"Being Liked Is a Battle Worth Losing"

I looked at the half-eaten banana laying in the trash before slowly turning back toward  Mrs. Johnson's stern face. She was breathing heavily and red all over, with palpable fury growing as I hesitated to comply with her demands. I was used to facing the brunt of her frustration, but I had never seen her like this. “I've really done it this time,” I thought to myself.  

Maybe it was my tendency toward unfiltered expression that led her to label me a  “problem child,” but my kindergarten teacher hated me. All of my efforts would be met with disapproving remarks, which seemed to strike a chord deep within me. Her insults were personal, and I would do anything to hear her praise me, just once.

I fidgeted in my seat while she walked around the room, applauding the artistic abilities of my classmates as she went along. Finally, she walked up to my desk; I couldn't help but smile in anticipation as she closely observed my work. After staring for what felt like an eternity, she looked down at me with disgust in her eyes, “What is that?” she questioned in a snarky tone. 

I was crushed, but held onto the hope that maybe there was a misunderstanding. I explained that my ostrich was a recreation of the one we had seen on our class trip to the Bronx Zoo a few weeks prior. It became clear though that no amount of explanation would clear up whatever prevented her from complimenting me like she did all my friends when she rolled her eyes and walked away without taking my picture with her. I could feel tears welling up in my  eyes and a lump forming in my throat. I wanted to cry because the kids around me got what I wanted so badly with ease. All of my efforts were for nothing. No matter how hard I tried, I was never good enough for Mrs. Johnson. 

This wouldn't be the end of her bullying. In the following weeks, she continued to break me down at every opportunity. Her critical comments were impossible to ignore and spawned thoughts of self-doubt in my young mind. I began to think, “maybe the things she says about me are true.” My only escape from her berating was recess when I could physically run away from her. I couldn't continue like this much longer; my academic career was spiraling…and I was only five!  

One Wednesday afternoon at snack time, my classmates and I rummaged through our lunch boxes for something light to hold us over until lunch. Finding only a banana and blueberries, which I immediately knew I wouldn't be able to stomach, I decided not to eat anything. I tucked my lunchbox back under my desk and sat in silence. Of course, Mrs. Johnson took issue with this. Simply to appease her, I grabbed the banana out of my bag, slowly peeled it  open, and took a few reluctant bites. Those few bites were all I could tolerate, so I threw out the uneaten fruit. As I turned away from the trash can, I was startled to see Mrs. Johnson stomping toward me. She was screaming that my waste of food was an insult to people around the world who don't have any, and while I sympathize with her point, her accusatory tone made it sound like my waste was the sole cause of world hunger. She forcefully grabbed the garbage can, which was filled with used tissues and pencil shavings, and shoved it in my face, insisting that I take back my banana and eat the rest of it. At that moment, I had a choice to make. I could either eat the banana, feeding further into a cycle of shame and rejection or choose myself and what I knew to be right. I didn't see it this way until recently but walking away that day helped me appreciate  an invaluable lesson: you’ll never please everyone, so stop trying. Naturally, my steadfast refusal was seen as an act of defiance, but it didn't matter because I finally came to the freeing realization that the only person I need to make proud is myself. Mrs. Johnson could say whatever she wanted, I was too strong to be a victim of her antagonism.  

After surviving that day, I skipped off the bus and headed straight for my Minnie Mouse trash can, which sat in the corner of my bedroom. I fished out a crumpled piece of paper, and  after flattening it out as best I could, I scotch-taped it to the wall right above my bed. Stepping back to get a better look at my new room renovation, I felt proud of my work because even though Mrs. Johnson wouldn't agree, the ostrich that now lived above my bed was beautiful.  

Some things, like mushy bananas, belong in the trash; however, throwing away your aspirations to chase approval from others is the greatest act of disservice to yourself. I guess I should take a minute now to thank my Kindergarten for that lesson, and for helping me understand that if you follow your heart, you’ll never be lost.