When teachers could hit you legally

 

Ah, the good ol days. Were they really that good?

Chameleons

 

 

The eighties weren’t a different time

To grow up

Than any earlier

Or later

So I like to believe now

As the similarities are closer

Than the differences.

 

The goal of all youth

Is to sort out individual identity’s

While belonging to a collective

That recognises you

Being paramount.

To challenge the guardians

Is a necessity…

 

Yet, there were substantial differences

Such as the teachers being allowed to hit you

And even though you may feel the sting of the unjustified

You wouldn’t dream of challenging it

Beyond maybe attacking the teacher

Which happened very rarely.

Certainly not an official complaint

Which today arrive like storm rain

Because the right book

Or work plan wasn’t utilised.

 

One student, whom remains unidentified

Pushed a carrot into a teacher’s exhaust pipe

It didn’t destroy the car

But it made a hell of a mess

And ripped the school into an academic furore

It brought the whole world to an electric life

I respected that guy

And wish it had been me.

 

As there was one teacher at least

That I detested

He twisted my ear

And poked my chest

And was determined to bring me down

Yet, the violence wasn’t as bad as the ruler

And cane

I received in primary school

Though I certainly hated him more

His persistent arrogance

Made him one of the ugliest human beings

I’ve ever encountered.

 

A suitable revenge

Was making him a character

In a short series I wrote

With him as the scum sucking bad guy

His name backwards

Which a pop star did the same thing

With his own name

Some years later.

(Kram)

 

Though I couldn’t verbalise such hatred

In my powerless immaturity

I could tell his world was false and inept and selfish

And that his clean suit did not hide his dirty, corrupt interior

Like black veins pulsing beneath thin flesh

Perspex over bone

That no one else could decipher

Not that I was stronger for seeing it

But that everyone else was deluded.

 

It set me up

To never take anyone on face value

And I thought

If he can fake it

So can I

And I became

Chameleon colours

Ever changing

At least

Until I could stomach it no more

And shut myself away

But at least I didn’t have to pretend any longer.

 

And so, when I meet those duplicitous souls now

I can barely contain my laughter

Or my anger

And I wonder who they think they’re kidding.

 

Sadly, many it seems.

 

So, I shut my eyes

As best I can

And go home

And when being myself doesn’t work

I bring out the colours once more

So they can feel at ease.

 

 2013

Do you have any such memories? 

Or thoughts on the 'good ol days' not actually being as good as perhaps we have romanticised them? 

Sharing our stories is important for us and for others to read. Some of these are shared stories are more helpful than we consider. 

Two more real incidents

Another incident in secondary school when I was only 12. A Phys Ed teacher had a long leather keychain. It had patterns carved into it. I was being a bit of a smart arse as I was prone to do being a class clown, so he removed the leather chain, hooked it around my neck from behind with both hands and lifted me off the ground with it. The patterns in the leather were imprinted on my neck. I just took it. It wasn't an era for complaining. Not for a working class kid in a crappy school. They just got away with shit like that then. Certainly didn't help my self esteem any. Plus what I got at home. Born insecure too I think. Or was it learnt? 

Anyway, violence against kids was acceptable. 

I remember another occasion where this kid was grabbed by the ears (it was Grade 4 so he was probably only 9 or so), and thrown across the floor by a female teacher. He was a wild child but that was pretty surreal. It was a wooden floor and he slid across it. It's a very vivid memory. He'd climbed up the school bell tower and sat there ringing it. So everyone was told to stay in class, waited til he got bored and then when he eventually came into class, she unleashed. 

Please comment and share your story, or this post. That'd be great. 

Peace

Anthony

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