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Cindy Ly
Mrs. Manugo
English 111
October 4, 2016
The Chink
It was in first grade when I first felt that other students were treating me unequally. However, at the time
I was seven years old, so I didnt understand or realize the seriousness of being bullied. My classmates would
often make racially insulting slurs and blame their troubling situations on me. When they saw me, sometimes
they would squint and over-stretch the corners of their eyes, revealing nothing but a line. I would often tell
them, Stop, youre going to mess up your eyes one day! not realizing that they actually made fun of my race.
They would also shout, Hey Ching Chong! or minimize to a whisper when an adult was around. Ive always
wondered why they called me that, was it a new nickname? Despite these taunts, lunchtime eventually molded
me into the seemingly untrustworthy, class troublemaker.
During lunch, my class sat in three separate circular tables; each table had three different colored party
cups, green, yellow, and red. The rule stated that if a table became too loud, the color of the cups would be
changed from green to yellow - as a warning, then yellow to red - to be silenced. As a seven year old, the worse
thing that could happen is getting a red cup! The red cup symbolized the table as the bad kids. For lunch, I
brought my ethnic cuisine foods to eat, such as rice, meat, and Asian vegetables. Every so often, the people
sitting next to me, whom I regarded as friends at the time would often ask, Are you eating dog? or Ewe,
what is that?! Being the oblivious, passive aggressive kid, I would often reply with, Lunch, Food, or Are
you blind? Unfortunately, one day an agitating tomboy heavily rejected my responses. She took my food and
pretended to throw it out which caused me to scream, Nooo! Consequentially, the lunch monitor came by and
put a red cup on the table, disregarding the yellow cup. I tried to explain my unintentional scream, but my

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whole table lied and blamed the situation on me. Once I returned to class, my teacher presented me with a
behavior chart. I was in shock. Why me? I asked as I tried to explain to the teacher what happened, but the
chart was unavoidable.
The behavior chart stuck with me like glue for the rest of the year. Ironically, glue intertwines with one
of my worst unintentional behaviors ever. Everyone in class excitedly created a Valentines Day craft out of
paper and glue. On the other hand, my friend started having too much fun and put the glue on her hands;
allowed it dry, then slowly ripped off the layer of glue from her skin like she was peeling fruit. Suddenly, she
decided to slap a lump of glue on my arm. The cold, gooey, milk colored substance oozing down my arm
revolted me. Then, I had the idea of revenge and pressed a wad of glue on my friends arm. Ahhh sweet
revenge, too bad she wore long sleeves today, I thought to myself. However, it was that instance I rubbed the
glue on my friends sleeve, I heard a loud clunk and clutter from my teachers metal desk. My teacher bolted out
of her desk, marched toward me, and yanked me out of my seat. Why did you do that?! my teacher hollered. I
proceeded to calmly tell her what happened, but my friend who was still in la-la-land did not realize what
happened and the two shaken kids, who sat in front of me, did not want to provide testimony. Without notice,
my teacher grabbed my arm and forcibly dragged me out the class all the way to the teachers lounge.
Confused and scared, I timidly asked the teacher, Why are we in the teachers lounge? Youre lying
Cindy, Im calling home! the teacher yelled. Call home? She cant call home! I feverishly thought to myself.
I replied with a What in the world? a phrase my teacher often used but she took this the wrong way, and
she murderously dialed the numbers for home. I started to beg, No! Hang up! I didnt lie! Petrified and
frustrated, I realized the history of my behavior chart wasnt going to help defend my case at all. I start to sob as
she finished her call. The feeling of defeat overwhelmed me and regret of plotting revenge drowned my eyes.
It was at this point I realized I felt out of place. I took on the taunts, slurs, and blame, and I felt like I
didnt have a voice. My experience of being the first grade troublemaker led me to truly grasp the meaning of
discrimination in the future, and I started to defend myself from being bullied from then on.