A lone third grader stood amidst a plethora of activity and children. Watching her peers dance and play and jump and run and bounce around her, she stood still wondering how she could possibly join in. Just last week she had tried to play a game of basketball with other kids from her class, and though they hadn't outright told her to leave, they made their intentions clear. She was lucky if she got close to the worn basketball, let alone touch it. Granted, she knew she was a horrible athlete. Abysmal in fact. But it was only a third grader's pick up game, and it was only for fifteen minutes during the afternoon recess, she had thought maybe her classmates would overlook the fact she had stumpy legs, and ragged breathing, and frantic arms.

And here she was now, not even considering being put through the experience of third grade basketball again, but all the same - wanting to participate. Later this moment would unshelve itself making this memory distinct in the many that led to her anxiety. In the deluge of memories about being left out, and being made to feel less than she was, this singular moment would define them all. For in so many opportunities as there were games being played, she could not bring herself to join any of them.

Ahead was the latest basketball game. To her right hopscotch, and to her left four square. Behind her was tetherball, and up the hill on the playground looked to be a game of tag. This isn't taking into account the numerous games children play out of sight: on the baseball diamond was a violent game of kickball, a group of students had gathered in the grass to play charades, and another group, sixth graders, simply lay in the grass resting from the vocabulary test they had just taken. If only she could join even the first graders, playing tetherball, if only she could ignore the social paralysis she couldn't yet define, then maybe she wouldn't dread the next recess.

In the classroom her fear wasn't less. It was only masked. It was easy to pretend you belonged with everyone else when you were all doing the same activity. Using construction paper to make maps of the country, or working on the latest reading assignment, or perhaps using paper mache to make an ash tray for your parents - everyone in the room had a common goal. There wasn't outright competition for attention from other students, there wasn't a battle (however apparent) for friends. It was simply building a childhood artifact or learning your one lesson for the day. And yet still in the classroom, she knew she didn't belong with the rest of the children. Sure, she took refuge in the fact that the teacher was there and that the teacher seemed to appreciate her and that the teacher seemed to care enough to say that her ash try or map or reading had improved from yesterday. But every child in every classroom knows the validation and appreciation from their peers is further reaching and much more lasting than the acknowledgement of a job well done from the teacher that year.

She still heard the backwards comments about her hand me down jeans her brother used to wear. Or her miscut hair, a style she thought was just easier to deal with than the extravagant styles other girls wore. She still felt the glares and sneers from her neighbors, teasing her about her odd story about her dog. When the students threw spit balls at her she felt them hit her back though she continued to stare straight ahead. And when her peers chased her from the room when it was too cold to go outside, she waited alone in the library for class to begin again.

So why would she want the encouragement and validation from these very kids who made it hard every day to go to school? Because she knew that if she was one of them, then her life would be easier. She would be prettier, and she would be more outgoing, and she would be more stylish, and she would be smarter, and she would be everything she wanted to be - if only she belonged with this one group. What these children knew was that they had the complete power to make her life miserable, or to make it great. And because she didn't belong, because she didn't fit the roles that they deemed necessary, they chose to make it miserable. The memory of these children will haunt her for the rest of her life, well into her twenties and thirties. The actions of these children will continue to paralyze her regardless of the absurdity she will see in it all.

This lone third grader standing amidst a dizzying amount of activity wants desparate to be able to play with them. Instead she stands alone, knowing that it's her place, and waits for the whistle to blow to go inside and become distracted with the next lesson. And later she will go home and tell her mom about her day, and go upstairs to read some more or watch some more TV. And tomorrow she will wait again on the blacktop, waiting to see if she can yet join in with the only people she knows to exist in her little world.

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