Thursday, July 12, 2007

The getting the strap in Grade One thing, at least partly

I don't think I was stubborn. I remember that I was scared of pretty much everything. My report cards paint me as intractable, and the consistent comments are that I need to learn to take instruction, and I need to STOP TALKING.

HOWEVER, our teacher in Grade One was in WAY over her head, 4 grades in one room, and I remember pretty much constant chaos. Everybody got the strap, all the time. I remember a trio of us stopping to cool our burning palms with handfulls of snow on the walk home.

And I don't think I was stubborn (look, look how stubbornly she's insisting she's not stubborn) I think my fear of failure was stronger than my ability to try *anything* I might fail at.

Righty-ho then. Now you all understand the six year old I was. Actually for a lot of grade one I was five, and that was a different teacher, so probably I've been lying all these years, and I got the strap three times in Grade TWO. I only went to Grade One for six months, from January - June, and come September, although I was only 2 mos past my 6th birthday, I was put in Grade 2. (they tried to put me in Grade Three in January but my father put his foot down) (welcome to my stream of consciousness realization - having fun here?)

Okay what I really logged on to say was that Brynn and I are rather similar because we don't mind changing the world, we'd just like to do it over here, in this quiet corner with no-one looking at us, and if Brynn has to take the Master Carver's place and be the catalyst for a religious renewal, people will be looking at him. He's off in the forest not making eye contact with me at this very moment, as I try to figure out what happens next in the book I don't even want to write, lest, you know, someone actually wants to publish it.

Brynn's unborn daughter Rowan is standing in the same place in my head she's been in for several years now, only her arms are no longer crossed. She's stamping her foot. She's all about the attention, that one. She has a Destiny! and Brynn and I are standing in her way.

Oooh from stream of consciousness childhood revisited to stream of consciousness cryptic nonsense - I'll bet you're glad you gave up ten minutes of your life for this.

Go fold some laundry. Preferably mine.

9 comments:

Anonymous said...

woe. i'm gonna need some serious therapy now. guess who. :)

Accidental Poet said...

oh man I hate that ...I have NO IDEA who!!!! can I have a clue???

LC said...

I'll fold your laundry if you get at that book?

Anonymous said...

i have long lean legs and a figure to die for.
signed,
in therapy.

Accidental Poet said...

ok why do you need therapy?

Anonymous said...

women hate me -- jealousy i guess.

surely you know who i am now.

Kay said...

you said, "in the book I don't even want to write, lest, you know, someone actually wants to publish it"
So, I'm wondering if your fear of failure has morphed into a fear of success?
I'm still stuck in fear of failure.

Anonymous said...

I folded laundry tonight. IN FLORENCE. I just had to read your blog to feel a little bit of home.

I am paying 5 euros an hour for the privilege. I love it here but it is not home.

Joyce

Charlene Ann Baumbich said...

Stop blogging and folding laundry and let the story in that book talk to YOU. You're making too much of the writing process; just LISTEN and WATCH and write what you see/hear. Allow your characters to lead. Fear not. They know stuff! Promise.

You must finish the booooook.

You must finish the boooooooooook.

Why? Because I want to read it.