In Grade one a boy died of appendicitis; his desk sitting empty in front of me for the rest of the year. I had a great, grade one teacher even if I was sent to the corner for speaking out of turn. My grade two experience was the square dancing and playing pick up sticks with a girl who had matching dresses and shoes that came from her New York actress mother.
Grade three my writing was chosen to be displayed on a wall. I was still in the basement of the school. Grade four I saw a boy receive the strap. Grade five I learned quite a bit about music. I can still see the teacher placing pieces of paper with the chords C, D, & G, tapping his foot to the paper we were to play the chord while he played the accordian. I was intrigued when told Eskimo women (now called Inuit) breastfed their babies according to my grade six teacher who had lived with them.
I was able to wear a pink, tent dress to my first, grade seven dance. Grade eight saw the teacher enter a psychiatric hospital and I always wondered if it was because of student’s actions; like a classmate’s placing an Oh Henry bar on the floor after he walked by and catcalling his name. Grade nine I realized I did not like math, algebra or geometry or wonder now if maybe it was the teacher’s method. Grade ten I was into sports; basketball, volleyball, curling and whatever I could be a participant. Grade eleven I wanted good grades and worked hard to pass classes. Grade twelve I remember as a fun year, being a school representative council member as well as very involved as a leader in sports.
I have quite good memories of school but did not feel I had made the grade, taking employment rather than going to university after travelling the first year out of secondary. That not good enough feeling plagued me for most of my life. I did eventually begin taking university correspondence classes and then entered a social work program which I completed.
I wanted to change the world. I still have that tendency but am learning to change myself. That brings me to the song of the day.
My throat has some things To say to the world
It’s all about Being a girl
A girl turned woman Is on the inside
Can sleep easy now Be my own best bride
Caring for others And caring for self
Crack open again Let out my dream
A better world Without abuse
My words, my songs Put to use
Living life easy Can come to pass
And I can be Free at last
Listen inside Hear me out
Put me first And if in doubt
Quiet down Meditate
Renew again Review will wait
We have time It’s worth the wait
We have time To celebrate
Being me As no one else
And yet we’re all Part of SELF
Crashing On Like waves at Sea
How hard it is Sometimes to be Me
NOT TODAY YEAH!
November 20, 2014
ellensagh 