Church School Bullying

This candid photo shows the isolation I felt in academy. I'm the kid standing alone in the doorway, trying to figure out what do do with my hands and arms, nothing feeling natural. I've rooted myself. against the door frame, unwilling to commit either to coming into the room or remaining without.

I've got a bad case of the Church School Blues.

Is CHURCH SCHOOL BLUES the only book around that tells the story of bullying in a religious school setting?  In my search, I am finding many books on bullying in general, and a few documentaries about the subject of bullying in churches and religious schools, but other than that, BLUES seems to stand alone.

It's not the first time I've stood alone.  

So perhaps I shouldn't be surprised that BLUES is alone on the shelf.

Although I wonder.

Are religious schools still in denial that bad things can happen there?

Bullying in a secular setting is one thing.

Bullying in a religious setting is another.  Why?  Because it isn't just a matter of not fitting in with a social group.  It is a matter of fitting in with one's religious group.  If one doesn't experience belonging there, eventually, one leaves to find some place where one can fit in.

That's what I did.

Thanksgiving with CHURCH SCHOOL BLUES

Thanksgiving excerpt from Church School Blues, Chapter Four

Meanwhile, Daddy has been working steadily at his new job as a diesel mechanic. Even so, the money isn't coming in as quickly as it is going out. We were so tight for a while this past summer, we didn't have anything to eat except spaghetti. Fortunately I love spaghetti, but even I was glad when we could add something else to our diet.

I wish I could sell enough pop bottles to pay for my Christian education since that always comes up as being a drain on our household resources. But it isn't just the monthly tuition that is a burden. My school is expecting my parents to shell out extra money for "activities." Like the Thanksgiving play.

Elder Hargis says everybody has to be in it, no excuses. Not that I get a part in the play. I'm just supposed to get an Indian costume and walk around being an Indian, sitting in a tepee and string popcorn. And that means I have to have an Indian costume.

Well, I don't put things off. I face them right away, so I brace myself and give Mother the news that I have to have a stupid costume.

“Oh, honey,” Mother says (just like I knew she would). “We can't afford it!”

 “Just get me some feathers or something. If I stay in the very back, nobody can see what I’m wearing.”

That makes Mother feel guilty and she apologizes about not giving me more in life—as if I ask for more of my own free will. "I don't care how it looks," I assure her, "as long as it gets past Elder Hargis."

Remember Mother's Ingenious Compromises? Next thing I know, she has done a loo-loo of an Ingenious Compromise. When I come home from school the next day, I find Mother fiddling with two burlap sacks on the kitchen table. I love gunny sacks because they remind me of Grandpa's sheds back home, all grainy smelling and rough to the touch. Not wanting another go-around about What I Do and Could Not Possibly Remember, I don't mention this fact to Mother.

"We can't afford to buy a real costume for you," says Mother, "but I think I can make you one out of these."

Unlike many Adventist mothers, my mother doesn't sew as a rule, but I don't have the slightest doubt that she can make something if she says she can. So I calmly go off and do my homework, until about an hour later she calls me to come take a look.

Can you spell flabbergasted?

This has got to be her top Ingenious Compromise ever!

My mother has taken an old gunny sack and made it into something that is not only beautiful, but looks as natural as if it was made out of deerskin—even to the fringe which she has created by pulling the strings at the openings of the sacks—around the hole that is the neckline, the holes that are the sleeves, and the bottom of the skirt, all fringed.

"I found some plastic beads on sale from Halloween," she says. "Look here." She turns the blouse around, and it has the most lovely decorations sewn around the neck!

"It's gorgeous!" says I.

"Try it on so we can see if it fits." She makes a tuck around the waist and it's a perfect fit. "Indians often went barefoot, so I decided you'll be fine without moccasins. We'll dress you warm till we get to the school, and then you can go barefoot on all that carpet. And, guess what else I found on clearance?"

At this point I am willing to believe almost anything. Mother reaches into a store bag and pulls out a wig with long black hair. Crazy as it may sound, I'm almost looking forward to the play now!

Whether I'm looking forward to it or not, the night of the play is upon us and my transformation is complete. Mother braids the wig and wraps a band around it, topping it with a mockingbird feather I found out back. Now for the really dark make-up. Whoa! I didn't know I had inherited Mother's cheekbones, but I sure look like an Indian tonight. And that stoic thing I've been doing with my face lately fits right in. Only the green eyes give me away—and, oops, I can't help it, I'm grinning ear to ear and that ruins the whole effect.

"Don't smile," says Mother. Well, not smiling won't be difficult once I get to school.

School looks strange at night, and the presence of so many parents tones down the Dodos. They seem to be on their best behavior. They're staring at me, though. I can feel everyone staring at me as I stealth in on bare feet.

"Wow," says Fiona. "You look like a real Indian."

Fiona sure doesn't. She's wearing a full costume that looks super expensive, but it's obviously plastic, and the feathers are dyed chicken feathers. I walk among my staring classmates, assessing each one, and they all fall short of my mother's magic touch. I feel my back going straighter and my chin tilting proudly, and none of the corners are itching. I wish I could wear this costume every day. I could be myself again if I could always come to school in bare feet with my hair hanging long, with feathers.

I can't believe how polite the Dodos are. It's almost scary that several of them say how cool I look. Jill looks startled when she sees me, but she doesn't say a word about my appearance. She gets funny like that sometimes. Part of the time, she's about my only friend, and part of the time she's laughing at me along with the Dodos. I think I understand her, though. She really likes me, but can't stand being unpopular, so there are times she'll turn against me when she thinks it might help her status.

Then sometimes, when the real me shines through like it is tonight, she gets an expression like she is afraid that I'm going to keep on shining and rise up in the world. And when that happens, she thinks I'll leave her behind with the Solos. But I wouldn't do that to a friend, honest.

Over yonder, trying to disappear into the wall, is Belinda. She has one of the plastic costumes, and no one has tried to disguise her blonde hair. It is plastered close to her head and her bangs are wet. Her nerves are probably in high gear. If I've been dreading tonight, it's nothing compared to what Belinda is going through.

As we line up on the stage to sing about the first Thanksgiving, I make sure I am standing next to her. She is shaking all over with stage fright even though we are in the back row. I reach out and take her hand. It is sopping wet. By the time the singing is over, she is finally calm enough to sit beside me and string popcorn by the paper teepee.

We string and string as the people with real parts dominate the stage, and I wonder if they are listening to the story they are telling. It is a story about people who were very different from each other, and they had this meal and became friends. It's a nice story, but it's not the whole story. I've watched Bonanza and Daniel Boone on television, so I know how things went later on with the Native Americans and the settlers. They didn't stay friends, but people still tell the story of Thanksgiving as if that one dinner is important. And it must be important or we wouldn't still tell it every year, would we?

I guess it's kind of like the Dodos and me tonight—me walking proud and them being nice. For a short time, we're just people without castes or races or other silly labels. That's important because it means it's possible for people to get past all those prejudices for the space of a meal or a play—and if we can do it for an hour or two, maybe we could make it last longer.

But don't think I've been fooled by the Thanksgiving story. I know that when school starts up again, we'll be back in the wild frontier.

Friendly Former Adventist

Author as a teenager in front of Collegedale Academy.The second part of Church School Blues is set at C.A.

Sooner or later it's going to come out.  The writer of Precious Jewels, A Seventh-Day Adventist Family Saga and Church School Blues is a former SDA.  It might be later.  My short stories and articles were published for years in Adventist publications with no one the wiser (as far as I know.)  I was even approached as an editor candidate for one of their leading magazines, and they were still none the wiser.  Once, I did get unmasked by a student intern at Insight Magazine who asked me the innocent question on the phone, "Where is your home church?"

I told her the truth, expecting that would be the end of my career as a writer in Adventist publications, but she either didn't tell the management or they didn't care.  Why should they?  At that time, there was a dearth of good writers for Adventist publications, and my stories were exactly what they were after.  My material pushed the boundaries -- they published my stories on racism and child abuse and bullying.  They allowed me to give voice to the fact that these things happen in Christian circles, which to me was a huge and long overdue progression from what I had seen in their magazines while growing up Adventist. 

But there was only so far and so long that I could remain with them and write true to myself and still write true to the requirements of the Adventist publishing industry.  So I published independently when I wrote my books, but I'm still in the very odd position of a former SDA writing for and about Adventists. 

I have always been different -- being different got me bullied in Adventist schools, and now being different gets me criticized by other former Adventists who think I should be on a crusade to unravel Adventism.  I have no desire to unravel Adventism.  My roots are Adventist, it is my history, and in many ways I am still Adventist, my diet being the most noticeable thing about me that is Forever Adventist.  I'm no longer a believer for several reasons -- one big one, I suppose is that I lost a sense of belonging at a critical time in my development.  The other reasons have to do with intellectual/spiritual disagreement which I won't go into  (See above: no desire to unravel Adventism.)

Some of the most colorful, fascinating, heroic people I've ever known were Adventists.  My great-grandmother's story is classic Adventist -- A plantation owner's daughter, who converted to the ministry of Ellen G. White's son Edson White when he came down the Yazoo River with his Morning Star riverboat ministry.  Pearl Holt, my great-grandmother gave up everything -- husband, comfortable life -- and went on an amazing religious odyssey with her two small daughters.  The daughters, Ruby and Grace, grew into fascinating people as well, and it was Grace who had such an impact on my own character.  Such a family legacy, dovetailing with the history of Adventism in the American South, just had to be written -  so last year PRECIOUS JEWELS, A SEVENTH-DAY ADVENTIST FAMILY SAGA was published.  I wrote it as they lived it and wrote it as they would have wanted me to tell it.  I wrote it like an Adventist.

My most recent book is also about Adventists.  It is my story, about a kid who was bullied for six years in Adventist schools.  Some people are disappointed that CHURCH SCHOOL BLUES isn't an exposé of Adventism.  They wanted to see me blow the lid off some conspiracy about Adventist education -- well, there isn't a conspiracy as far as I know.  I honestly believe that I had the bad luck to have been placed with some uncommonly horrid folks that weren't typical of the Adventist school experience.  And yet, I have heard the experiences of enough other people who were bullied and abused in SDA schools to know that this is an issue that the faculty and the families need to be prepared to confront. 

If you are an Adventist, CHURCH SCHOOL BLUES could make you uncomfortable because it is clear that being bullied does something to a person's religious experience as well as to their social experience.   My transition from being the grandchild of one of the most amazing Adventists who ever lived to an adult who no longer believes began in the BLUES years. 

For that reason if for none other, CHURCH SCHOOL BLUES should be read by Adventists.  If Adventists want to keep their young people (and their adults who used to be young people) they need to be alert to circumstances of neglect and abuse which alienate their members.  This is not a uniquely Adventist problem (see above: no exposé.)  It is a human problem, and the challenge for Adventists is to acknowledge  that they are still in The World and that the World's problems come through their doors and dwell among their members, just as they do in that other church down the road.