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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