this ever since the beginning of junior high, when every male’s voice deepened and started to crack and his did not. At this point he was like a really good rain jacket: he kept getting smacked and hit, but it did not seem to affect him. The teacher was oblivious, or she simply did not care. Both options are equally probable.

I happened to sit next to the boy with the earrings. This was not my choice. The teacher created a seating chart on the first day of classes. I didn’t mind. I did not know if he was straight or bi or gay, but frankly, I didn’t care. The boy with the earrings was kind to me, and I was kind to him. It bothered me when the other boys taunted him. The first few times that it happened, I turned around and told them to shut their mouths. I was never considered cool, and I wasn’t especially pretty. So, they didn’t listen.

Soon, the teasing became a pattern. I stopped scolding the boys, because I knew my efforts were futile. So I sat, with my head in my textbook and my head facing the chalkboard. I dutifully copied down the notes, and aced every exam. Academically, I excelled. However, I dreaded when the bell rang and it was time for Spanish class. It was impossible to block out the mean-spirited whispers: queer…fag…homo… I was ashamed that I couldn’t stop the harassment. I was even more ashamed that I stopped trying. It would have been so easy for me to report the incident to a teacher, or to the principal. To this day, I am not really sure why I did not do so.

I was thankful when summer came. I was excited to swim at the beach and sleep in until noon every day. But my favorite part was separating myself from the situation forever. Never again would the guilt about the boy with the earrings gnaw at me, making my stomach hurt and my brain buzz.

In eighth grade, I did not encounter the boy with the earrings. I frequently saw the tormenters, and they’d found new targets. They laughed at how one boy because he dressed “funny”. They mimicked a girl who had so much trouble pronouncing the letter “r” that when she said something such as “rock and roll,” it sounded like “wock and woll.” Similarly, the boy with the earrings probably suffered at the hands of new bullies. Some kids are just vulnerable to teasing. It doesn’t matter where they are or who they are with, their peers will realize that they are somehow different and make them an outcast. But that doesn’t make it okay.

I don’t really know what happened to the boy with the earrings. I hope he is alright. I hope that next time he is teased, he will find the courage to stand up for himself. If not, I pray that someone else will find the courage to stand up for him. It only takes a plea to an authority figure or a carefully crafted remark to a bully to make a difference. I was not brave enough to do that, and it is one of my deepest regrets. In conclusion, I would like to share a quote that I heard a long time ago:
“Your words have power. Use them wisely.”