The Beginnings of School

My memories of preschool are the smell of poop. I remember my Mother taking me in my Father’s company car – a black Mercedes with a behind like a shark’s fins.  All I remember is the smell of poop from the other toddlers in the school, colours and large numbers written on the wall.  My tests at Christ the King School went smoothly, I was accepted and clad in my red pinafore and white shirt joined a group of children with whom I was to stay for the next six years of my life.

School was tough for me, I wasn’t very social.  I was told by a friend once that because my siblings were much older I didn’t know how to deal with other children my age.  I thought deeply about what he said and I agreed.   I had gotten into an argument with a mate on the steps of the church after school one day and I remember how helpless I felt, how inept I was at getting into a back and forth with another individual.  When my brothers upset me, all I had to do is report to my Dad and it got sorted.  I couldn’t very well report my mate to my Dad and I knew in advance that this was a word war that I wasn’t going to lose.  

I thought I was an average student.  I did great in English, Literature and once made the honour roll for reading.  That was one of my proudest moments.  When my mother and brother Robert came back from an open day and told me I was on the honour roll.

I still don’t do well in large groups.  I prefer small, select numbers.  I love one on one’s, sitting with a friend sharing ideas, thoughts and encouraging each other.  But I will create a chance for people to sit and shout their ideas across the room to each other, tell jokes and laugh hard and I will sit with joy in my heart that I have created that chance.

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