Testaverde was an honor roll student who dreamed of a career in technology or engineering. But he also suffered from a spinal deformity, and said he was ostracized as a “freak’’ and “hunchback’’ throughout his high school years. He never went to college, largely because he feared being bullied again. A self-taught electrical technician, he said he might have done better for himself if it weren’t for the bullying. Deeply self-critical and preoccupied with what others think of him, he said he cannot be at ease in large groups and has found it hard to stay at one job, because even minor workplace conflicts trigger fears and the urge to flee.

“A part of my life has been robbed,’’ he said. “It’s like the show ‘Lost,’ where there are two storylines — one on the island, and one if the plane never crashed. Sometimes I think about what would have happened, if I hadn’t been as depressed, if I could have taken more risks.’’

In my experiences, many adults are remorseful for how they acted in high school, even if they weren’t bullies. I’ve seen people reach out to old classmates to apologize for perceived slights, even if the bullied student doesn’t remember the incidents. But for people like Testaverde, the damage was more severe than being made fun of for liking Marilyn Manson, Charles Bukowski and fine art. For him, the damage had life-changing effects.

By the time many of these bullies become wiser with age and maturity, the damage is done. They realize a fraction of the pain they caused, and now can’t do anything but apologize.

Another piece in Sunday’s Globe explores the effects of bullying on the teenage brain:

I think that bears repeating: the brains of kids who are bullied in school can resemble the brains of kids who are physically and sexually abused. Chilling, eh?

Both are sobering reads, but eye-opening.

Another Sunday read shows how high school could be. In today’s Florida Times-Union, Mark Woods tells the story of Cara Stieglitz, a high school student with Down syndrome who was voted homecoming queen in a landslide. When Cara was a freshman at Fletcher High School, her parents Dave and Melanie Stieglitz prayed that God “send a friend to Cara. One friend. Someone to sit with her at lunch.”

Of course, the story ends happily. Not just for the Stieglitz family, but for the school. Cara could have been the prime target for bullies, but she ended up being their homecoming queen. How she, her family and her classmates persevered for this to happen is a great bookend to the Globe pieces mentioned above. The story reminds us that the stories of the outcast students don’t have to end with misery and tragedy.

These stories can end with a different kind of tears: the tears of joy that a parent can experience watching his daughter with Down syndrome become homecoming queen. The tears that teachers at her school can have, knowing their students rose above the nature of bullying and became heroes. The tears of strangers reading her story, miles away in Cambridge.  Because however out of place one might feel, there’s Cara, who became an emblematic example that bullying doesn’t have to be the norm in our high schools.