Bad behavior
From throwing toddler tantrums to bullying ex-best friends, a former menace realizes that behaving badly might be the best lesson she’s had on being good.
Where I went to school, the smart kids who had their sh*t together enjoyed a certain kind of power. Teachers showered them with praise and they were placed on pedestals. The smart kids were do-gooders who aced tests, and were always acknowledged for it. The not-so-smart kids never complained about their mediocrity; teachers felt generally lukewarm about them. I was loud and goofy with below-average grades, and I was chubby too, which is like a double negative. And because I was silly with a high level of self-importance, I also had shoddy conduct. Like just really bad, childish behavior.
In kindergarten I refused to go to school. I locked myself in a room until my maid would become exasperated; she’d give up begging me to open the door and just leave to bring my younger sister to the same school. I’d spread false rumors to the other girls that classes would be suspended the next day (another excuse to skip school), and a few other girls would be absent from that class because they believed me. What the hell could be more important for a five-year-old at that time? I bit a girl’s cheek until it turned red and she cried, and then she and her teacher had to go through every classroom to look for the culprit. She pointed me out like a suspect in a police lineup. I was a criminal!
In the first grade I never did my penmanship homework. It’s why I can’t write in cursive today.
In the fourth grade I was part of my own Mean Girl group. There were other Mean Girl groups in school, so we’d schedule fights with them. “4 p.m. at the village park. See you.” In the park, we lined up against one another and threatened each other for no reason. I’d threaten to hit them with a glass bottle and when they egged me on I threw it to the floor. It crashed and broke into shards and little pieces had scratched their legs. Don’t be so horrified — I didn’t really mean to hurt them. They slowly backed away and we would laugh about the incident many years later.
In the fifth grade my group and I would spend lunchtime deciding whom to pick on next. We targeted my ex-best friend and threw her school bag in the trashcan so she’d have to pick it up, glued her books down to her locker so she couldn’t remove them, and stole her things and pretended it was a part of the Lost and Found. She found it in her heart to forgive me and we are totally best friends again but, God, I did a lot of really petty felonies I picked up from watching too much American television.
I enjoyed being feared and I think it was easier because the teachers never spoke highly of me anyway. I was always just the noisy girl in class and I became quite accustomed to the role. School is hard because you’re forced to play a role, and this role is dictated by the people around you. It’s a combination of how adults size you up and how other kids see you. But just because your conduct was sucky at one point in your life, doesn’t mean you’re doomed to a future of unexceptional work. Bad behavior is a part of growing up, and I think almost the best schooling I’ve had to go through.
I don’t know how it happened, but one day our little bullying group broke up and we ended up with new sets of friends. At which point I had few to zero friends. I wasn’t totally disliked but not loved either. I had to charm my way back into letting people believe I wasn’t horrendous, and eventually a quirky studious group took me in. They were the goody-goody type but I thought they were cool because they geeked out to punk music and CSI. Which was cool. And because they eventually became my real friends, and at which point I also grew older, I got peer pressured into being a better student. Being around them made me feel like the stupid one in the group, so I forced myself to do better.
I slowly learned to enjoy the pleasures that the smart kids enjoyed. The ego boost of a “good job” from a teacher; relishing the attention of an excellent grade announced to the class; the privilege of being nominated to be class officer, and winning it via votes. Those feelings were becoming pleasing experiences for me too. It was power to be on top of my game, and it was a different kind of power, one I never knew could be just as enjoyable as the power of being a menace.
Having once been so disobedient really formed my character. It doesn’t bother me when people think I am incapable. I don’t crumble when I’m told, “You can’t do it.” I don’t easily back down when people tell me to. My former self instilled in me a sort of fighting spirit, and instead of feeling bad about being underestimated, sometimes I instead enjoy the feeling of proving people wrong just to spite them. It is a joy I think can only be understood by someone who once behaved very badly.
