I Ramble Sometimes...1


So I recently discovered this journal. I had reserved my writing to this point to actual pieces, but I do see this as a way to drivel on as I sometimes like to. This is not a journal for self discovery or to capture the essence of our existance. This is merely a droning collection of my experiences and possible nothingness.

I was at a private school for a period of time. It was exactly as all steriotypes of private schools portray. Strict, cruel, unpleasant. The strap was used as warning and warnings always ended with the strap. I am not really complaining because back then you really didn’t know any better. Priests walked the halls like all powerful deities. Teachers wore suits that matched the children. Everything was for the school and nothing was for the individual. This was a choir school and as such the sweet high pitch boy was a must. I will say that before the age of change I had a melodious voice. That voice quickly became froglike in my teen years…lol.

I was not a boistrous child. I kept to myself quite a lot. I was a cherub faced child who was as quiet as I was timid. This played well to the “not so timid” kids and bullying was a daily occurence. I think this is probably why a hate bullying so much. My children are quite aware of my issues with it and I try to instill a point of view that “cliques” are not okay if they exclude people. So far it has worked. My eldest is known for interupting kids who do not include other kids and she has lost and gained friends for it. She is only 10, but has shown a maturity that brings a smile to my face. (If only she could practice the same with her sisters…but siblings are another matter…LOL)

So back to the school. For some reason a particular kid took a dislike to me. I am not sure why and at this point in my life do not care to know. he and his group of friends made my life a misery. Lunches were spent hiding in the teachers parking lot, or behind the stage, or in the lower level washroom that wasn’t used as much as all the others.

Recesses were spent running. My legs would ache and usually I was caught. Pushing, shoving, punching, kicking, were just part of the routine. Before you ask me why I did not tell someone, I will say that when you are 9 the world is not fair and in the mind of a 9 year old “telling” means more bullying. This is probably why I understand when one of my daughters has had a hard time that jumping on the “let me talk to the teacher” band wagon can be disasterous. Not just for the child, but for the communication between you and your child.

I have a very open reletionship with my kids. They feel like they can talk to me about most things. I have all girls and they are young. As I said my eldest is 10, then 8 and finally 5. They are girls so you would think that certain topics would be off limits, surprisingly this is not the case. Sometimes I have to struggle at the questions they ask. As a divorced parent, it is not as easy as saying ask your mother. I am a little weary of giving up any opportunity to discuss and chat with my girls. I have sat with my eldest at the pharmacy going over deoderants and thier uses. I have had to deal with the questions that make all parents cringe. TV is not good if your kids pay attention. (actually even if they don’t)

My 8 year old asked me last week what a Virgin was…now first trying to not jump on that and start asking where she had heard the term, was hard enough. Trying to find a response that was close to the truth, but G rated was even tougher. I try to be honest with my kids as often as I can. I will be the first to say that complete honesty is not as healthy as most think. My kids believe in Santa, the Tooth Fairy, The Easter Bunny or at least they allow me the joy of thinking they do. (In all honesty I think my eight year old has worked out the logistics of the tooth fairy and found out that the amount of viable assets needed to purchase each tooth is astronamical. Now I have explained about the Tooth Fairies ATM card, but she looks at me with that raised eyebrow look…usually not a good sign).

Oh, if you are wondering my response it was simple, a Virgin is something that has not tried or had something else before. This is relatively confusing which often gets a “Like?” question. I said like those umbrella drink for kids. It has no alcohol so it is called a Virgin. Yes this actually worked…I was as shocked as you.

Back to my old school. I told no one, instead I began a very laborious plan. You see back then I travelled to school on the subway and bus. It was an hour or more there and back. My mind created a plan that seemed to be the most incredible plan ever devised by anyone. Travel Sickness. I started slowly, laying out the ground work. First I mentioned feeling ill on long car rides. I kept this up for about a month. Then I complained about feeling ill after school. Then I began to make myself sick on the subway platform. Yes I was dedicated and I needed it to be as real as I could. This would lead to phone calls home and parents coming to get me. I kept this up for 3 months. Not everyday, but enough that it became a pain.

Eventually my parents sat me down and told me that I would not be able to go to the school anymore. I played the upset kid only slightly, because I knew if I made too much fuss they would find a way to keep me there. As that summer ended and september arrived I began my years at a co-ed (Catholic) school that was a 10 minute walk from our home. My older brother and younger sister were students there already which was a benefit (in my head.)

Now the point here as I ramble is that I have realized that my Parents were not as simple as I would have thought. In fact I remember the first time I had decided to tell my Mom about “the plan.” What surprised me was that when I said to her, “you know why I was so sick travelling to school?” She responded, “Do you really think your father and I thought you were sick. You were not the same boy going to that school and then you forced yourself to be sick. You wouldn’t tell us what was wrong at school so we thought the best route was to get you out.”

I stood there, mouth open, looking at my Mom. I realized that they did pay attention. I realized that they saw there was something wrong and that they tried as best they could to talk to me, but a kid sees things differently. The amazing part is Moms and Dads have a sense, that I never even knew existed until I became a Dad. It is a strange, we parents can sense any minute change in our childs behaviour. My parents saw it and made the right choice. I only hope that I make the same choices as my children age.

Okay so this was a very lengthy ramble.
I did warn you at the beginning…

Peace n Love.

Journal Comments

  • Dannie
  • Paul Rees-Jones