Every day, I see judgment. In a high school, judgment is as common as complaints about teachers, dress code violations, and cell phone use during class. It seems to be ceaseless.

“Who dresses like that?”

“Look who she’s eating lunch with.”

“Yeah, he’s going to prom with a guy.”

“Loser.”

“Freak.”

“Queer.”

I must admit, a few of these phrases have come out of my mouth at some point or another. I am not by any means proud of it because it really is not fair to label someone based on their appearance, actions, sexual orientation, background, interests, or any other reason. Every day, I make a conscious effort to be respectful to everyone I encounter. I believe that every individual should be treated with love and kindness, no matter what.

My freshman year was an interesting year, to say the least. It was my first year of high school, and I knew it would be unlike anything I had encountered at school thus far. What I did not anticipate, however, was the effect a group of individuals would have on my life and my perspective: the drama kids. Having been a performer all my life, auditioning for the play was a natural course of action. After seeing all the fun my older brother had being in the shows and making new friends, I was excited and optimistic. I’d finally get to be in an environment with kids who had the same passion for the theater that I did. Little did I know, the drama club wasn’t only comprised of actors, but also of kids who helped backstage. These were kids who had not the slightest genuine interest in theater. No, the tech people, as they were referred to, were kids who had nothing better to do after school. They were socially awkward, strange, and obviously unworthy of my friendship. I’m not going to lie. I was stuck-up. All it took was one look, and I resolved to never speak to the girl with pink hair or the weird boy donning goggles and suspenders. What changed? One day, I had a conversation, albeit an unwanted one, with the suspender-kid. His name was Scott. By most people’s standards, Scott was beyond strange. He was the type of kid you would instantly label as a freak and then forget about. But slowly, Scott’s kind and friendly nature began to chip away at the title I’d mentally assigned to him. With time, I began to see him as a person. A person with hopes and dreams, fears and insecurities, just like the rest of us. If anything, I gained respect for him. The amount of courage it takes to truly be yourself in high school is often unheard of. The fact that I’d originally been so hostile to him now made me feel ashamed. I still feel that it took me too long to learn that Scott, as well as all the other members of the drama club, deserved no less kindness than the conformist teenagers I was used to hanging around with. Unfortunately, these kids are victimized because their individuality paints a target on their backs, inviting judgment and ridicule. All this over things as trivial as goggles and suspenders.

Almost as influential for me as the characters that made up the drama club were the characters in what is considered one of the most significant books of all time: To Kill a Mockingbird. Reading this book in ninth grade in combination with the lesson I learned in drama seemed to be a big flashing sign in the darkness of my closed-mindedness. Anyone who has read this unparalleled piece of literature would say that possibly the foremost idea found within its pages is its admonishment of judgment. It seems that almost every character in the novel is condemned or criticized at some point: Scout for her tomboy tendencies, Atticus for defending a black man, Tom Robinson for his skin color, even Mayella Ewell for her pitiable lifestyle. Most would agree that Mayella is an antagonist in the story but also a rather sympathetic character at times. She may have committed a heinous act of injustice that would ultimately be responsible for the death of an innocent man, but I understand what brought her to that point. Her quality of life was unfortunate at best. She was constantly berated and abused by her father, effectively wearing away whatever shred of goodness she might have possessed. She had no qualms about accusing Tom Robinson of raping her because it was considered acceptable to do so in the environment she was brought up in. It was not her fault she was born into such dreadful conditions. Atticus was aware of this and was never anything but kind and respectful towards her. In an ideal world, everyone would behave in a similar manner to this literary hero, understanding that everyone has a story, a reason they are the way they are. This novel made me realize that I believe, with conviction, that no one is born with an inherent desire to be cruel. Consider the pure innocence of a newborn, and tell me you disagree. Even if a baby was born evil, would that be his or her fault? I don’t’ know why bad exists, but I do believe that it is contagious. The only way to stop such a plague is to meet hate with love and treat all the Mayella’s of the world like Atticus would.

It seemed that some kind of force, God, the Universe, fate, whatever you want to call it, was really trying to get this message of acceptance through my head that year. Freshman year was also the year that Shelly turned into a whore. Shelly was one of my best friends in the entire world. I loved her in the way that only a best friend can. I still do. I wasn’t the only one that seemed to feel a particular fondness for her. Our first year in high school, Shelly met Jack, a senior who I did not particularly care for. He was a rather unsavory individual, not even having broken up with his long-standing girlfriend while the two of them were involved. Still, I did not voice my uneasiness, as I trusted my friend to use her own discretion. This turned out to be a colossal mistake. A few weeks later, I began to hear rumors. Rumors that didn’t exactly cast Shelly in a respectable light, shall we say. I pulled away from her, furious that she would do something so foolish. If that wasn’t bad enough, she was going around telling everyone about it, almost as if she was proud. It seemed that she was bragging to everyone but me, no doubt worried that I would be disappointed in her. I was. Tremendously so. I turned on her. I gossiped about her with my other friends behind her back while remaining distantly friendly in person. Then, one day at choir rehearsal, I noticed that Shelly was in tears. I asked her if she wanted to talk about it, more out of a sense of polite obligation than actual concern. To my dismay, she nodded. We went out into the hallway. For about a full ten minutes, I just sat and witnessed her completely break down. It was at that moment that I stopped seeing a friend who had betrayed me. I saw a girl who was broken. She told me about how Jack was being verbally abusive to her, how guys were all trying to take advantage of her, and how all her friends had deserted her. There were even legal issues because Jack was eighteen. At that point, I still could’ve turned my back on her suffering. She made her choices, and now it was time for her to live with the consequences. However, I knew that Shelly didn’t ruin her reputation and her life for no reason. Shelly’s past was shadowed with mistreatment and abuse at the hands of the opposite gender, and I knew her acting out was a direct result of all the male-related hardships she’d endured. I’m not justifying her actions, but I don’t think she was completely to blame for how things had turned out. Where minutes ago I’d felt contempt and judgment, was now only sympathy. I knew if there was a time when Shelly needed my friendship and support, it was now. I told her as such, and I could see the relief come crashing over her tear-streaked face. To this day, I feel that I owe Shelly as much as she owes me. Months ago, I’d thought that withholding judgment was a principle only applied to strangers, but Shelly taught me that you should grant your loved ones the same privilege, unconditionally. True friends hold you up even when it seems like your entire world is crashing down around you.

It makes me sick to see cruelty, especially when people attempt to justify it. Some people believe that their hatred is acceptable as long as they have a reason. This is why mistreatment is cyclical. Most everyone has heard the saying “An eye for an eye makes the whole world go blind.” If we all treat our fellow man well, we might be able to, one day, stop this recurring malice. To put it simply, if your actions are derived from anything but pure goodness, you need to adjust your behavior. This is an ideal I will stand up passionately for. Someone needs to be the voice of the love and acceptance we are all trying so desperately to find.