Hey Dana Jane

Tag: Childhood Memories

  • Full Circle: A Reflection on Penny, My Childhood Bully

    Life has a funny way of coming full circle, doesn’t it? As I sit here reflecting on my childhood, one story stands out—a story that I’ve spent years processing, only to find it has a twist ending that even I couldn’t have predicted.

    Let me introduce you to Penny, the girl who turned my junior high years into a battlefield. Penny and I met in 5th grade when she transferred to the same elementary school. At first, we were friends—two girls navigating the awkwardness of pre-adolescence. She lived in a trailer park with her mom and younger sister. I visited her home a handful of times, but there was never much adult supervision. Her mom worked second shift at a nursing home and would often head out to the bars after her shift, leaving Penny and her sister to fend for themselves.

    We spent summers walking around the trailer park—something I now realize was dangerous given the sketchiness of the area. Penny loved chasing boys and flirting, a hobby that didn’t sit well with me. But things shifted in 7th grade when Penny decided I was a threat to her relationship with her boyfriend. The accusation was absurd—I had no interest in him—but that didn’t stop her from turning on me.

    The insults came first. She called me ugly, accused me of stealing his attention, and declared I’d never be good enough for anyone. By 8th grade, she’d recruited a posse of mean girls to back her up. I was shoved into lockers, my head slammed against walls, and mocked with the nickname “Tuna.” They tried to make me feel ugly, unwanted, and disgusting. And for a while, they succeeded.

    Their cruelty stripped me of my confidence, leaving me feeling small and helpless. My father, furious at the treatment I endured, told me to steer clear of those girls, calling them “derelicts and deadbeats.” Over the summer before freshman year, I took his words to heart. I realized I had nothing to prove to Penny or anyone else. I learned to stand up for myself and started to see their behavior for what it was: jealousy.

    They envied the life I had—a stable home, loving parents, and opportunities they couldn’t imagine. I was more than just the girl-next-door pretty or the friendly face in class. I had potential, ambition, and resilience.

    Fast forward to now, and here’s the ironic twist: Penny is a bartender at my family’s tavern, a job she landed during a period when I was no-contact with my family. When I first heard the news, I laughed. The girl who once tried to make me feel small is now working for my family. Imagine being a single mother of five, no education, and needing to ask for a job from the family of the girl you tormented in junior high.

    Is she laughing about this, thinking she pulled one over on them? Maybe. I’m almost certain her thinking was, look how dumb the Jurgellas are, they know I bullied Dana and hired me anyway. But I can’t help but see the poetic justice in it all. Penny, who thought she was untouchable back in the day, is now slinging drinks in a bar owned by my family.

    Meanwhile, I’ve built a life I’m proud of—a college-educated professional with a fulfilling career, a loving husband, and three wonderful kids. I live in a home filled with love, a far cry from the chaos of her trailer park days.

    Penny once tried to make me feel like a loser, but life has a way of revealing the truth. I didn’t just survive her bullying; I thrived despite it. And that’s the ultimate victory.

  • The Dive Bar: Childhood memories of my family’s tavern

    Nestled amidst a northside corner of the small town of Stevens Point, the dive bar stood as a time-worn refuge for those seeking solace beyond the glittering façade of modern life. Its unassuming exterior gave little hint of the hidden world within, a realm where stories were spun with every clink of glasses and laughter resonated like an age-old melody.

    Inside, a dimly lit ambiance greeted patrons like an old friend, casting a warm, amber glow that danced across well-worn wooden tables and tattered barstools. The air hummed with a blend of nostalgia and camaraderie, a tapestry of memories woven into the fabric of its chipped paint and weathered furnishings. The bar itself, a sturdy bastion of companionship, bore the scars of countless conversations and shared secrets etched into its surface.

    Behind the bar, a bartender with a knowing smile moved with a practiced grace, effortlessly pouring spirits into glasses and mixing elixirs that could mend even the most broken of spirits. The patrons, a motley crew of characters from all walks of life, gathered in this haven to escape the noise of the outside world. Each had a tale to tell, a burden to lay down, or simply a desire to lose themselves in the ebb and flow of the night.

    The jukebox crooned out a symphony of classic rock tunes that seemed to resonate with the very walls. Patrons would take turns, their hands lovingly flipping through the pages of the songbook, selecting melodies that conjured up memories of days long past. As the music played, laughter and conversation intermingled, creating a chorus that echoed like a shared heartbeat.

    The scent of greasy comfort food wafted from a small kitchen in the corner, a siren’s call to those seeking sustenance to accompany their liquid courage. The menu listed American fare that transcended mere sustenance, offering a taste of familiarity that wrapped around the senses like a comforting embrace.

    In this bar, time seemed to stand still, and the worries of the outside world faded into the background. It was a sanctuary where misfits became kindred spirits, and where the weight of the world could be momentarily set aside.

    As the night wore on and the clock’s hands continued their relentless march, the dive bar remained a haven of connection, a place where stories were shared, laughter echoed, and friendships were forged in the crucible of shared experiences.

    The family tavern was a magical place to me. The centerpiece of the bar was the large, worn wooden backbar that framed two mirrors. I’d often perch myself on one of the tall barstools, feeling a little grown-up as I swung my legs back and forth, ordering a kiddie cocktail with three maraschino cherries and looking into the mirror.

    The family tavern was a place where time seemed to slow down. It was where I listened to fascinating tales from customers, and made friends with their children. It was a haven of comfort, laughter, and belonging. My father’s motto was, “Come as a stranger, leave as a friend,” a guiding principle I’ve carried into my adulthood.

    Growing up in the family bar has been a unique experience that has shaped me in ways I could have never imagined. I carry with me the lessons learned from this unconventional upbringing – the value of hard work, the importance of community, and the understanding that every person has a story to tell.

    The family dive bar wasn’t just a place; it was a canvas that painted the vibrant portrait of life’s raw beauty. And as I step into the world beyond, I do so with a heart full of gratitude for the foundation that nurtured me and a spirit ready to embrace whatever adventures lie ahead.