I woke up thinking about this story this morning, so it must be time I shared it.
I was at the Triple Crown one afternoon getting a beer, and I saw an old classmate sitting on the back porch. His name is Ray, and I remember thinking to myself that I would go and sit with him. I had always felt sorry for him because he was picked on so badly at school. He was small and slight of frame. He wore glasses and he was mild mannered. So, obviously in our jock obsessed world and our phobic Texas ways, kids started calling him "gay Ray." I suppose these days that wouldn't seem like too much of a burn, but it was a different time, and calling someone gay publically (whether they were or not), was not cool. He was often threatened. I don't remember ever seeing him defend himself, verbally or physically. I don't remember anyone else ever defending him either. I just remember that nickname going on for years and feeling sorry for him.
So I asked to share his table. I said, "Remember me? I'm Molly we went to school together."
He said "Oh yeah, I remember you." And then he told me a story.
"This is weird, but do you remember ...? One day in junior high gym class, we had to run the mile. All the boys in class began lapping you and chanting 'Moo Cow! Moo Cow! Moo Cow!' as they passed. Then, everybody else passed you too, and they all chanted. It was horrible. The gym teacher didn't even do anything. I felt so sorry for you. I always wanted to tell you I was sorry that happened."
"Oh, uh, no- wow," I stammered, "I had forgotten that."
Like a flash this memory returned to me. Of course, I hadn't forgotten the nick name. I had been "Molly Moo Cow" since fifth grade when John Fontaine had cruelly dubbed me so. (Twice as cruel because before this, I had a school girl crush on him.) I was tall, broad and developing at an astounding rate. The name caught like wildfire, and soon lots of kids called me that. The mile run was three years later and it was still going so...
I had, however, managed to block out that particular incident. I'm sure I had never told my parents for fear of it somehow being my fault and punishable (my life was a closed book), and at the time I only had a tiny handful of friends who probably all saw it. I remembered it now though; feeling sick as I always did when we ran a mile in the spring Texas heat, the feeling like my head would pop off in heart pulsing pain, how I was no longer sweating but dizzy and wanting to barf, and having to stop and walk, like always when we did the mile.
Then here came the jocks and other fit popular boys... chanting. Followed by the others, all picking up the chant. Looking over for help from the coaches to see them smiling. A chorus of voices;
"Moo Cow! Moo Cow! Moo Cow! Moo Cow! Moo Cow!..."
It still seems like it can't be real- a movie scene or a nightmare.
Ray and I had grown up together. We weren't friends- didn't eat lunch together or even ride the same bus, but we had quietly watched the other be bullied and tortured. Our hearts were opened up with compassion, and what we ultimately held on to was not the pain we had felt ourselves, but the times we wished we had stood up for someone else.
What would it have been like if I had stood up for and defended "gay Ray'? Would anything have changed if he had come to the aid of "Molly Moo Cow"? Why didn't we stand up for each other, even though we wanted to? I was probably too scared of my own bullies to draw too much attention to myself, and maybe Ray was the same.
I hope that I have grown out of this fear, because just because we're not in grade school doesn't mean there aren't bullies and mobs of assholes chanting. I hope that I have the courage now to stand up for someone else when given the opportunity.
Our compassion for someone can be a mirror. Sometimes, by seeing our pain in someone else's eyes, we can finally accept it as our own, and doing so learn compassion for ourselves.
