Yes I was standoffish, but proud and boastful (boasy in Jamaican parlance) I laugh at. I had nothing to be proud of or boast about and they never heard me speak so how could I boast if I was not speaking?
I grew up in a family where I was not wanted.
My father rejected me from birth and my mother needed no excuse to brutalize me up until I was maybe eleven years old and only spoke to me using curse words and unflattering language all of which was designed to trample over my self-esteem and left me feeling that I did not deserve to live.
She did not hide and do it, all these merciless beatings happened in front of everybody, wherever and whenever. The adults did not step in to rescue me and the children used them as opportunities to mock and jeer. Some of these same witnesses have diluted them to mean ‘simple punishment which everybody faced.’
Punishment for what?
What the hell was I doing to deserve punishment so brutal that now I have a back injury and a constant job of trying to build self-esteem?
This is not a pity party this is a stating of the facts as I lived them. No perceptions here.
Clarity comes with getting old.
Some of them have turned my life into what they want it to be so they can look better.
When I was younger than four I already knew I had no one to rely on.
My unmarried mother lived with us in her parents’ house. Had we not lived with them I strongly believe I would be dead because she was so brutal.
My younger sister was born when I was almost four years old. Years later her daughter was telling me how badly her mother treated her as a child. She spoke about being thrown out of the house literally as a child and being beaten mercilessly. It was chillingly familiar. I had gone through all that with my mother and could be where she learnt it.
My sister was copying our mother!
I spent many days outside as a three year old alone. Yes there were times when school was on holiday and we were all sent outside to play. Of what significance would it be for me to harp about that if we were all outside playing? I guess it is easier to call me a liar than to admit that the people who loved them never loved me.
Then came the expectations or lack thereof. Nobody expected anything of me. They never expected me to read or write; nobody in the family and nobody in the wider community including the teachers.
Nobody was ever interested in what I was doing in school; not in basic school and certainly not in primary school including the teachers.
My whole life I feel like I was held up by two strings; one connected to the Divine and one to a voice that whispered ‘keep going there is something more than this.’
Despite the lack of motivation and encouragement I learnt to read and write. I still hear the voices dripping with surprise when various family members gave me something to read and I read it often without errors.
Not even that motivated them to encourage and help me.
I had a lot of respect for all my teachers until the memories started to assail me and I realized I only learnt because I sat in the class and not because they were teaching me. I learnt because they were teaching the other students.
Except for two teachers; first Mrs. Harris and then Miss Porter.
*****
I guess the report that went with me to primary school was that I was not an A student because I was put in the (B) class popularly known as the dunce class.
I sat through Grade 1B with Miss Mack who hardly ever looked at my book. She never taught me at all. At the end of the year I went to Grade 2B, following the natural progression.
Luckily for me Mrs. Harris who was a friend of the family paid attention to what I was doing.
I was learning the recitations, the words of the songs (Bobby Shafto for one) and the lessons she taught. One day after I successfully went through the lessons with her, she said out loud, “but Jullie, I don’t understand why you are in my class, wait here a moment,” or something like that.
She stepped over to the Grade 2A class which you know classes were divided by black boards or a space that formed a walkway.
After having words with the teacher whose name I don’t recall, she came back, helped me pack up my stuff and told me that from then on that was the class in which I belonged.
I do remember that she (the new teacher) had a system where we got gold stars if we did well and these performances were recorded on a chart for everyone to see. I remember working hard to get a gold star beside my name and was very ecstatic when it happened.
I celebrated by myself. There was no one to whom I could go. No one was interested in what I was doing in school.
Nobody ever told me why I was going to school. Nobody told me about preparing to take the Common Entrance Exam. Nobody told me about high school. Nobody told me much about anything.
I learned about things as they happened.
I was not worthy of their time so nobody prepared me for life.
*****
Things changed again for me when I reached Grade 3A. This teacher was a member of our Anglican church.
She promptly treated me like Miss Mack.
You would think being a member of our church she would look out for me, noooo!
She ignored me, barely looked at my work hardly acknowledged my presence.
I think I used to do homework in the mornings at school because I don’t recall anyone showing much of any interest at home.
I did not know how to study and I guess being beaten down, physically, emotionally and mentally really didn’t help one to think for herself.
My Grade 4 teacher caught on at some point and told me that homework was to be done at home and she taught me how to study my timetables. I remember the joy I felt the first time I learnt them and I did not have to mumble and especially after being slapped with a ruler in the palms. When she called on me I was able to recite them just like everyone else.
I remember learning to write Compositions. I got the all import tick with the red ink pen and it was marked ‘seen’ and dated. Most of those teachers before never did that and that was a moment for me.
I went home feeling proud – with no one to show it to. I walked around with it until my older sister noticed, who incidentally became a teacher, and asked to see it. I swelled with pride. Someone was showing interest!
I soon fell flat as she used it as another opportunity to mock and jeer me. She always did that – turned my positives to negatives.
My Grade 5A teacher always had a bemused smile when she looked at me, another Miss Mack. But she taught me to sew. She actually was attentive and corrected my stitches.
Then children started to disappear from class but I did not know why.
Then one day Miss Porter, my Grade 4 teacher came over and spoke to Miss Mack. Apparently it was time to prepare for the Common Entrance Exam which gave children a free pass to government high schools.
The children were missing because the Principal, who taught Grade 6, had been giving extra lessons during class time for all who qualified to sit the exam.
Miss Porter thought I was capable.
I never spoke to anyone about anything since no one had ever shown any interest in what I was doing in school. They did not hear it from me and they still showed no interest.
I had learnt to fear authority figures, which I did most of my life, and the Principal Mrs. Wallace was a fearsome giant. I got nervous and tense every time I approached her class room.
I will acknowledge that she was a good teacher because she got the results. Our primary school was accustomed to getting good and many passes. However, I did not pass. I am sure no one was disappointed because I fulfilled their expectations.
My mother eventually moved to Gayle which was a school unaccustomed to successfully preparing the children to pass the exam. I still had one more chance to take it which I did. I spent less than a year at that school but the teachers were more professional towards me and I was more comfortable in the classes.
So I passed!
Just two of us, both coming from different schools.
I remember my aunt saying, “Me shit, so how come this person (don’t want to say the name) didn’t pass.”
In all fairness, I am sure she congratulated because she was the kindest aunt to me at the time but I always remember the negative that made me feel I had taken that person’s place.
Needless to say nothing changed with my mother but during high school my grandmother would then ask me if I had no homework and at the end of the year she would run me to go and do my lessons because she knew it would be end of term or year exams.
I was not an excellent student.
By the time I learnt to value a good education it was too late. Because of all I went through, and the personality that developed, I did not like school and I did not like to be around a lot of people. I suffered from anxiety and depression and I managed to copy a lot of behaviour from other people to fit in but I never felt comfortable.
So there they go hating me because I was standoffish and all the other things they said while I was trying to cope in a world that had rejected me.
It is unfortunate that they feel that way. It was not about them and the funny thing is I think they were just as unfriendly and since they had parents and siblings who cared they should have been different in my estimation, but hey, I am not holding it against them.
My quest is to examine my childhood and understand why things happened the way they did.
I am proud that I broke the cycle. I was a good mother to my daughter because I did not want to be the mother my mother was and not because I was mothered properly. And my grandchild will know that this grandmother will always be in his corner.
With regard to being friends with people … that’s a different story.