sPeer acceptance challenges SOmMme SHS students

Today we spoke of those with less fortune. Money, talent, intelligence, beauty, whatever came to mind we weren’t afraid to speak. It’s terrifying really, what we do to one another. Bitter words are thrown, though weapons play no part. Obscene callings strewn about the halls, seeming to forget what it’s like to feel. Each day we see them, and watch them flail, occasion- enteredtheroom arathergravetopic seemed upfordebate,which, consideringitwasmyhomeroomisanincrediblysurprisingincident.Theyhadbeen discussingthetreatmentofour‘special’ peers,andcameacrossasunimaginably distraught. The girls around me tespondedindisgustinregardstotheway they'dseenotherscomedownonthose unlikethem.Detailingtheagonythey must have to endure, repeating how _ students scream names at them from Seeing not the down the hall. Stepping in front of person before us, those in wheelchairs, so they are unbut the excite-- able to move. Instead of Po AE OF the. share a sheer. I hen there are those who crowd, knowing won't go anywhere near them, being you belong, that tidiculous in their behavior, acting as you aren’t the one_ ifthese students have the plague. Alwho needs to fear. _though, itmust besaid that there are So we lie there and gaze as though in a trance, as they sit paralyzed awaiting ‘punishment’ for not being like him, her, or I. So I'm writing this for them, the ‘imperfect’ angels of gociety, we have forgotten. The weak and naive, or ‘failures’ as people often refer to them. Though the reason for this, I’m quite unsure, they possess more courage than I shall ever know, these eyes we never meet.

Around 9:30 the other morning, | walked into my homeroom, as any other time. But this wasn’t simply a time to lie about, no, not that day. As some that shed kind words among them, and help when they can. In fact, there’s a young lady see often, in the lunch room quarters enjoying her meal with them, it’s a rather inspiring sight. I feel the need to express that it isn’t simply about people who are cruel to handicap children that should rethink their choices, but also about others who see what’s going on but are afraid to speak. They stand around, on occasion letting out a laugh when words such as ‘retard’, ‘freak’, or ‘cripple’ are muttered. Holding their tongue at another's expense. It’s disheartening to see the tears they try to hide, and even more of a let down to see them smiling, as though they don’t understand, simply a game. In a way, I suppose it is, playing a game with their feelings, emotions, and self -confidence. The words someone whispers, that they’re sure are never heard, are. Each one becoming permanently engraved in their mind, never seen, but felt. It isn’t just those born with physically disabilities either, but rather the boy in class who never knows the right answer, or the young woman who thought she was in love and so became gravid on the night she chose to share it. Maybe it’s -the boy from a foreign land, that no one will say hi to, or the child behind the computer screen, the one they call a ‘geek’. The girl who never wears the right clothes, or knows the right thing to say, deciding instead to hide while others snub her. These are the eyes we fail to meet, they represent parts of our world we were raised to believe improper, less than perfect. So I only ask one question of those who choose to ‘read this, why? oe