I’m tall. Everyone in my family is also tall, so it wasn’t a big shock when I hit six feet as I went into high school. By sixteen, I’d topped off at a little over six-foot-one-inch tall. I’m female and got teased about my height a bit, but honestly, the most annoying part was trying to find clothes long enough for me.

Then, I began dating.

Classmate #1: “[My Name], is it true that you’re dating [Boyfriend]?”

Me: “Yes, for about two months.”

Classmate #1: *Giggling* “Isn’t he shorter than you?”

Me: “Yep.”

Classmate #2: “By like, a lot, though.”

Me: “Not really. He’s about five-foot-nine, so it’s only a few inches.”

Classmate #2: “Doesn’t that bother you? He’s short!”

Me: “No? If it bothered me, I wouldn’t be dating him.”

Classmate #2: “I could never date anyone shorter than me. That’s so embarrassing.”

Me: “You must be easily embarrassed if that’s all it takes.”

Classmate #1: “What does that mean?”

Me: “It means [Boyfriend] is shorter than me, and we both knew that when we decided to date each other. I’m over six feet tall; I always knew that whoever I dated would most likely be shorter than me. I’m taller than our teacher! I would only be embarrassed if we’d been dating for two months and I only just now noticed he was five inches shorter than me. Date whoever you want, and I’ll do the same, yeah?”

Classmate #1: “You can’t even wear high heels when he takes you out!”

Me: “Who says I don’t wear high heels when we go out?”

Classmate #2: “Oh, my God, that would make you like, six-four or something!”

Me: “Sometimes, yeah, if the heels are high enough.”

Classmate #1: “That’s so funny! I bet you guys look hilarious together like that!” *Laughs*

Me: “Why is that funny?”

Classmate #1: “Because you’re so tall!” *More laughing*

Me: “Oh, my God, [Classmate #1], you’re so short!” *Loud laughter* “Ha ha, wow! You’re just so short, and that’s so funny! Ha ha ha ha ha! I bet you and your boyfriend look soooooo funny together because you’re sooooo short! Ha ha ha ha ha! He’s so much taller than you! Ha ha! That’s soooo funny! Oh, my God!” *more laughter*

Classmate #2: “What is wrong with you?”

Me: “What? I thought we were making fun of people who had height differences with their boyfriends? She’s barely over five feet tall, and he’s almost my height. So, therefore: ha ha, [Classmate #1], your boyfriend is nine inches taller than you! Isn’t that just so embarrassing?! Aren’t you so embarrassed?! Oh, my gosh, you can’t ever wear flats around him! Ha ha!“

I kept up the fake laughter until they were sufficiently weirded out and moved away. I don’t miss our talks.

My first year teaching was in a high school with a school population that was predominantly African-American. I think there were five non-Black students out of a total of 1,200 students.

My last name rhymes with a rude expression. After a couple of weeks, one student started walking by my open door during passing periods and calling out my name in a mocking tone, like he was saying the rude expression. I asked my students if anyone knew the student, but either none of them did or they didn’t want to narc on him.

Then, one day, I saw him in the hallway dressed in the uniform of our Army ROTC class. Knowing who the teacher/chief of that class was, I decided to ask him if he knew the student. I explained the situation to him.

ROTC Chief: “Did you catch his name?”

Me: “No, but I can describe him. He’s got a blond crew cut—”

ROTC Chief: “Oh, that’s [Rude Student]. I’ll have a talk with him.”

I never saw the kid at my door again. I guess if you want to be a troublemaker, don’t be the only blond kid in a school of brunettes.

When I was a teenager, I managed to both skip my freshman year of high school and gain entry into a dual-credit high school program. For every college course I took through the program, I would gain high school credit toward graduation and an Associate’s degree.

It was there, in my junior year, that I found my crippling weakness in academia: chemistry. Mind you, the college was aware of high schoolers being incorporated into their classes, and professors were notified at the beginning of the term; however, through a combination of expectations from the professor that EVERYONE had somehow HAD high school chemistry already (this was directly stated on the first day) and a definitive no on being able to drop or switch courses/professors, my peers and I were doomed to a class with no basic foundation.

With my dwindling grades in the course and the threat of probation from the dean came my equally dwindling confidence.

At the time, I was sixteen and my little brother was four. He found me sitting on the floor by my desk having checked my grades for my latest chemistry exam into which I had invested weeks of hard studying, tutoring time, and hours of practice, and I had still failed by a short margin. I was crying. My brother stopped, put his stuffed cat down on the floor, wormed his way into my lap, and started patting my face.

Brother: “Don’t be sad. I’m here to be a present for you so you can be happy.”

Throughout the mess of that chemistry course, that is the shining light I saw at the end of the tunnel. I ended up failing the class (as did all but four out of the fifty juniors), but my brother helped me see that there was an end to that nightmare. Sometimes little brothers know the perfect thing to say out of innocent love and concern.

Today, I found out that the prettiest girl in class isn’t just out of my league in looks. 

The teacher, an older guy with no recognizable sense of humor outside of the occasional dad joke, was working with her on a physics problem. He asked her a question about the problem, and she said, “I think not.” 

He responded, “Poof. You don’t exist.”

It turns out she reads philosophy, including Kant and Descartes. She also got the physics problem first.

I work in a public school. I’m still somewhat new here, as it’s only my third year, and this is one of the bigger schools in the district. I don’t know everyone by name, but I recognize folks enough to exchange a friendly nod and a “Good morning.”

I like my coworkers overall, but there is definitely a culture of discontent around these parts that I haven’t really adjusted to yet. People tend to be in sour moods and love finding things to complain about.

One morning, as I am settling into my classroom for the day, a teacher I know by face but not by name starts banging on my door. She and I work in different departments.

Me: *Startled* “Good morning. How can I—”

Teacher: *Cutting me off* “You told on me last year, and I’m really mad at you!”

Me: “What?”

I do not know this person or what she’s talking about. 

Teacher: “I think it’s really ugly how you and those other teachers bully others behind their backs! With your little WhatsApp groups! It’s so cruel of you!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Teacher: “I have to go put my stuff down, but I’ll be back!”

And with that, she’s gone. I try to call after her, but she stalks off. I return to setting up my room, thoroughly rattled. 

True to her word, she’s back minutes later. Her tirade continues; she tells me how upset she is about what happened and demands to know how could I be so mean and such a bully, and blah, blah, blah. I just let her talk and blow off some steam. When she pauses for a breath, I finally interject.

Me: *Calmly* “I can see that you’re very upset, and I’m sorry about that, but I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Could you please help me understand?”

Teacher: “Last year! You were sitting in the [Department A] office playing on your phone. I came in to make copies, and then the next thing I knew, I was getting a mass email from [Dean] telling people not to make copies in other department offices! You texted her and told her I was using your office’s copy machine! You and your little group of mean friends got on your WhatsApp bully group and told on me to [Dean]!”

She continues to berate me. I’m getting frustrated; I work in [Department A] and she does not, but I have no issue with people making copies in our office. I cut her off, slightly less calmly than before.

Me: “Do I get to defend myself at all, or have you just decided I’m guilty?”

She pauses and then lets me go on.

Me: “Okay, first of all, I don’t even remember that day. If it happened last year and it’s still on your mind, I’m sorry it’s bothering you so much. But I am not in any WhatsApp groups other than the one for our department, where we talk about lesson plans and who’s bringing what snack for someone’s birthday party. You want to check my phone and confirm that I’m not in those ‘bully’ groups? I’ll let you look.”

She declines.

Me: “Second of all, I don’t care at all who makes copies in which office. We all need copies, so I think we should all be able to use all the machines! Was I the only person there that day? Is that why you think it was me?”

Teacher: “No, [Teacher #2] was there. She was on her iPad.”

This bothers me more. [Teacher #2] has a penchant for spreading gossip and rubbing people the wrong way. 

Me: “So, how do you know she didn’t text someone and tell them you were in there using the copier? Why do you assume it was me? Third of all, and most importantly, how can I possibly tell [Dean] or anyone about you using the copier? I don’t even know your name!”

This throws her off. 

Teacher: *Deflating* “You… don’t know my name?”

Me: “No. Do you know mine?”

Teacher: *Realization dawning* “No, I don’t.”

Me: “It’s [My Name]. And you?”

Teacher: “[Teacher].”

Me: “Nice to officially meet you, [Teacher]. Again, I’m sorry that this happened, but I can assure you that I didn’t tell anyone anything. You’re not the only person who makes copies in other departments, so I somewhat doubt that the email from the dean was directed at you specifically. And I try not to engage in gossip online or behind anyone’s backs. I was bullied as a kid, so I know how much it hurts. Is there anything else on your mind?”

Teacher: *Defeated* “No.”

And with that, she left.

The event threw me off for the rest of the day. I felt like going to find her and giving her a taste of her own medicine, asking why she would just outright accuse me of something so random and fire off vitriol instead of calmly asking me what happened. I decided it wasn’t worth it.

A couple of days later, she passed me in the hallway, didn’t make eye contact, and complimented my outfit. I think she’s learned her lesson.