Fledgling Freak Magnet

The first time I can remember having to deal with "freaks" was in elementary school. As a kid I had medium blond, very straight hair, just longer than my rear end, with bangs cut straight across. I was also incredibly shy. 

Although I loved my hair, others did too. Whether I was standing in a line or in a group setting, I was subject to the invasion of my person space on most occasions. Strangers or fellow classmates wanted to play with my hair. If you were to politely ask me "hey can I play with your hair?" then most likely I would say yes, mostly because I didn't know how to say no. But for those who would just come from behind me and start "playing" with my hair, no. 

Shy kids, more than most, do not like having their personal space invaded. And for a "freak" when they are told no, or shrugged off, this is twisted into their minds that you saying "I am better than you" because of course, it's all about them. I remember being chased around the playground by a couple of girls who had ethnic hair, as they yelled at me because a had thwarted their attempts to "play" with my hair. They had been aggressive with what they wanted from me, so I ran.


In the summer before junior high school, I had my hair cut to my shoulders. Was I then safe, no my hair was only beginning. Junior school was a mile walk, typically my friends on the block would walk to school together. Walking home from school was usually a mixed bunch of us kids heading in the same direction, and pealing off the group as we approached each our houses.  

My first stalker lived about 2-blocks past my house. I do understand that kids of this age are confronted with feeling and emotions with little skill to deal with them. This kid would occasionally, after trailing me, show up at the front door of our house. 

At the time, my mother had returned to college and my father worked full time, so I had a few hours on my own. Typically after school, as soon as I got home I would fix myself and snack.  Taking my snack into the living room, there he was with his face pressed into the screen of the front door, watching me. As soon as he know I had seen him, he ran. I was happy my parents taught be to always lock the screen door. This scene repeated itself a enough times to scare me, that I would take alternate routes home, and upon arriving home, batten down the hatches. Impressively in high school in composition class, he apologized. Unfortunately, I had by then spent a couple of years avoiding any contact with him. The "pang" had seeded itself.

Later in high school I was harassed by a couple of guys who felt it was my "duty" to respond favorably to their friend who kept leaving love notes and flowers on my locker, but who himself,  never spoke to me.