Fourteen year old Jamey Rodemeyer from western New York has allegedly killed himself as result of bullying and harassment over his sexuality. At a school dance attended by his sister who had just been to his wake, the dance organizers played his favorite song in his memory. Some of the students present chanted, “better off dead”.

Remember when you were a kid and someone said something mean? You’d report it to your parent, your teacher, whoever and you always got the same line. “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” It’s a lie.

I was bullied as a kid. I committed the same crime as Jamey. Not homosexuality, the bigger crime. I was different. I was the only kid in my school who didn’t have electricity, or running water, or a phone. We didn’t have a lot of money, so most of my clothes were hand-me-downs. No electricity meant I didn’t watch sports, or the newest hit TV shows.

Yep, I was different, and some of my fellow students let me know every chance they got. I’m here to tell you, those words hurt. I’ve had my nose broken, my jaw dislocated, and been beat down once or twice. All of those injuries healed up and faded one hell of a lot faster than the hits my psyche took.

My parents and teachers were a product of their time. The stock answer was “Sticks and stones…..hurt me.” My Dad’s preferred answer was to stop whining about it and stand up for myself. My Mom was sympathetic, but pretty much followed Dad’s line of “Beat up the bullies and they’ll leave you alone.” Not the most helpful advice ever. Mostly because I weighed eighty pounds, but also because beating someone up because they said something mean tended to have repercussions.

I’ll be honest, there was a while when I thought it would be preferable to be dead than to endure another day of it. But I managed to endure it. I built myself a mental hole, crawled into it, and I stayed there. I’ve spent the last twenty years digging my way out again.

I can understand why Jamey did what he did. Sometimes it gets to be too much. There’s no way to fight back. There’s no where to go. There’s no consequences for your tormentors. Dead is the only out. At least right then. Later, with a different perspective, I understand some of my other options. Jamey will never have that luxury.

But the truth is, Jamey didn’t take his own life. He was killed. As surely as if they put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. He was killed by every person who called him “fag“, or “queer“, or “girly girl“. He was killed by every person who heard them and didn’t call them out on it. He was killed by the guidance counselor who’s helpful advice was,”Stop spending time with girls.” He was killed by a society that allows bullying. A society that celebrates the cult of popularity where if you aren’t popular, you’re nothing.

He was killed by a society that allows students at a school function attended by Jamey’s sister to chant “better off dead”, and one student gets suspended.

He was killed by a society where it’s okay to make a fourteen year old boys life a living hell. He was killed by OUR society, where different is too often a synonym for victim. Where different is too often deadly.

Cheers, Winston