5th Grade Courage
By: Nadine Sehnert
Tags: Education, Memories, Fear, Acceptance, Bullying

Circa 1974?

In 5th grade we were given an unusual assignment for English. Fifth grade was all about writing themes — what my teacher called our written assignments on a specific topic. Themes. I can’t really remember all the topics we had to write about but I’m sure it was the usual “Write about someone who inspires you” or “Write about your greatest achievement.” Seriously, who would put that kind of pressure on a 5th grader — I’m suppose to have done something amazing by 5th grade? Really?

Teachers are amazing people. You have to be if you are going into a classroom every day trying to inspire 30 eager or not so eager students. But on that day I have to think my 5th grade English teacher made a horrible mistake. The topic of that week’s theme was “Write about your worst punishment ever.”

I am not making this up. What would have prompted any 5th grade teacher to ask this? Really? How many kids were immediately thinking to being spanked with a hairbrush or a belt. I was in grade school back in the seventies and there was still plenty of spanking going on. None of this “take a time-out” or “I’m going to take away your electronics.” No, if you were going to have a “time out” it was in the form of public humiliation. Stand in front of the classroom with your nose touching the blackboard. Besides the immediate (or the not so immediate, “Wait til your father gets home”) spanking, a standard punishment was more along the lines of having your allowance taken away or doing chores — on top of the ones you already had, like washing and drying the dishes (no automatic dishwashers) or dusting the 200 Precious Moments figurines your mom collected or raking the leaves, or if you lived in Minnesota, shoveling the sidewalk. Do kids even have chores any more? My neighbors have a son who is now in high school. I have never seen their son out shoveling or raking. When I asked once why the son was not out helping, (because he was certainly old enough) the dad replied, “Oh, I like shoveling.” Seriously? No one “likes” shoveling.

Back on track. Back to the theme. Unlike other kids in my class who were probably having internal debates if they could really write about their latest spanking due to watching cartoons instead of letting the dog out I was soooo thrilled with the topic! Yes! This was my chance! This was my redemption! This was my way out!

You see, I had one of those last names you couldn’t pronounce just by looking at it. And kids are so cruel. They find any excuse to pick on each other. Or rather, to pick on the scrawniest kid. To pick on the fattest kid. To pick on the slowest kid or the kid who came to school late wearing two different colored socks because they slept past their alarm clock, had 100 newspapers to deliver on their morning paper route and just grabbed any two socks out of the sock drawer and didn’t get time to go home and change because they lolly-gagged on their route and stopped by the bakery for a chocolate long john when they heard the school bell ring two blocks away. I’m just guessing.

My last name is S-E-H-N-E-R-T. Sehnert is pronounced “Say — nert” See how easy it is? But when people look at it they think the “e” is a “c” and usually say “Schnert” which is then shortened even further to “Snert.” Snert. Oh, how I hated being called Snert. My name is NADINE!!! Not Snert. And of course, the more I hated it the more the kids would repeat it. And this was just small time teasing to some of the other experiences I also had.

But! Now was my chance. Because I would write the most amazing theme ever about my worst punishment ever. My theme was about how I was being punished by my schoolmates who called me “Snert.” That would show them. This would be my triumphant moment where I would shine a light on how awful it was to hear that word every day, “Snert.” My classmates would tear up when they heard about the pain they were causing me. They would all go to confession and bow their heads in shame as they told the priest their terrible sin. Five Our Father prayers for you! They would bring me chocolate and all want to be my friend after they heard how they, each and every one of them who called me Snert, were my worst punishment ever.

On the day our themes were due, my English teacher made his next fatal mistake. He asked for students to volunteer to READ OUT LOUD their themes on “MY WORST PUNISHMENT EVER.” Again, I can’t make this up. I wish I was. Trust me. This would lead to years of costly therapy for several students (I’m just guessing.) I mean, how could he possibly think having kids read these out loud was a good idea? Wouldn’t most kids be ashamed of their punishments? Why the heck would little Johnny want to tell about how his dad spanked him black and blue because he forgot to take out the trash?

But I was ready. I was sooo ready to read my theme, loud and proud, to the rest of my classmates. It was time to watch them squirm and suffer and beg my forgiveness. My hand shot up in the air. My teacher chose me to read and, well, I was probably the only one who wanted to read my masterpiece out loud. I walked with such determination to the front of the classroom. I held my paper in front of me and I’m sure I had a dramatic pause before I started. And then I read.

“My Worst Punishment Ever,” and another pause for dramatic effect, “I am going through my worst punishment RIGHT NOW!” I looked out over the classroom. Another dramatic pause. And then, although I am not able to recall my exact words I proceeded in telling those 29 other 5th graders that my worst punishment ever was them calling me “Snert.” And I continued telling how awful it was to hear “Snert” every single day and how I had a lovely name, Nadine, and why oh why wouldn’t they call me that? What was wrong with them and why did they have to pick on me? What did I do to deserve that? I was smart. I was a bit small but I think I was decent enough looking. I was in choir and gymnastics. I loved to read. I was a good student. I don’t remember how long that theme was or how long I was up in front of the classroom reading it. But, when I was done, probably another dramatic pause and then I am sure I had a smug look on my face. “Look at me! Look how you made me feel! Aren’t you ashamed of yourselves?” Yeah, that would have described the look on my face.

Which lasted all of about two seconds because then, as I walked back to my seat the snickers started and pretty soon kids were whispering to me “Snert…Snert…Snert.” I sat in my seat and fought back the tears. I don’t remember my teacher stepping in to stop the kids. I don’t remember the teacher’s reaction at all because what I can recall is the memory of feeling of my heart being pierced by every single “Snert.”

You would think after class, the teacher would have pulled me aside. Perhaps, a call to my parents. Something. But no. I was left a puddle. A nothing. I had put my cry for help out there in the world for everyone to hear and nothing had changed.

Thankfully, I do have some happy memories of 5th and 6th grade. A girl named Martha moved to my town and her family purchased a house just around the corner from me. We shared a love for gymnastics and reading. I actually had someone I could call my best friend. I’m sure she was part of the reason I persevered. When I wasn’t with Martha I remember hanging out in the library, reading every biography and autobiography about every woman I could. Not that there were that many. Clara Barton, Harriet Tubman, Helen Keller.

And I didn’t let those kids stop me from being in every talent show I could enter. I was selected to be in our all-city choir and had a solo. I was going to show them by being famous. I would be a world famous singer or dancer or actress. I would show them. Just you wait, I thought over and over again. And then life goes on. Thankfully, I kept moving forward, no matter what the other kids threw at me.

When I was a senior in high school, we all got jerseys with our nicknames on the back. Mine read “Snert”. I remember my dad, seeing me in my shirt, saying, “I used to beat kids up for calling me that.” I turned to him and said, “I just learned to accept it.”

But sadly I also accepted it was ok for me to tease and bully other kids. I had started to make fun of those who were different or weaker than me. I guess to make myself feel better I had to repeat what was done to me because that is how you survive those years of being overlooked and misunderstood.

Finally in college, where I was in an environment where people seemed to appreciate me for being me, I did grow up and realize I didn’t need to pick on other people and put them down. Rather, it was my responsibility to stand up when someone else needed back up. Why? Because I have done things for which I am sorry and ashamed. I carry that shame around with me every day. I don’t ever want to shake it off because it needs to be a constant reminder that I never want anyone to feel the way I did. It’s not enough to treat people the way I want to be treated, it is more important to treat people the way THEY want to be treated and respected.

I know I’m not perfect. Every time I fail, and my thoughts or actions lead me to label or judge or belittle another, it adds to that shame backpack I carry around and it strengthens me to try to be better the next time I hear someone belittle someone else because of how they dress, (i.e. Walmart shoppers) or their weight or some other perceived difference. I can disagree with a person’s words or actions but I have no right to judge them based on how they look or where they were born or some other invisible label.

We now live in a world where you can be called every manner of label. Anyone can create any untrue story they want and lie about you and put it into cyberworld where it automatically becomes a reality. Where your life can be threatened by 1’s and 0’s turned into words on a screen to create fear. People in power want to control you by fear. And they are succeeding. We are all letting them succeed.

I’m convinced we have brought some of this current environment of fear on ourselves. We’ve been teaching generations now that strangers are bad. Stranger Danger. This is not to say we shouldn’t be teaching our children to be cautious. But I believe there is a way to teach caution without saying EVERYONE you don’t know is a bad person out to get you. We need to teach our kids how to be friendly but to know when someone tells them something To Good To Be True that probably means it’s To Good To Be True. We could all use some good scam and scam marketing education. Computer and social media literacy need to be taught to all.

The scariest trend now is how easy it is for someone on Facebook to start to change your attitude and make you afraid. “Hey! Click and Share this cute video on puppies! Aren’t they cute. Oh, now Click and Share some puppy photos with the American Flag. Oh my gosh! Did you know there are people out there who want to slaughter those puppies. Who want to slaughter Americans? Who want to come and slit your throat in your very own bed?” They progressively up the messages you are seeing until you think everyone who is not like you is coming to harm you.

We use fear and made up labels to “defend” our prejudices which lead to increased discrimination and continues to widen the gap between those we deem worthy vs those not worthy of education, jobs, health care, housing, opportunity, dignity and respect.

Most of us, no matter where we were born, want the same things. To live where we can raise our families out of harm's way, have access to good education, health care, food and clean water. Do you honestly think just because someone has a different hue to their skin or was born on a different continent they would not want these things? We have much more in common than we realize if we would just stop and listen to each other.

In times of a shared enemy, people come together to defend these basic values. We need to stop thinking of the enemy as another group of people, those who are not like us. Remember, our real enemy is fear. Fear stops us from learning about those who we perceive as different from ourselves. Fear causes us to dig in and puts us on the defensive where we can no longer listen or be objective. Fear causes us to build walls and six-foot privacy fences.

To stop the fear growing and strangling us like kudzu we have to be willing to let some of the light in. We have to be willing to leave our comfortable cocoons. We have to learn to be comfortable in our discomfort. We must stop spreading fear and doubt and wariness and instead, replace it with knowledge and understanding and acceptance.

When I think back on my fifth grade theme I realize how strong I was at the time to speak up. I didn’t let fear stop me then and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let fear stop me now. So, what do you say? Let’s stop being ruled by fear.