You're Stronger Than That

You’re stronger than that to let them bother you.

You’re better than they are and that’s why they say such horrible things.

They’re clearly jealous of you.

Also, look at it this way: if they make the time to speak badly about you, they’re leaving someone else alone. That means, your purpose has been served. You can shoulder all the negativity.

In the part of Brooklyn, NY where I grew up, many of the neighborhoods were divided into ethnicities. There was the Irish section, an area for the Polish. Italians had their own areas. And so on.

Why was the city divided? I tried to find out but the only information I was able to glean was that when immigrants arrived in New York, unless they had family or friends who sponsored them, they were often referred to an area where those who spoke the same native language resided. Therefore, we had many ethnic sections. Was my information correct? Since that was before my time, I guess I’ll always question the reasoning.

However, there were times when a family heard of an apartment that offered them more room (for their growing families) but cheaper rent since it was in a different section.

Back then, tolerance towards those of other backgrounds, was very thin. I can only assume that it had something to do with the memories of the wars that had not yet been forgotten.

The Irish didn’t want anyone other than other Irish families living in their neighborhood. Same with the Italian families, and so on.

Before my parents married, dad lived in what had been a strictly Polish area while mom lived in the Irish section.

My mom’s father wasn’t happy that his only daughter married a “Polack” while dad’s mother refused to accept her son’s “non-Polish” wife. Yikes!! And yes, this was how I grew up.

Mom and dad married while he was in the Navy and right before he was shipped out to the Pacific during World War 2. Mom’s father refused to allow her to live in his house and dad’s mother felt the same. They found an apartment that was on the cusp of both sections.

Once dad came home from the war, their family life began.

My dad’s parents bought a 3-family walk-up apartment house on a street where a mixture of different cultures lived. Talk about being a weird street. No one spoke to anyone.

That is until my brother and I started school. For whatever reason, it seemed as though the boys cared nothing for the varieties of different cultures while the girls were more secular. They were more opinionated and often very cruel.

My brother had several close friends. For whatever reason, the families with sons lived in the first six apartment houses while the girls were more scattered throughout the street.

While my brother made friends easily, I had a problem making friends. Some of the girls found themselves in the same classroom in school and ended up being friends and quickly formed their little cliques. The girls in my class lived mostly in the Italian section which was located about six blocks from my street. Since I was a year younger than the girls on my street, I was completely left out. I was also much quieter. They had their boy-girl parties to which I was never invited.

Don’t misunderstand me, here. I had one special, close friend who lived in the Italian section and all these years later, we are still friends. But at that time in Brooklyn, it wasn’t easy.

All too often, I’d hear the so-called loud whispers, “Did you know she’s a Polack?” “Did you know her mother’s a mick?” (meaning my mom was Irish … if they only knew!)

I’d also hear, “Her brother is drop-dead gorgeous! But I can’t see how he tolerates her! She’s too quiet!” (maybe I was quiet because I had no one to talk to – but they never thought about that).

Oh well.

My parents were also not as well off financially as some of the other families. Our elementary school insisted we wear uniforms but after school, I’d put on “play” clothes which were all too often, my brother’s old cast-offs. Mom would hem them and alter them to fit me. No matter how she tried, they still looked like my brother’s hand-me-downs. Did I complain? Hell NO! They were clean and patched where he’d worn them thin. I was fine wearing them. Actually, I never even thought about them.

Aside from Andrea from school, on a rare occasion when the girls would play a game and were short-handed for teams, they’d invite me to play. Yea!! I was actually playing hop-scotch with someone. Sometimes, we’d jump rope.

As we all began to grow up, while some of the girls still had cliques, the neighborhoods also began to change. No, I was still not invited to their parties, but I did find a group of girls and boys who accepted me for me – not who they thought my parents were. This group of friends would hang out four blocks away from home. I didn’t care. I was in high school and, thanks to my new friends, was emerging from my quiet shell of a person.

Yet, those previous years, when I was all but ignored, haunted me. Why was I never good enough? What was wrong with me? No matter how I tried to fit in, my good intentions were never good enough.

Mom was totally upset and tried to be brave for my sake.

You’re stronger than that to let them bother you. But no matter how strong I pretended to be, it did.

You’re better than they are and that’s why they say such horrible things. How was I better? I never did anything exceptional to be better. I was just me.

They’re clearly jealous of you. Jealous of what? They had better clothes! They had more friends! They were invited to all the parties and I wasn’t!

Also, look at it this way: in the time they make speaking badly about you, they’re leaving someone else alone. That means, your purpose has been served. You can shoulder all the negativity. I wanted to scream. I was a damn kid! I didn’t want to shoulder any negativity. I wanted to have fun.

Now here I am, in my seventies. While I know many people, I have three friends with whom I “hang out” on a regular basis. As far as the many others, I may not see them as often as the super close friends, but in my heart I know that should anything happen where I need someone desperately, there is not one who would refuse to come running.

Mom was right. I never should have let those “children” bother me. As a child, I never thought of the future and now the past is the past. I never had to do anything exceptional to have friends. With all the people I now know, they all (and I mean every one of them) accept me for who and what I am.

My advice to any child is: be yourself. Silly or nerdy, never try to be anything but who and what you are. And if for some reason, others can’t accept you for that, hell, it’s their loss – not yours.