When I was in the sixth grade a new girl came to my school and ended up sitting across from me in class. I was a quiet student so I never got chatty with her during the school day. Nonetheless I soon got to know her because she and I walked home on the same route. I learned that she and her family had moved into a rental house one street over from where I lived. 

She was nice enough even though she seemed very different from the other kids in my neighborhood. I learned that she was from somewhere up north. I did not pry into her personal life so I have no idea from whence she actually came nor why she had moved from there in the middle of a school year. I only noticed that she talked with an accent and sometimes used words and phrases that were not familiar to me. I should have understood how difficult it was for her to adjust to a whole new place because I had endured the same situation when my family moved to California. Somehow I was too focused on my own adolescent problems to realize that the two of us were much more alike than different. 

I enjoyed having a walking companion on my journey home. I lived many blocks away from the school and most of the kids that I knew resided much closer. I would find myself trudging along with my heavy book bag wishing that I did not have so far to go. Once the new girl arrived the journey seemed much easier as she peppered our conversation with talk of things I had never before known.

For some reason some of the boys in my class began to bully this girl. They made fun of her hair and her very pale skin. She seemed to be timid and even a bit awkward. Everything about her seemed so different from the rest of us but I did not understand why the boys found such humor in taunting her over it. 

She wore heavy wool socks with brown clunky shoes that seemed more compatible with the military than attire for a classroom. Her heavy coat seemed out of place even on a cold February day. I suppose that none of us stopped to think that her heavy clothing had protected her quite well from the snow and ice of the place where she had lived before arriving in our more moderate climate. I suppose that she became a target simply because she was different.

It bothered me that my traveling companion had become the butt of many jokes and much laughter but I was far too shy to speak my views. I tried to demonstrate my loyalty to her by refusing to laugh at the insults that made everyone chuckle. I knew that the boy who was leading the harassment had a mean streak and I did not want his ugly barbs to be aimed at me. As time went by the trauma only grew for the girl. Then one day it blew up in the middle of a lesson. 

I don’t know what was said or how the incident started but suddenly the girl stood up and screamed to seemingly nobody in particular that she was not going to take it anymore. Without a moment’s hesitation the lead bully made a stab at her that left the classroom in a state of crude and merciless laughter. I hung my head in shame wishing that I might become invisible. Then the girl sank back down into her seat with tears running down her face. I just sat frozen between the horrific choice of defending her or staying silent. 

It was left to our teacher to save the day and she did so with so much skill and thoughtfulness that I will never forget how much I loved her at the moment and forevermore. She turned the tide of horror with a few well chosen words. Soon everyone was feeling a sense of guilt that we had not stood up for the newcomer in our midst. She helped us to realize the power of prejudice and fear in targeting and hurting individuals and groups. She turned the situation into a history lesson and an assessment of our personal morality. 

The girl and I continued walking home together for the rest of that school year. She never spoke of what had happened and I did not ask her how she was feeling. I saw the sadness in her eyes. I felt the pain and disappointment that she tried to hide. We simply talked about mundane topics to fill the silence. 

I never walked the extra block to visit with the girl and she never came to my house. Ours was simply an expedient relationship created by the crossing of our paths. I grew to like her but I dared not ask her too many questions that might make her think that I was somehow judging her. We kept our conversations lighthearted and without much depth. When the summer came I did not see her or even think to go find her to see how she was doing. I was busy and I assumed that she was as well. There would be time enough to catch up with her when the school year began anew. We might even find ourselves in the same classroom again. I looked forward to our walks together.

I never saw the girl again. I suppose that her parents had moved once more. I missed being with her on my long walks home. I realized how much I had really enjoyed her company and wished that I had taken the time to tell her how much I liked her. I would think of her anytime I witnessed bullying. I became an advocate for those without a voice but somehow I knew that I too had betrayed her by not speaking out as soon as I had witnessed what was happening. I vowed not to ever again be silent even if it made things difficult for me. 

The new girl and my sixth grade teacher had taught me a powerful lesson. There have been and will always be bullies in this world. We each of the power to defang their ugliness as long as we call out their coldhearted prejudices as soon as we witness them. They are weak people who have to use threats and violence to appear strong. If enough of us counter them, they will shut down. 

Be watchful for anyone who is knowingly hurting others with words or actions. Do not blindly follow them no matter what they offer you in return for your loyalty. Do not brush off their actions or explain away their cruelty. Stand up. Speak out. Be not afraid!