Part 2of3

STOP, in the name of love!

Before you start reading part two, it would behoove you to read part one.

We’ll wait for you…

The mole on my face started getting picked on, when my family moved from California to Arizona.

They don’t call it the Wild West for nothing!

It started in the playground at school.

I noticed two girls talking to each other and looking at me.

The alpha of the two was making comments about my mole loud enough for me to hear.

It was very upsetting to me, and with my whole 5th grade heart, I wanted to tell her that even with this moco on my face, I was still better looking than the two of them.

But I didn’t dare.

Although we were in the same grade, these two chicks were as big as my mom.

And honey, when you’re a skinny ten-year-old, you stay clear of girls who are the same size as your mom.

I did my best to avoid these two particular girls.

As it turned out, it was all elementary, my dear Watson because come high school, we got along great and there was no more name calling.

(And yes, we graduated with my still being better looking than they were.)

But I’m getting ahead of myself…

For most of us, 7th and 8th grade is pretty awkward.

Our bodies and some voices start changing.

It was in the 7th grade, when I noticed everyone around me jockeying for position.

I too started using my elbows to get in on it.

It appeared to me, EVERYONE got picked on in junior high, but some did get picked on more than others.

For the most part, I was left unscathed.

But when Claudio started calling me chocolate chip, I wanted to die.

You see, I was in love with Claudio from Spanish class.

He sat in front of me, and we got along great.

Claudio was a tried-and-true white boy, but our Spanish teacher always called him Claudio.

I thought Claudio was one of the cutest guys in the 7th grade and I even wondered at times if he liked me because he was always talking to me in class.

But then he started dating what’s her face who was in the 8th grade, so all bets were off.

One day in Spanish class, Claudio turned around in his seat and asked me if I would write a breakup note for him to give to his girlfriend.

Of course, I said yes and immediately started writing one for him after I asked him why he was breaking up with her.

When I was finished, I handed it back to him and told him he just needed to sign it.

He read it, gave his nod of approval, and signed on the dotted line.

Once that was done, I regretted writing it for him as I lived in fear the rest of the day expecting his now ex-girlfriend to find out that I was the one who wrote it for him and wanting to fight.

And ladies and gentlemen, I didn’t know how to fight. (I still don’t.)

His ex-girlfriend never did confront me, and boy was that a relief.

I bring all this up about Claudio because when he started calling me chocolate chip after all this, it was such a letdown and I hated him for it.

But looking back, I realize now that Claudio didn’t start calling me chocolate chip to be mean, but it was just one of those junior high things.

Kinda like the girl in Spanish class too who had a raised splatter of a birthmark on her, and I heard guys referring to her as refried beans.

” Like glass in a garbage disposal, so are the days of our junior high lives. “

ToBeContinued…

~missy salcido wead