In front of the entire school, Tad and Jim, the two biggest kids in seventh grade, lifted me by my nipples and slammed me into the lockers.
There I was, hung up in the shop front window, on display for hundreds of kids to ridicule my nerdy short shorts the envy of John Stockton, and my scrawny legs that flamingos mocked.
The intention was to humiliate me. And it worked.
I was not scared for my physical safety, but, high up as I was, my already low social capital sunk to deeper depths.
I felt ashamed and embarrassed, filled with a profound resentment and anger that I could not address.
Kids walked by and laughed. Some casually. Some uproariously. No one said or did anything to help me.
I recovered from the incident and moved on with my awkward middle school life. As soon as my mom could afford them, she bought me a pair of longer, more stylish shorts.
I wore them every day for the rest of the year.
We've all, at some point, felt excluded, targeted, or othered for how we look, dress, or speak. For the religion we practice, the food we eat, the people we love, the color of our skin...
These experiences stay with us. They aren't confined to twelve-year-olds in the middle school halls either. Adults in the corporate halls experience them too.
This is why we do the work.