When I was in grade two, life was not good. I was small. I wore coke-bottle-bottom glasses. My mother insisted in dressing me in clothes that were completely different from the rest of the kids, and I had a brush-cut when every other kid had long hair. I was painfully different. And some other kids knew that. And they preyed on that.
I was beat up, tormented, called names. I was called a "fag" even before I knew what that was. It was hell...