

At my disgusting (in hindsight) highschool the poor got bullied. So everyone tried their best to appear “middle class”. Stupid as fuck, but i heard worse stories from other schools.
I remember being bullied and being called “the genius”, sometimes genuinely by adults, and most of the time sarcastically by other kids. To clarify, the exact alias used was “عبقرينو” (which is the Arabic name for the Disney character Gyro Gearloose), and I used to hate it. It affected my behaviour because I had to mask and adjust my image in order to avoid the moment where I answer questions so thoroughly or ask for clarifications that demonstrate genuine insight that caused my teachers to point me out as an exemplar amongst my classes, because that’s what starts the bullying cycle.
Now here one could argue that bullying is a purely negative experience that should never ever be allowed to happen; or look at this thread and realise how much I’ve been shaped by that experience and see me smiling at this very moment as I reminisce on those days. Both views are valid, and both evoke a different perspective separated by 3 decades. But only the latter considers how life itself can be a teacher, and how it pressed an intelligent vessel into the required shape to hold wisdom.
I do not regret or resent those experiences now. I used to, but not anymore.



Until it’s not. Until there are more poor but well-educated parents who educate their children in turn.
In Arabic, we have a word with no direct English equivalent: tarbiya (تربية). I think the closest translation might be “custodianship of upbringing,” but it describes the dynamics of learning rather than the mechanics. It’s a bidirectional process (though not everyone will admit that)—it doesn’t just teach children how to solve a specific problem; it teaches them how to develop their own way of tackling an unfamiliar one.