In this 2011 revised edition, Please Stop Laughing at Us...One Woman's Inspirational Story Continues includes the same powerful message that Blanco is respected and known for, with new material, including strategy guides for parents and educators, new material, including a Q&A for parents and educators, updated information on university bullying in light of recent news events, and a touching epilogue.
Please Stop Laughing at Us...is the story of America's rejected and bullied students from the perspective of the one person with unprecedented access to the truth about what's going on in our schools. Blanco exposes both the strengths and vulnerabilities of a nation too clouded by rhetoric and self-defense to understand what really needs to be done.
In this 2011 revised edition, Please Stop Laughing at Us...One Woman's Inspirational Story Continues includes the same powerful message that Blanco is respected and known for, with new material, including strategy guides for parents and educators, new material, including a Q&A for parents and educators, updated information on university bullying in light of recent news events, and a touching epilogue.
Please Stop Laughing at Us...is the story of America's rejected and bullied students from the perspective of the one person with unprecedented access to the truth about what's going on in our schools. Blanco exposes both the strengths and vulnerabilities of a nation too clouded by rhetoric and self-defense to understand what really needs to be done.
Please Stop Laughing at Us... (Revised Edition): The Sequel to the New York Times Bestseller Please Stop Laughing at Me...
504
Please Stop Laughing at Us... (Revised Edition): The Sequel to the New York Times Bestseller Please Stop Laughing at Me...
504eBookRevised (Revised)
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Overview
In this 2011 revised edition, Please Stop Laughing at Us...One Woman's Inspirational Story Continues includes the same powerful message that Blanco is respected and known for, with new material, including strategy guides for parents and educators, new material, including a Q&A for parents and educators, updated information on university bullying in light of recent news events, and a touching epilogue.
Please Stop Laughing at Us...is the story of America's rejected and bullied students from the perspective of the one person with unprecedented access to the truth about what's going on in our schools. Blanco exposes both the strengths and vulnerabilities of a nation too clouded by rhetoric and self-defense to understand what really needs to be done.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781936661374 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | BenBella Books, Inc. |
| Publication date: | 09/13/2011 |
| Sold by: | SIMON & SCHUSTER |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 504 |
| File size: | 501 KB |
About the Author
Blanco is a respected motivational speaker, crisis management consultant, and expert witness in the areas of school violence, peer abuse, and adult bullying. She has presented her acclaimed in-school anti-bullying program, It's NOT Just Joking Around!™, to over 500,000 students, teachers, and parents nationwide, and her expertise and testimony have appeared in Newsweek, USA Today, CNN, NBC, FOX, NPR, Parade, The Chicago Tribune, and Oprah.com.
Jodee Blanco, as a survivor and activist, is one of America's pre-eminent voices on the subject of bullying. She is the author of The New York Times bestselling memoir, Please Stop Laughing At Me . . . One Woman's Inspirational Story, which inspired countless bullying victims of all ages to eagerly reclaim their lives and dignity. In response to audiences, Blanco's award-winning sequel, Please Stop Laughing at Us . . . One Survivor's Extraordinary Quest to Prevent School Bullying, provides bullying advice and solutions against the backdrop of her personal and professional journey from the bullied party to America's most sought after anti-bullying activist.
Blanco is a respected motivational speaker, crisis management consultant, and expert witness in the areas of school violence, peer abuse, and adult bullying. She has presented her acclaimed in-school anti-bullying program, It's NOT Just Joking Around!™, to over 500,000 students, teachers, and parents nationwide, and her expertise and testimony have appeared in Newsweek, USA Today, CNN, NBC, FOX, NPR, Parade, The Chicago Tribune, and Oprah.com.
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
The Wounded Healer
October 2004
I don't think I can do this anymore. What was I thinking going public with my story? When I wrote my memoir Please Stop Laughing at Me ..., chronicling my years as the school outcast and how I survived, all I wanted to do was give kids hope and adults insight. Now, two years later, the reality of what I've gotten myself into is beginning to dawn....
I'm standing in front of the mirror putting on makeup in a hotel room in a town somewhere in California whose name I can't remember. I'm scheduled to speak at a middle school in one hour. The rock group Styx calls asking me to be the publicity consultant for their historic comeback tour. For a moment, I'm tempted. I'm drained and disoriented. This is my fifth speaking engagement in a week. Three thousand thirteen-year-olds, half a dozen camera crews, and several newspaper reporters and photographers will be jammed into a gymnasium for my ninety-minute presentation, followed by a thirty-minute Q&A. Immediately after, I have another student seminar, an afternoon teacher workshop and autographing, several hours scheduled in between for one-on-one sessions with students in crisis, and then a family seminar in the evening that's open to the public, after which I'll likely have families who will want to talk with me privately. I'm often asked why I stay past midnight holding parents' hands, why I don't leave. It's because I remember the hell that my own mom and dad suffered, and what they would have given for advice from someone who had been there before and had answers.
I wish this day was over. I've been on the road for twenty months, reenacting my worst memories of being tormented and shunned by my peers simply for being different. I don't recount my past. I resurrect it, letting audiences experience with me the hurt and humiliation my classmates put me through. The technique is effective. In gyms and auditoriums all across the country, lonely, ostracized students, many of whom have also isolated themselves from adults, are finally asking for support. School bullies come forward after they hear me speak, seeking forgiveness from their victims and promising to reform. For me, that's the ultimate triumph.
It's so satisfying, knowing I'm getting through to these kids, but I'm worried that it's taking too much of a toll on me personally. I try to visualize a box. Sealed inside it are the darkest emotions from my adolescence. Immediately before every speech, while I'm waiting offstage to be introduced, I say a prayer. God, what I'm about to do is hard. Please don't let it be for nothing. Help me get to those who need this message the most. Then I rip open the box and unleash the toxins inside. When my talk is over, I take a deep breath, suck all that rage and fear back into the box, and put it away until next time. ...
I understand that what I'm doing is a form of emotional suicide. But these kids trust me because they recognize that my experience is authentic, that I'm not some adult up there faking it, pretending to understand but not having a clue. As I continue putting on my face, I realize the person staring back at me in the mirror isn't the confident forty-year-old woman I've worked so hard to become but that insecure sixteen-year-old girl I used to be in 1980. I thought I had laid her to rest two years ago at my twentieth high school reunion. It appears she has returned with a vengeance. My stomach is in my throat, because I'm scared I'll get hit with another dead pig in biology class. I'm worried those girls from gym will beat me up in the parking lot. What if the boys sitting in the back of the school bus dip the spitballs in glue like they did on the field trip?
It's as if I'm having one of those dreams where you know you're dreaming but you can't wake up. And yet it all feels so real. I must remind myself that today is Friday, October 14, 2004. Those things happened twenty-five years ago. My mind is just playing tricks on me, blurring the line that separates the past from the present.
If I keep on dredging up bad memories for a living, I'm damaging myself. But if I take the easy route and walk away, what about all the kids I might have been able to help who will continue to be damaged, or worse? What kind of a choice is that? No matter what I decide, someone loses.
Where is my sense of self-preservation, not to mention what I'm doing to my family and friends, and to Mitch? I've waited my entire life for a great guy like him. It'll kill me if I lose him. But how can I expect Mitch to put up with someone who's always out of town, and who's strung out emotionally the little time she is home? So far, I only get these flashbacks when I'm in the middle of a particularly intense tour week. It's like being abducted by my past. When it does occur, I'm held hostage for only short periods. But what happens when these unpredictable episodes linger even after I've returned from the road? I love Mitch, and it's not his fault that we're former classmates. But seeing his face when I'm in that vulnerable state makes me scared for both of us. I've already gotten glimpses of it running toward Mitch at the airport, then hesitating before I fall into his arms. How can our relationship grow under those circumstances?
I feel like the recovering rape victim/advocate who has to talk to strangers all day long about being raped and then go home and make love to her husband, with that vivid reminder present in their bed. It would be impossible for something like that not to affect a person. Though my purpose is noble, it's depleting having to constantly relive all that pain.
I can't do this anymore. I'll end up a shadow of myself. Besides, who says I have to save the world? Other people turn a blind eye once in a while and lead perfectly normal lives. They don't beat themselves up because they pretended not to see that stray dog while they were driving home, or convinced themselves that it probably wasn't lost anyway, and even if it was, someone would find it. They don't lose sleep because they laughed at a joke in the office that was made at someone else's expense. No. They just live their lives. They watch the news and feel bad just like everyone else when they see the footage of mothers mourning their sons killed in battle in Iraq, or the images of starving children in some godforsaken place that they couldn't even find on a map. Why can't I be like them? I don't want to be me anymore. I don't want to have to choose between saving someone else and saving myself. I'm tired of having all this stupid compassion. Why can't I shut it off?
"Hey, Jodee, he likes you the best. You do it," A.J. demands.
"No way. We'll get caught!" I cry, desperate to wiggle out of this one.
It was the middle of seventh grade. I was the new student. I hadn't fit in at my previous school, or the one before that. I was terrified of being rejected again.
"There's still five minutes before he returns from break. Come on," everyone urges.
The bell was about to ring. We were waiting for our teacher, Mr. Bufert, to walk through the door. Mr. Bufert had a chronic skin condition that made his scalp flake. He was self-conscious about it and only wore white shirts to school so the dandruff would be less noticeable. Shy and awkward, Mr. Bufert was a loner who bore the scars of someone who had been laughed at most of his life. The only place he felt that he belonged was in his classroom working with his beloved students. His face would light up every time he saw us.
"Jodee, it's just a prank. It's no big deal," Jim prompts, his eyes twinkling.
I can do this, I think, trying to convince myself. Mr. Bufert has a good sense of humor. His feelings won't be hurt. Stop feeling so guilty. Remember what Jim said: "Nobody likes a wuss."
"A.J., I'll stand lookout in the hall, and you do it," I whisper, the knot in my stomach belying my confidence.
Realizing that time is running out, A.J. agrees.
Five minutes later, our deed done, A.J. nonchalantly addresses Mr. Bufert as he enters the room. "Do you have our papers from last week? I'm anxious to see my grade," she gushes.
"Certainly, A.J. I wasn't going to pass them out until the end of class, but since you're so eager, we can do it now," he replies, pleased to see such enthusiasm over a homework assignment.
As he reaches into his briefcase, he suddenly stops, looking puzzled. Giggles explode from the back of the room.
"I can't stand the suspense," A.J. whispers in my ear, excited. I want to throw up, but just keep right on smiling. ...
"What's this?" Mr. Bufert asks, shaking his head, holding up the blue-and-white bottle of Head & Shoulders shampoo. "I give you people extra credit if you bring a joke into class, not for making a joke out of someone," he says, his voice weak with humiliation and shock. He suddenly realizes that his beloved students don't adore him at all — they disdain him.
I wanted to crawl inside a foxhole and die. Everyone in class thought I was so cool. Why couldn't I just revel in it? The truth stank. It was either be liked by everyone but hate yourself, or respect yourself and be hated by everyone. I didn't know how much longer I could keep up this charade. Eventually my classmates would figure out that my "coolness" was an act. I was so tired of pretending to be someone I wasn't but it was still better than being the school outcast again. Life was a balance. Finding that balance was proving to be an arduous proposition.
What's different now? The truth still stinks! If I do what's right and continue this personal crusade against bullying, I'll be doing harm to myself, but if I don't, I'll end up hating myself. What if there is no balance to be found? Is this the paradox of every victim turned activist, always being torn between wanting to change lives and needing to survive your own? Does the battered wife who opens a shelter for other abused women, the recovering alcoholic who becomes an AA sponsor, or the breast cancer survivor who dedicates her life to fighting for a cure ever become burnt out? Are any of them wondering if they made a mistake, too, and that they're paying too high a price? Or do they accept the course of their destiny and somehow find the strength to continue? What if I don't have that ability?
I try to focus on some of the wonderful moments I've had on the road: seeing a bully apologize to an outcast as I'm walking past on my way out of the building; receiving a hug from a teacher who confesses that she was going to quit today but changed her mind when she overheard the most popular girl in her class invite her loneliest student to a sleepover; having a mom approach me after my evening seminar to thank me for helping her to understand more deeply what her child is going through; meeting a lunchroom attendant who tells me she was stunned this afternoon when a group of students from the "cool" table walked around the cafeteria asking kids who were sitting alone to join them. Her words remain etched in my memory: "Everyone is still talking about it."
"Your book has given so many students hope," commented one tearful mom at my family seminar last night. "I made all the mistakes you talked about, and now I finally know how I can help my kids," a school counselor whispered in my ear as I signed a copy of my book for her. "My daughter insisted that I come," said an emotional father. "This is the first time she's wanted me to be with her for any kind of event, let alone one at school."
How did I get into this mess? I understand boundaries, but I don't know how to erect them. Every time a lonely, confused child opens up to me, all I want to do is comfort them, and love their confusion away. That would be OK if it was only a few kids here and there. But I'm dealing with thousands of kids every week. And it isn't just bullies and their victims who reach out to me on tour. Victims of domestic abuse, molestation, incest, and other acts of cruelty confide in me, often admitting that I'm the only adult they've ever opened up to. Sometimes, at the end of a day, my shirt is damp with students' tears. A reporter once asked me why I wear so much black. It's because it hides the makeup stains.
I close my eyes and envision Barb. It was one of the first schools I ever spoke at. I had just finished my eighth consecutive student seminar that day when this beautiful, lanky brunette approached me in tears.
"Please, can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked, looking down.
"Of course," I responded.
"Thank you for coming today," she said. "You helped me see things so differently. Since my mom died, I haven't had anyone to really talk to."
By now, she was crying hard. I felt helpless. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her as tightly as I could, letting her know that everything was going to be all right. Then I gave her my e-mail address and encouraged her to stay in touch. Later that afternoon, one of the faculty members at the school came up to me. She explained that she was Barb's homeroom teacher and that she saw Barb and me embracing earlier.
"It appears your talk really touched my student," she commented.
"I know what it's like to be rejected and teased, and I was honored to give her that love and support," I said.
"Rejected? You think Barb is an outcast?" her teacher asked. "She's in the popular crowd, and one of the worst bullies at school. I'm stunned you were able to reach her."
* * *
I've got to pull myself together and stop being such a martyr. I've worked hard to get to this point. I should be overjoyed at everything that's happening, not having second thoughts.
Why can't I snap out of this? Eileen, my manager, is going to be here any minute to pick me up and I'm a wreck. How am I going to get through today? I'm still trying to erase yesterday's memories.
"I knew I shouldn't have done it," said the petite blue-eyed blonde. A high school junior, she had requested time alone with me.
"What did you do?" I asked.
"I never got invited to anything. I was so lonely, and he promised if I gave it to him he'd bring me to events and stuff, and get all the popular kids to warm up to me. I wanted to believe that he could like me," she said, crying.
"Honey, look at me," I said, grabbing hold of both her hands, and squeezing them tightly. "Tell me what you gave him."
"My virginity," she answered, avoiding looking directly at me. "When his parents were away for the weekend, I went over to his house. He had candles lit and music playing. It seemed perfect. Then, while we were, you know, in the middle of it, I heard somebody in the other room. Suddenly, a bunch of his friends burst in and started laughing at me, yelling, 'Stupid slut, like any of us would ever hang out with you.'"
My heart ached for this girl. I wanted to scream until there was nothing left in me. "Do your parents know?" I asked.
"No. I'm too ashamed to tell them, because they've been so proud that I'm a 'good girl.' I'm afraid this will just destroy them."
"How can I help?"
"They're coming to your seminar tonight. Can you help me tell them?"
Another student, at another school later in the day ...
"I'll blow this school up," he said, enraged. Comely, with piercing blue eyes and wavy blond hair, he looked more like a California surfer than a high school student.
"Why are you so angry?" I asked. "Why do you want to destroy the school?"
"I think I might be gay. There's a few of us here — you know, gays and lesbians? We take so much abuse, and not just from other kids but from adults, too. It sucks. I asked the principal if we could start a Gay and Lesbian Club. They have one at my cousin's school. Anyway, the principal said we couldn't and to keep my filthy secret to myself."
"I'm sorry." I responded. "That principal was wrong. I'll talk to him. But you know that violence will only make this worse. Do your parents know you're gay?"
"Yeah, right — my dad? No way. I want to tell my mom, but she's already dealing with so much. She's depressed, takes these pills for it, but they make her kind of out of it, you know? Can I maybe just e-mail you once in a while, when I need to talk?"
"Sure," I answered, handing him my e-mail address. By now, a throng of kids had gathered, and were waiting in line to see me. Some wanted hugs, others a sympathetic ear, others specific advice. It was the same at every school. Their parents were either too wrapped up in their own lives or had stupidly concluded that bullying was just a normal part of growing up. How could anyone assume cruelty is normal? As I was talking with the kids, I noticed the principal standing at the other end of the gym, patiently waiting. As soon as the bell rang and they dispersed for class, he approached.
"I see you've made an impact here," he observed.
"Yes, I think so."
"I saw you talking to that gay kid earlier," he said. "I hope you didn't encourage him. I know he gets teased a lot here, but maybe it'll do him some good, make him rethink things."
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Please Stop Laughing at Us ... (Revised Edition)"
by .
Copyright © 2011 Jodee Blanco.
Excerpted by permission of BenBella Books, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Dedication,
Acknowledgments,
Introduction,
one The Wounded Healer,
two The Rebirth,
three Learning to Walk in Different Shoes,
four The Adult Survivor?,
five The Real Versus The Surreal,
six Out of Control,
seven The Little General,
eight It's Not Just Joking Around!,
nine Revelations,
ten A Twist of Fate,
eleven A Soldier Returns to the Place of Battle,
twelve Our Maiden Voyage,
thirteen Everything Old Is New Again,
fourteen An Unexpected Epiphany,
fifteen The Toughest Audience of All,
sixteen If They Would Have Known Then,
seventeen The Moment of Truth,
eighteen Desperate Parents,
nineteen Slammed,
twenty The Wounded Healer Reconsiders,
twenty-one Dorothy's Rainbow,
Epilogue,
Addendum,
Educator Q&A,
Parent Q&A,
University Q&A,
Resources,
Program Title: It's NOT Just Joking AroundTM,
About Jodee Blanco,
Glossary of Key Terms,
Letters,