It Happened To Me: I Grieved My Bully 35 Years After Her Death

I wished she'd leave me alone, but I never wished her dead

This is me at my grown-up writing desk—with my framed punk flyers in the background.

Note from Me/Jane: I love Shawna's story. I also love how each It Happened To Me submission that comes in has its own completely unique tone and format, and I intentionally don't change a word of any of them. I asked Shawna one question for clarification for this one and that was it. So if you want to send your IHTM story to me at jane@anotherjaneprattthing.com, you can also receive my complete editorial respect - as well as fame and glory and $50!

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By Shawna Kenney

There was a skinhead girl who wanted to fight me back in the late 80s. She was short, with a dark brown fringe cut called The Chelsea crowning her tiny stature. For a while she’d just glare at me from afar at shows, until one night at DC Space she and three other skin-chicks deliberately bumped against my friend Pam and me at the edge of the mosh pit. We were punk gals with badly bleached hair who made zines and wore oversized band t-shirts. Pam had just had back surgery, so I felt extra defensive and glared back.

This is one of the only pics of me and Pam together, from 1988--and of course one of us punks defaced it!

I should mention that I am a lifelong Grudgemaster. Cross me, then apologize, and I am quick to forgive; hurt someone I love…I know it’s bad for my health, but I will never forget. I am not proud of this. It is just a fact. What is that they say about “holding a grudge is like drinking poison, hoping the other person will die?”

We tried ignoring the gang of girls, but they followed us outside, and then a male friend drunkenly diffused the situation. I probably looked calm but was terrified—other than a few face-slapping, hair-pulling extravaganzas with my little sister while fighting over the phone in our pre-teens, I’d never been in a fight with anyone.