It was the day right after Spring
Break, and I was excited to show off my new glasses to my classmates. But, that
was the only thing that I was looking forward to, besides recess and the three
o’clock bell. During the bus ride, I looked outside the window to enjoy the
reviving colors of the world. The beauty was something that I had never noticed
before, and my glasses made everything crystal clear. I could see the
individual veins of newly born leaves as the morning sun sprayed its beams of
life through them. On the stems of the plants, juicy, rich berries grew so
large that I could see the individual, round segments of each one. As the bus
drew closer to the school, I let out a deep sigh, and before I knew it, I was
standing in front of my cubby.
I walked
into the classroom and sat in the very back. I wasn’t a very outgoing student.
In fact, I was probably the quietest among my friends, and instead of talking,
I listened and observed. You can learn so much more that way…. Anyways, about
five minutes later, Mrs. Nichols walked into the classroom, but to my delight,
she was also rolling the huge TV screen into the room with her; we were going
to watch a video.
“Boys and
Girls!” Mrs. Nichols cried, “Welcome back! Because yesterday was Easter Sunday,
I decided to show you a video about why we celebrate Easter. Now does anyone
have any idea about where Easter came from?”
All around
me, hands shot up like rockets. I looked around at the faces of my classmates,
and the eagerness to answer the question was immense. They would bite their
lips hard, forcing themselves not to say the answer until they were called on,
and moan like, “mmmhhm,” in efforts to attract the teacher’s attention. I just
watched them as they shook their hands vigorously in the air, as if they were
signaling a lifeguard to save them from drowning.
Mrs.
Nichols called on Margaret. “The Easter Bunny! Isn’t that what Easter’s all
about?” said Margaret.
The rest of
the class exploded in an uproar. Many of the boys were laughing so hard that they
clutched their tiny stomachs as they fell to the floor. The girls giggled and
whispered in tiny voices to each other, while constantly glancing at Margaret.
I could
hear them saying, “Ughh, she’s so stupid,” or “She’s so weird.” Margaret stared
at her desk in shame, but she didn’t cry like she used to. It happened so often
that I think she got used to it. But still, whenever the other kids made fun of
her, I always felt sick to my stomach and I wanted to help. But of course, I
never did. The boys would laugh, but I could see that they weren’t laughing out
of amusement, but to make Margaret feel bad. They would constantly glance at
her, waiting eagerly to see her cry, and when she didn’t, they would laugh
louder. They were so cruel, and whenever I saw their predatory eyes, I felt
disgusted. But, what sickened me the most was myself. Whenever Margaret said
something “stupid” I always wanted to make her feel better and stand up for
her, but the concern for my own reputation always stopped me. I wondered, “How
would the other boys think of me if I stood up for her? Would I become just
like Margaret?” Those fears always prevented me from helping her, and
unfortunately I laughed at her too. Just like the other boys.
The bell
rang, signaling the start of recess. We had finished the whole video, but
honestly I couldn’t remember anything because I felt so bad about laughing at
Margaret. The one event I did remember from the video however, was when Simon
Peter cut off the ear of the priest, Malthus, who was trying to arrest Jesus.
It was disturbing, but I felt so good about it. I wanted to cheer at the top of
my lungs.
As I
stepped outside, again, I came face to face with the beautiful outside world,
and I was surprised that I could see so far. Kids in other faraway buildings
would run outside for recess, but I could recognize each and every one of their
faces. I loved my glasses. Not only could I name every single kid on the field,
but I could also see what they were doing.
For a
while, I just sat on a bench and looked at all the kids from afar, admiring my
new glasses. But then, something caught
my eye; something disturbing, something that I had to stop. There were a group
of three fifth grade boys sitting around in a half circle, smiling and laughing
with the same cruel complexions as the boys who laughed at Margaret. I looked
closer, and discovered that one of the boys brought this device, almost like a
magnifying glass, that concentrated the sunlight into one specific point, and
in that small spot of concentrated sunlight was an ant. Watching the ant suffer
was traumatic. The ant twisted and turned, contorting its segmented body into
unusual formations as it shied away from the sunlight. It stretched out its two
front legs and turned its head to the side, begging the boys to stop. But of
course, they didn’t stop. Just like the boys who laughed louder, patiently
waiting for Margaret to shed some tears, these fifth graders stuck the
magnifying glass closer and closer to the ant. The ant started to vibrate madly,
bending its body and folding itself in half. It tuned its head to my direction
and I swear it looked straight at me. I could almost hear it scream at me for
help, and I couldn’t take it. Slowly, I began to approach the boys, but after a
few steps I quickly stopped myself. They were fifth graders. They were fifth
graders! What was I thinking? They were huge compared to me, and I knew that if
I helped the ant, I would become their new ant.
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