From Being Bullied to Singing on Stage

How doing one thing I loved most literally saved my life.

It began in the third grade. I don't remember the exact incident that triggered it, but I clearly remember the outcome--many of my classmates took turns beating me up.
I was a small, thin, shy, and sensitive boy. I recall walking to my teacher in tears, humiliated, insulted, and hurting. It started with one kid, and then, like dominoes falling, others joined in. I felt hated, isolated, and confused. I didn't know what I had done to deserve it. What was worse--this was just the beginning. The bullying didn't truly end until I graduated high school nearly a decade later.
Although I'm a native New Yorker who grew up in the quiet neighborhood of Belle Harbor in Queens, the area felt more like a small, tightly-knit town. Families had known each other for generations. As a result, unless we moved, I was stuck with the same classmates for the rest of my education--whether they or I liked it or not.
Naturally, things only got worse. I wasn't athletic, and being a good athlete often requires not just skill but also confidence. My confidence was already shattered from being the school pariah. Because of this, I was called slurs like "faggot" and "queer." This was the 1970s--I was just a child. I didn't know what those words meant. When I eventually did, it only deepened my self-loathing. I endured constant name-calling, whispers behind my back, and frequent physical abuse. In junior high school, things escalated. Even my ninth-grade homeroom teacher got in on the abuse, blaming me for it and saying I "asked for it." I remember standing in the gym, surrounded by mocking students, while my own teacher reinforced their cruelty. At 14, I didn't know how to defend myself--especially not against a teacher.
So, what could have been done? Who could I turn to besides my parents? I remember crying to my mother, who, despite her love and concern, didn't know how to help. At parent-teacher conferences, my grades were discussed, but my emotional turmoil and social isolation were ignored. Back in the '70s and '80s, children's social well-being in school was often overlooked.
Despite all this, I found a sanctuary--choir. In sixth grade, I saw a children's choir perform at my school. They sang the theme from "Rocky," and I was mesmerized. Although my school didn't have a choir, I eventually joined one in junior high. It was the first time I felt I belonged somewhere. I even made some friends.
Time passed. Despite the torment, I held on, praying things would eventually get better.
In 1982, I started tenth grade at a larger high school that drew students not just from my neighborhood, but also from Brooklyn and Manhattan. Unfortunately, my reputation followed me. I remained isolated and insecure. Still, I had a few close friends throughout high school and college, though the loneliness lingered.
That fall, I was told about auditions for the New York All City High School Chorus. Initially, I hesitated. Social situations filled me with dread, and I feared more rejection. But something inside me urged me to try.
That chilly Saturday morning in October 1982 changed my life. The energy, warmth, and passion in the rehearsal space on Manhattan's Upper East Side were overwhelming. I learned that many of the students came from elite performing arts schools--the ones featured in the movie "Fame." I thought I didn't stand a chance.
After my audition, I was asked to wait in the hallway. Minutes passed. Then, my name was called. I was invited back in, and to my shock, I was accepted. Some boys were turned away, but I was welcomed into one of New York's most prestigious high school choirs, the "Toast of New York City" - The New York All-City High School Choir led by the legendary Maestro John L. Motley. Instantly, my new peers embraced me--literally. I was greeted with handshakes, smiles, and kind words. I had found my people.
That morning, everything changed. I was singing. I was happy. I had made real friends from across the city--people who saw me, respected me, and liked me for who I was. The toxic kids from Belle Harbor suddenly meant nothing. I could've stayed there forever. Though the rehearsal ended, I knew I would return the next week--and every week after.
The way I survived bullying was by discovering something I loved and embracing it. Through choir, I met people who shared my passion and accepted me wholeheartedly. It wasn't just one or two friends--it was dozens. These were talented, promising young people who became my close companions. Many of my close friends whom I have had the utter-most privilege to sing with, graced the stages of theatres on Broadway, as well as opera houses and concert halls in North America, throughout Europe, and Australia.
Of course, bullying should involve the support of parents, teachers, counselors, and clergy. But ultimately, it's often the victim who must take the first steps toward change. If you're physically assaulted, involve the police--assault is a felony, and documentation gives you power. It's a difficult balance, because speaking out can make things worse before they get better. But waiting in silence can lead to tragic consequences.
Learning self-defense, like martial arts, can also be empowering. It's not about fighting back--it's about building confidence and setting boundaries.
In the end, only you can stop the cycle. Life is too short and too beautiful to let bullies win.