Blogtober Day 9

Today’s Blogtober Challenge is to share a favorite back to school memory. I thought about skipping today’s challenge and sitting this one out.

The thing is, I didn’t think I had a favorite back to school memory. As hard as I tried, I could not think of one happy memory from my grade school or high school years. Back to school time was miserable for me.

My dislike of school started early. I remember having a brief bit of excitement about school before starting kindergarten, but it disappeared after the first day.

Elementary school didn’t make any sense to me. I tried to be good, follow directions, and learn. However, I constantly got in trouble for things like talking, asking too many questions, not following directions, being too loud, or moving around too much. I was spanked by my kindergarten teacher.

Early elementary me.

Early elementary me.

In first grade, I had trouble with addition and subtraction. I raised my hand and asked, “When subtracting 3 from 10, does ten count as a number that is subtracted or do you start at nine?” The teacher looked at me like I was crazy. I consistently missed math problems by one number for some time after that.

In second grade, I had all A’s and B’s except for handwriting. I tried to do well in handwriting but failed miserably. The teacher said it was because I rushed through the assignment.

I badly wanted to make honor roll. The next handwriting assignment, I took my time and did my very best. I was proud of myself as I approached my teacher’s desk to have it graded.  “This is it. I finally did it. I’m going to get at least a B.” I thought to myself.

I handed it to the teacher. She looked at it for a total of three seconds before scribbling a C- on top of it with her red pen. I held back tears as she lectured me about not being in such a hurry.

I think that was about the point I checked out. I rarely, if ever, did my homework my entire school career. I cruised through my classes doing the bare minimum. Sometimes, I’d make honor roll and other times I’d come close to failing. I couldn’t have cared less either way.

For some reason, they kept passing me through the grades. I assume it was because I tested well on the standardized tests.

High school was its own nightmare. In addition to my early acquired aversion to school, I had the social scene of a small private high school to contend with.

For starters, my insecure older brother and his friends had nothing better to do than taunt and harass me. In hindsight, I see they had the problem. But, that didn’t make things better for me back then. It was miserable to be ridiculed and laughed at constantly by that group.

I didn’t have the tight knit group of friends that often appear in adolescent movies. Does anyone? Other than wearing the same button down collar shirts and scratchy polyester plaid skirts, I had very few things in common with my classmates.

High School Me

High School Me

The administration was detestable. They arbitrarily enforced rules when it was convenient or if a loud or wealthy (sometimes both) parent got involved in a situation. The image of the school seemed to be a higher priority than the actual schooling it provided.

We did not have locks on our lockers and I constantly had things stolen. The missing items ranged from small things such as pens to the large (to a high schooler) like my twenty dollar bill. I complained to the administration about it several times. The response I received was, “Are you sure you don’t lose things? People don’t steal here.”

Like everyone eventually does, I did have a couple of excellent teachers. I suppose their classes were the reason I did not out right refuse to go to school all together.

Day after day, I went through the motions comforted with the knowledge that it had to end eventually.

After the required twelve years (thirteen if you count kindergarten), I had successfully jumped through all the hoops and graduated in the top half of my class of twenty six. My distaste for school had become so powerful that I didn’t want to go to college.

College was for other people, not me. I wasn’t intelligent and I didn’t want to be anything. All I wanted from life was to be happy and feel safe. School wouldn’t help with either of those things or so I thought.

A few years later, I fortuitously received an honors scholarship to a local community college based on my SAT scores. I had decided that I wanted to do more with my life but didn’t know what. The community college honors program was the first time I was ever happy in school. It was my awakening, my chance.

As it turns out, I do have a good back to school memory after all. Mine just happens to come much later than most. I loved my college education… almost everything about it. I loved the classes, being an RA (once I transferred to a four year school), the chemistry lab, and the friends that I made. By the time I received my degree, I had opened up to seeing and believing in possibilities. To this day, I still am and do.

 

 

 

 

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About Rebecca Wood

In May 2012, my pregnancy ended three and a half months early due to severe early onset preeclampsia. This is my collection of thoughts and media. It is an attempt to document and discuss our experience of navigating the post NICU world. View all posts by Rebecca Wood

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