Be Careful, Words Can Hurt
By Emma

The little girl ran in the house, tears streaming down her face, sobbing as if her heart had been broken three times. She went right into the kitchen, where Mama was, stirring her home-made chicken soup.

"Mama!" she cried, rubbing her sore, red eyes. "Mama! They hate me!"

Mama looked down from her soup. "Calm down, honey. Now, who hates you?"

"The boys on the street do. I was ridin' down the street, like I always do, an' they leaned over their big bikes an' called me ugly an' stupid! They said I was a baby an' couldn't do nuthin'!"

Mama put her spoon aside and took her daughter in her warm arms. They smelled like noodles and herbs, and they were so, so warm.

"You listen to me, girl, and you listen good. Don't be listenin' to what those boys tell you. What do they know about you? You ain't ugly. Your daddy always stops when he comes home from work and tells you how pretty you are. You're not stupid, either. Didn't your teachers tell you how you got nothin' but "Above Average" and "Excellent" on your report card? What about all those ribbons you won for horse-back riding, or the time you got third place in your school's poetry contest? You're plenty smart, girl. They're just ignorant an' immature."

"Why did they say those things if they aren't true?"

"'Cause they thought it would be funny to get you mad. Ignorant and immature people get their kicks that way."

"I wish I could kick THEM! I wish I could call them names and make them feel bad!" She kicked the floor as if it really was the nasty boys.

"Honey, that wouldn't help. You'd be as bad as them. Just don't let it get to you. You're better than that. What about how you help me take care of your baby brother? You can change a diaper and make a bottle. I'll bet they'd all turn green and run if they ever had to change a dirty diaper!"

The girl laughed. "I'll bet they never changed anything worse than their socks!"

Mama put her arm around her daughter. "That's right, honey. Just remember, you're as good as you think you are." She smiled. "Now, what would you say to some home-made chicken soup and corn muffins?"

************

I was inspired to write this tonight after I was insulted riding home on my bike. I don't know what I did. I was just riding along, like normally, and a group of boys leaned out of a large car and screamed "Hey, you ugly whore!"

I cried the rest of the way home.

What led them to call me that? What was I doing that was so wrong they felt compelled to lean out of their car and into the frigid air of a New Jersey night and insult me? I was wearing bulky clothing; not a bit of skin showed. My bike is in good condition. And how could they tell if I was ugly or not? I was bundled up like Randy in A Christmas Story.

This isn't the first time I've been treated like that. I spent most of my childhood enduring variations on such taunts, and it still continues. This is the third time I've been insulted riding my bike since I moved to Oaklyn, and it happened even more often in Wildwood, especially in the summer. What makes a boy (and girls, more rarely) want to lean out of his car on a cold night and insult someone they don't know?

By the time I'd arrived at my apartment, I'd concieved this story.

I'm going to post this at my site and Writing.com as a reminder to all people of how words CAN hurt. Please, think twice before leaning out of your car and insulting somebody, or shouting nasty names to someone on your bike. It may be a mild thrill, but you'll be hurting someone else in the bargain. There are better ways of having fun than damaging someone's ego.