My "Welcome" to Simi Valley

This is what I look like in 6th grade.  Can you blame the treament?

Moving was one of the most traumatic events of my life, if not the most traumatic.  I know my brothers were getting into trouble with some iffy people, but the move felt like a betrayal to me.  I grew up in the middle of a city, a busy city and my block was my domain.  We did not have play dates or other ward members over.  None of our family lived in that area.  I walked the city block and a half to school alone every morning and that was as far as I went.   

I was jumped by a gang of older kids walking home from 1st grade.  I have always looked older than I really am and thinking back on the experience, I believe they thought I was in my teens.  This girl taunted me every day on the walk home.  She would ride a bicycle and called me fat and whatever else she could think of.  Well I notice that a group was gathering around me one afternoon.  That only means one thing...a fight.  I was glad for a fight.  I had three brothers, so I figured I could take care of myself.  Mind you I am six years old.  I let her do her taunting and bad mouthing, the crowd egging her on.  My first real experience with the viciousness of mob mentality.  She was so busy playing to her friends that she didn't see me getting ready to strike back.  I had a backpack full of books and I knew if I could strike her in the jaw or the eye.  It would hurt.  Slowly I removed the pack from off my back and held a tight grip on the two handles at the top. I could feel the point of the book against the fabric.  She was coming towards me.  I know she wasn't ready for me to fight.  I'm sure she thought I was so scared.  I looked up to she her smiling and I decided it was time to wipe away that smile.   Wham!  The point of my book hit the side of her face, right next to the eye.  I know because I drew blood.  She fell to the ground with a look of surprise, everything got quiet.  "Should I do it Again!!"  I threaten with my backpack shaking in my nervous hands.  "Do I have to do it again!"  I shouted different forms of that sentence as she ran for her bike.  The crowd dispersed and I was never bothered walking home after that.

I felt like that fight was a territorial kind of thing and I won.  I do not believe any adults were included in the process and though it seems mean, a top dog was chosen  and I was allowed to kept my street.  I so disliked the crossing guard next to school that I changed my route to school because of her and the girl on the bike was watching her area. 

I don't remember any intentional brawls after that.  There were plenty from flared anger and childish reasoning, just ask my younger brother.  He likes to remind of the times I lost my cool.  It does take quite a bit to push me over the edge, so he had his own involvement in the feuds.

I did what I wanted in Burbank.  I had a friend who after school I would walk home with, since she was on my route.  I'm not sure how it happened, but I would stay with her after school since her mother worked until 5pm.  I wasn't allowed in the apartment, so we couldn't watch TV.  It meant we came up with our own games.  This was when I learned not everybody had the same standards as my family.  I learned the grittier side of life since every vice was practised in her apartment complex.  I was shocked that people who weren't married to each other slept together while others were busy with rampant drug use.  I was there in the afternoon, so I was left alone, but my friend was scared and if I could help, I would do what was allowed.

This happened in about 4th grade because we were still friends when we moved and I really missed her.  I was grounded only once in my childhood and it was because of this girl.  I stayed at her apartment complex for too long.  There wasn't any cell phones at the time and I never met her mother.  I wasn't allowed in the apartment, so that means I could not use the phone.  It was dark when I finally walked home.  My mother was very upset with me and I remember wondering why she would be so worried.

We moved in March of 1986.  I was 10 years old in the tail end of 5th grade.  People would ask what school I was going to be in and I answered.  "I'm not sure.  It sounds like some sort of toothpaste."(The name of my new school was "Crestview".)  The idea of Simi valley was great.  A sleepy bedroom community about 45 minutes from the TV and Movies Studios my Dad worked at.  Lower crime, lower racial biodiversity, a larger church presence and more people me and my siblings age plus a large pool in the backyard.  Like I said the idea of Simi Vally made sense.

The shock of the change proved to be my undoing.  I could not accept that I was in a room by myself on a mattress on the floor.  I would wake up in the middle of the night crying and begging to "go home"  and this is why.

I should have know what I was in for the day we moved in.  The kids on the block approached us slowly and cautiously.  Sean, a neighbor boy, admitted to me that he thought I was my younger brother's mother.  I should have taken that for a clue.  I tend to believe the best in people, especially at this point in my life.  This boy was the same age as me and he thought I was a mother.

School was so confusing.  It was different from anything I had ever known, but I felt pressured to understand everything NOW!  I was assigned another girl as a guide, but she did not want to have any association with me and skipped many of the key info.  I did not even know how to get my lunch.  Nobody was interested in taking me under their wing and the adults weren't much better.  Everything I knew, all the relationships that I had worked so hard to establish were gone and no one was interested in me. 

I thought I could impress with recess.  I was one of the best kickball players at my former school, but in Simi they didn't even have a set recess.  I had grown up with a section of the play ground assigned to each class.  Everyone wanted to be on the kickball square, but there was also handball and Dodgeball.  The girls, who never wanted to play, would roam the perimeter of the playground and come up with their own games.  In Simi it was a free for all.  No one was assign.  No formal games were started.  It really was a mess.  The worst?  No kickball, one of the few games I excelled in.  I hated every recess because I was at the mercy of the other kids.  I didn't know how to be alone yet, but moving to Simi Valley taught me how unloving others could really be.

I became a target as soon as I moved there and I remained my entire life with a red and white bullseye on my back.  I have story after story of abuse, but the first overt challenge happened soon after I moved in on that god forsaken playground.

I did not know what it was like to be hunted or what it was like to be targeted.  I did not have any friends, so I was very vulnerable.  I did not hide because I did not know there was danger ahead.  I played hopscotch by myself because it was a game I had often played back in Burbank.  I was walking across the grass when two boys decided to jump on me.  Literally they jumped on my back trying to pull me to the ground.  I wasn't going to let them.  I would be at their mercy to kicks on the grass.  Lucky for me they were pretty light and I was able to support their weight.  The major problem was their grabbing hands,  I was tiring to buck them off and so they were scrabbling for purchase.  The easiest thing to grab was my shirt.  Good idea except it had snap buttons and they immediately popped under the pressure.  I lost the use of my hands as I struggled to keep my blouse closed.  I don't think I had anything else on and I could not allow that humiliation to extend.  Meanwhile two new friends decided to join the fight.  I noticed them out of the corner of my eye.  One boy positioned himself in a couch behind me while the other boy made ready to push me from the front.  It would have worked.  I would have fallen over the kneeling boy and had been at their mercy except I did not let them.  I waited for the boy behind me to get in position and I kicked backwards as viciously as I could mange at the same time twisting my body so the boys on my shoulders fell on the advancing boy.  The three became a pile and I heard the boy behind me coughing and knew I had disabled him.  The anger bloomed.  No one had come to help me.  No one cared if I was embarrassed or injured.  I was the only one who would take care of me.  The adults finally came when the fight was all over and the boys scattered.  I wasn't asked if I was alright or what exacily had happened.  The adult gave me a warning and said if she saw me fighting again I would have to go to the principles office.  I stood there flabbergasted.  I had just been attacked in broad daylight, in front of a hundred witnesses and I was given a warning.  How stupid could these adults be?

This fight was different then the one in Burbank.  In this fight they wanted to subject me.  They wanted to hurt me for a reason that I could not fathom, so when people tell me I should open up, that I should be more loving.  People just want to love me...blah, blah, blah.  Those are just words.  I am glad that people have the decency to say those words, but action, what people DO is the real truth in my eyes.  I have heard apologies.  I have heard that people will give me a chance, but I have yet to experience that.

By the way, my mother doesn't know about any of this.  I never told anyone in my family what was happening to me everyday at school.  They guessed, I do believe.  My mother knew that people were not kind to me, but she doesn't know how bad it really was, so family, we don't have to tell her.  She doesn't read on the computer and I control which postings she reads.  I like having her seeing me innocent.  I figured out my parents could not protect me from life and I never expected them to.  What was I going to do?  Run home complaining of my treatment.  Protect me!  Protect me!  They did protect me.  I was equal in my home, even special if you talk to my brothers.  I did not want that view of me to change and I still don't.  My mother may complain about my behavior, but I am more than willing to agree with her then tell her why.  So family button you lips about what I write in here.

Every day my peers did something to me.  I had my lunch tray flicked in my face. I was told I was ugly constantly.  I had and have had plenty of achievements that went unnoticed or caused jealousy among my peers.  It felt like everything I did, thought and was successful in my old home was completely wrong in my new home. I wanted to go back to a time when I was wanted and popular.  I coped in my own way.  I have been told often how wrong I am to act so anti-social, but you know what?  Fool me once shame on you.  Fool me twice shame on me.

I got the message of being unwanted pretty quickly.