The 4th was our local not-back-to-school picnic, and it had a huge turn out. While other kids were heading off to their first day of school, my kids got to see friends they hadn't seen in a long time, find new ones, dig in the sand and mud, and generally have a good time.
One of the things about being "media challenged" as we are is that we miss out on all the back to school promotions - which makes it a bit of a surprise when to go out and see all the crowds! I can't believe how much it costs to send kids to public school these days! Not just the usual stuff like new clothes, backpacks, and stationary supplies, but the extra expenses. There are so many expenses and fees that didn't exist when I went to school.
I do read the news online, though, so I've been catching some of the back to school articles. It was interesting to read one columnist share memories of his first days of school, and how afraid he was.
It brought back memories of my own first day of school. Unlike the columnist, I was thrilled. I still remember seeing the bus turning at the road by our place and running out, screaming and yelling in excitement, to meet my siblings when they got home. I was so excited to finally be able to join them! I never went to kindergarten, so it was straight to first grade for me.
The day itself, I don't really remember. I met the one teacher we had for K-3, with all the grades in one classroom (there was a second classroom, but not enough students to use it). I remember her name, and how she had such long, straight, dark brown hair.
It was when the day ended that things got traumatic for me. As we all gathered outside the door, I found a whole row of buses waiting for us! Which one was mine? I had no idea! Until then, it never even occurred to me that there'd be more than one bus! *L* I stood there, watching, trying to see my siblings (all of whom went to schools in a neighboring town) through the windows, as one by one, they closed their doors and drove off. Finally, there was only one bus left, so I ran for it. I got on and saw that all the seats were filled, so I simply turned to face the front and held on to the back of the seats on either side of me, somehow confident that this bus would take me home. The driver, however, wouldn't leave. One of the older kids recognized me and tried to talk the driver into taking me home, as he did actually drive by our place (they just didn't turn onto our road), but he wouldn't have it. I had to get off the bus.
Well, I was totally in tears. I had no idea what was going on, or how I was to get home. The teacher took me back into the school and comforted me as best she could - she went into a closet and pulled out a chocolate bar! This was an almost unheard of treat for me! I honestly can't remember my parents ever buying us chocolate bars, though I'm sure they must've, at some point. I stopped crying almost instantly. *L* She then phoned my parents to come and get me. Somehow, I never imagined that my parents would be able to do that. Strange, the thoughts children have.
When I got home, I was back to all smiles again. One thing that really stuck in my mind, though, was how upset my youngest brother, 3 yrs older than myself, was. He felt so guilty about my being left behind, saying he should've stood in the bus doorway so I could see him and know what bus to go on.
I wish I could say things got better after that, but they didn't, really. Not academically, which was never much of an issue. I can't say I was particularly motivated, either. Somewhere along the line, I decided high academic achievement just wasn't all that important to me. I did enough to pass, enjoyed certain classes enough to do really well, but otherwise, just drifted along.
It was the social side of things that did it for me. In those first days of school, I did start to develop a friendship. Then another student "stole" her from me, and I discovered that apparently, you couldn't have more than one friend at a time. My potential friend had to choose between me and someone else, and she didn't choose me. Eventually, I did become good friends with a new boy. That's when I discovered that girls and boys couldn't be "friends," but only boyfriend and girlfriend. Then one day he disappeared, never to be seen again, and I discovered something called foster care. It wasn't until grade 4, when I started going to the next town's elementary, that I developed a friendship that actually stuck. In between were years of tears, misery and torment.
It got better as the years went by, but for pretty much my entire time in school, I was one of the "rejects." I can't say I felt rejected, though - I had no respect for the people who rejected me in the first place, and was proud of the things they tried to hold against me. If anything, I'd developed a strong disdain for the "popular" crowd, whom I found to be weak, self-centered and two-faced. The friends I did have - all considered rejects like myself - were people I preferred to spend time with. They didn't play cruel games of popularity, or talk behind anyone's back, or all the other things done by the popular cliques to jockey for position. The things that made them unpopular with the other kids where the things I liked about them. They were pretty much the only things that made going to school worthwhile.
Well, that and I did meet a certain young boy that moved into the area, becoming one of my closest friends by the time we graduated. Then I married him. ;-)
Strangely, in my last year of school, many of the kids who wouldn't be seen anywhere near me, actually began talking to me and treating me decently. I still remember the shock, the first time it happened. It was downright bizarre!
I started out loving the idea of going to school. Then I hated it. Finally, I viewed it as a waste of time. With a few specific exceptions, I learned more from my parents, living on the farm and my own reading than I did from school.
Sometimes I get a bit complacent about our home schooling the girls. It's just something we do. Every now and then, however, I get a glimpse of what life would be like if we'd gone another way, and I find myself thankful for for the choices we've made.
2 comments:
Great story! My school experence was simular. It wasn't until high school I found a good friend. She is the one I am always refering to in my blog.
I followed someone home from school on a bus once thinking they lived by me. Can't remember why I would think that. I had to wait until my dad came home from work to come get me later that night.
I do think my school experience influenced my decision to HS too.
There are a lot of stories like this, isn't there? I don't know very many people who *haven't* had some school related trauma.
Strangely, my school experience had a very minor part in our choice to home school. My decision was based more on knowing Eldest would be "diagnosed" ADHD, and that we'd be pressured to drug her, like happened with one of my nephews.
Considering we were living in BC at the time, which has staggeringly high numbers of drugged children, even under 2 yrs old, this was a very legitimate concern.
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