On Skipping My 20-Year High School Reunion (Guest Post)

Welcome to guest blogger Erica Sininsky, who chose to skip her 20-year high school reunion. Why? Not because of a previous commitment, or because it would have been expensive or inconvenient to attend, but because she still shudders at the very thought of high school. Thank you, Erica, for this honest piece about finding refuge and refusing to be a victim. It makes me, for one, reflect on how becoming a parent has changed the way I reflect on memories of my youth. We all have stumbling blocks in our past that we hope our own children will avoid. What are yours?

On Skipping My 20-Year High School Reunion

I am a 38-year-old woman, mother of two, and I consider myself a no-nonsense type of gal, practical and with my priorities in order. Why oh WHY then do I still have nightmares in which I show up to school for first period 10th grade biology in a towel? The very thought of walking down those cavernous high school hallways makes me shudder. It's not that I think about high school often; but when the thoughts do arise, they are powerful, even frightening. There must be some part of me that continues to lament my high school experience. 

In addition to the towel dream, I sometimes imagine myself in a bathing suit, standing before the entire high school football team, teetering on the edge of a full-blown panic attack. Oh, wait a minute—that wasn’t a dream. That actually happened. 

My high school had a pool, and a graduation requirement of at least one semester of swimming instruction. Co-ed. For some, (hormonally raging 17 year old boys), a fantasy; for me, this was the stuff of nightmares. While the majority of the girls could have stepped out of a J. Crew ad, their lanky figures barely filling out their swimsuits (or so it seemed to me at the time), I represented more of the zaftig type—well endowed, curvaceous, and hippy. (I wore -- no kidding -- a size H bra, according to the Russian saleswoman in a Queens lingerie shop.) To top off the whole dripping wet package, I wore a Star of David around my neck. I soon heard the rumor going around: people were calling me the Jewish slut. Not because of anything I did, but simply because of the way I looked. 

For many, high school represents the epitome of youth, the formative years, the height of everything: socially, physically, and emotionally. Rich carefree days spent gallivanting and partying, sexual discovery, challenges presented and overcome. And I did experience much of that during those years -- just not in high school itself.

My high school was physically imposing and classic at the same time, with a vast, velvety-green expanse of lawn, towering columns, and red bricks. The campus was “open”, meaning students could come and go as they pleased. For me, being inside the building was like serving a prison sentence. But once I stepped outside those doors, I was free. No need to avoid the ‘commons’, where the jocks and cheerleaders lined the walls, nor the dark corners where the angry “goths” conspired and shot baleful looks; no cliques to wade through between classes; no swimming pool to agonize over. I knew that my ‘spot’ on the lawn would be waiting for me, along with my friends (two without whom high school would have been unbearable), and that for the next forty two minutes I could completely let down my guard.

As it happened, my family's synagogue was situated directly across the street from my high school. The synagogue was my refuge—between Hebrew school, youth group and weekend retreats, it was inside that brown brick, oddly designed structure that I spent the bulk of my teenage years. Having that balance was an essential part of what helped to shape me during those years, and more than made up for what high school lacked. Between local activities affiliated with USY (United Synagogue Youth), and summers spent traveling the country and abroad, I had a very fulfilling young adulthood. I was anything but a deprived or depressed teenager. I managed to escape the confines of adolescent 'hell' unscathed. In fact, I went to college with a rich sense of identity and profound confidence in myself. But as far as the “high school experience” is concerned, mine was definitely not run-of-the-mill.

So twenty years have passed. I’ve grown more outspoken, no doubt the result of life experiences, maturity, and motherhood. Back when I was agonized by swim class and my peers' awful rumors, my parents suggested I remove my Star of David. Even though I know they were trying to help, I can't imagine making the same suggestion to my daughter (age 9) now. In a sea of insecurity, that Star of David was what made me feel most secure; connected to my cultural and religious identity.

Twenty years later, I have no need for small talk with my past-tense peers. I would rather spend time with my two dear friends from the high school lawn, whom I still see anyway.

When it comes to my daughter's turn in high school, I plan to share my experiences with her so that she knows that high school is not the end-all-be-all of life, though sometimes it can feel like it.

I'm living proof that you can still have a fulfilling life without attending senior prom. Or your 20-year reunion.

Erica Sininsky is the mother of Sofia, 9 and Dylan, 6. She lives on Long Island and teaches English to children from all over the globe. In her free time (ha!), she enjoys writing short stories and creating beaded and metalwork jewelry.

On the Moral Compass of Children

The news showed up just before Yom Kippur, just before that time of deep reflection when we wrestle with the challenges of being human: Girl's Suicide Points to Rise in Apps Used by Cyberbullies.

Fifteen Florida middle school children participated in bullying another child so relentlessly that she took her own life. At age 12. Twelve. When I read this, I found myself muttering, almost moaning, aloud. Rebecca Sedwick was "absolutely terrorized on social media" says the local sheriff.

Rebecca Sedwick

How could these kids do this to another human being? Who is the evil child living in the world who would send this text message: "Can u die please?"

What? asked Bella, on hearing my audible shock. I hesitated telling her about the article--for a minute--because the idea of discussing suicide with my children is somehow sickening. I don't want them to know that it exists. But of course, like just about everything in this world, they know, or they will know, whether or not I tell them. Instead of trying to explain, I said read this, and handed her the article. At 10.5, she's not much younger than Rebecca. She will be in middle school next year. And she will get a phone, in not too long. I wanted her to know, in the starkest terms, that every word that she types, anywhere, has lasting effects, both on herself, and on others.

Bella was mystified by the article. "But why were the kids mean to her? Why?" she asked. As if there should be a reason. 

"It doesn't matter why," I told her. 

Do I think that Bella is a potential bully? I certainly hope not. But one must ask: did the parents of those fifteen children think their children were? And what did they do to prevent them from unleashing such hatred on another human being? 

Is it even plausible that such a large group of children all were lacking a moral compass? The dynamics of the group are strange and powerful. Children will gang up on the weak, even if their individual inclination is to be kind. It's a mob mentality, where ethics go out the window, and evil spreads like fire. When the horror is over, the individual child might defend himself saying, "But it wasn't just me! Everyone was doing it!" So the group becomes both the impetus, and the excuse. 

This is not a phenomenon seen only in children, of course. Think about the Holocaust. Think about neighbors turning in neighbors.

A parent of a teenager told me that the students in her daughter's high school are required to sign an anti-bullying pledge at the beginning of each year. I wonder if those pledges work. I wonder if, perhaps, Rebecca Sedwick's bullies had to sign one; according to a school official, the school has an "extensive anti-bullying campaign." They do? What the hell is happening in this campaign?

The term cyberbullies makes the culprits sound like strangers on the internet out to terrorize young people, when in fact these were classmates of the victim. The article mentions that there was regular bullying, too--i.e. pushing and hitting. Though unmentioned, there was undoubtedly also social isolation and intimidation--common forms of bullying, especially among girls, that often go unnoticed and unaddressed. It doesn't matter where or how they did their evil work, the end result is the same: a group of children terrorized another child, with no regard for her feelings or her well-being. 

It seems to me that the more explicit we are with kids about our expectations of them, the more information they have to make ethical decisions. We tell toddlers, over and over, to "be nice." We need to find a way to tell older kids to be nice, too, in ways that they understand, in as stark terms as necessary. Maybe we can start by having them read the article.

May Rebecca Sedwick's memory be for a blessing...

Watch Out, Bullies

When people make efforts to combat bullying in schools, who is the target audience? The bullies? The victims? The bystanders? The parents, often bullies (or victims) themselves?

Lee Kaplan's original one-man play, Bully, is a self-contained anti-bullying campaign. Through the use of a childhood journal, Kaplan walks through the pain of years of abuse at the hands of his peers. The show is brutally honest. Kaplan portrays his young self as earnest and awkward, recalling how he shushed the other kids who were goofing around during play practice, which he took very seriously. It was like a light went off, he says, and thereafter, he had a target on his back.

Nowadays, Kaplan is buff and poised, handsome and talented. Watch out, bullies. He's coming for you. One by one, he "fights" his adversaries in imaginary boxing matches, and each opponent helps him glean lessons on how to beat a bully.

So who is this show for? Because it's a true story, and because it is so honestly executed, the audience is all-inclusive: bullies and those who have been bullied, take a seat and learn something. Kaplan's intensity and talent draws you in, and spits you out, feeling unsure of where you fall. Are you the good guy in all of this, or would you have jeered him, too? He even recalls a time when he was a bystander to someone else's abuse. Haven't we all been there?

The play has a definite didactic quality, and it's no surprise that Kaplan has already performed it in front of school audiences. I saw the play with two other mothers, and all three of us walked out of the show thinking about our own children. One said that she worried that her son, only age five, has already been the victim of bullying. My concern is that my daughters recognize bullying for what it is, and stand up for themselves and others when they see it happening. To that end, I would love for my kids to see Kaplan's show.

It takes cojones to take on the bullies, and to be as honest as Kaplan is in this show. He's for real.