“The clock moving on, it drags me along, with feet buried in the ground”- “Ikaniade” by Mafumafu
To be completely honest, school didn’t suck as badly for me as it did for others. At least, the academic side didn’t. I was known as a ‘gifted’ child (*eye roll*) and put in all of those GT classes. The teachers would always say I was the ‘second teacher’ because I was the know-it-all who always stuck her hand up and recited textbook definitions to the whole class. I still have most of the awards I received, for ‘Perfect Attendance’ and ‘Honor Roll’ and ‘Most Likely to be Secretary of State’. I got my star on the wall, presidential letters and invites to Europe for academic conferences.
I feel like awards like this should be offered to all students though, not just the ‘gifted’ ones whose potential shines at an early stage. Don’t all little kids have potential? So what if some shine more than others- we are all important and should be treated equally by all the teachers. Now I’m not saying that kids with higher intellect shouldn’t be boosted up, I’m just saying no favoritism should be shown to a child with straight A’s than a child with B’s and C’s. Judging students primarily based on their grades can cause them to lose interest in learning, then do worse in school.
A fine example of this is me, myself, through my academic life so far. Who doesn’t like to be showered with praise and awards? Of course, I ate that up. All those sweet words went to my head- I thought I was Lil’ Einstein, giving my expansive knowledge to the world like a one-girl charity. (Note to parents: this is why we don’t spoil our children more than we need to. They become complacent little rascals with one thing on their agenda: themselves. Then they grow up selfish and we have a whole population of adults who never think of the rest of the planet. This is why we can’t have nice things).
Which is why I crashed and burned when I entered my sophomore year of high school. All these essays and extra homework assignments started flying out of nowhere, like peregrine falcons swooping down to knock me off my high perch. When interims came out that fall, I had to re-read the paper at least three times. A ‘D’ in English? I missed, like, three assignments?!?! Granted, that grade was justified, due to work that didn’t meet the criteria in addition to the missing assignments. I was still bitter though, because I thought I had a right to be. I had always succeeded in everything else, and it just didn’t seem fair that I get all that homework. When an acceptable excuse actually did come, it came in the form of family drama (oh joy)
I’ve decided to write about my experience in education in short flashbacks (flash fiction?) because I feel like that would be easier to understand.
Back in New Hampshire, when I was in the 1st grade, we had this morning routine where we would recite the pledge and chant our ‘months of the year’ memorization song.
The chant would go, “January, February, March, April… November, December- He-ey, months of the year!” Creative, I know, but we had a good beat going.
On this particular day I guess I was feeling extra energetic. When the teacher led us on through the pledge, I recited those words with gusto (nowadays, I don’t even open my mouth during the pledge). Finally we got to the calendar song. I had been bouncing on the balls of my feet for no good reason at all, and when we got to the end, I jumped up and shouted, “Aaaaay, months of the Year!” and promptly fell on my butt.
My classmates just looked at me with surprise, but my teacher straightened her posture and glared in my direction. “Makia,” she addressed me with my real name, the one I went with publicly at the time, “please stop being so silly. Go take a time-out.” She motioned to the chair behind me, which meant ‘sit quietly until I remember you’re still part of the class and ask you to join the discussion’.
I wasn’t allowed to sing “My Country Tis of Thee”, so I was pretty bummed out. Actually though, I don’t really remember my teacher. My mother informed me of her name and said she loved my “second teacher nature” and generally bubbly personality. So perhaps it was just a bad morning for her. Or maybe she realized that my Mum had been doing my homework for the most school year and was punishing me for being a slacker.
My point is, this is an example of a child being put down for being overexcited. She could have just told me to calm down a little. Instead, I had to sit out like I refused to share the crayons. Is this really the way we should deal with dramatic children? I think not.
(I also think I’m ridiculous for not being over this incident yet. Honestly it’s not a big deal but I always think of it, in the back of my head).
How I became Sally
Long ago, when I was young and carefree, I sat in a circle in my new 2nd grade music room, clapping along with everyone else. My family had just moved to VA. My music teacher was very tall and served as a musician in the military.
He wanted us to sit in a circle and say our names, one by one, while clapping. The kids who went directly after him had no problem: “My name is Dan-eille” clap-clap-clap. “My name is Jo-se” clap-clap-clap, Etc.
My turn came around and I started to clap, “My name is Ma-Ki-a,” but then I stopped. What had they called me the previous morning, when that woman introduced me to my homeroom? “Uh- I mean- Sa-ly-” but I broke off, because even to my ears it sounded weak. My music teacher sensed my distress and came to my rescue, “Do you want to be called Sally or Makia?” I sat there, like a deer caught in headlights, feeling everyone’s stares upon me.
I counted maybe one, two other kids of color in a circle of twelve. I wondered if these kids got a new name when they moved here too. My own parents had changed their first and last names when we moved- I don’t truly understand why. We weren’t war criminals- we were refugees. Yet we became different people when we came to the States.
Should I change too?
All these kids looked so expectant, so I gave them what I thought they wanted to hear. “Uh-um. S-Sally. My name is Sa-lly”. I emphasized with some uncoordinated claps.
My teacher looked at me a while longer and I stared back, my heart beating loudly in my ears. Finally, he nodded and continued the game. I let go of a long breath as I clapped along to “Sa-rah.”
And thus, I became Sally forever- no take-backs.
Bullying
Oh come on- you knew this was coming. I know I’m smart, strong, charismatic, and beautiful. I wasn’t always this way. Honestly though, bullying isn’t funny.
Ok. So, 5th grade @ Intermediate School- I’m technically still an elementary student. It was the most lit year I’d had so far. I had friends in every class, cool HR teachers that read enthusiastically to us and took us to the library every Friday. Fifth grade was also my intro to chorus: 10/10 would recommend.
My sixth grade year at Intermediate was terrible. I used to be at the top of the class, but now the competition was fierce. Still, I kept raising my hand and shouting in class, because I had to stay in the game. Keeping that hand up like a beacon had people swarming to me for answers. I didn’t have any friends because they were all in different classes. Everyone in my homerooms was “gifted & talented” and “mature” (that latter was self-claimed by many classmates). On one occasion, a girl berated me for reading a mermaid novel, saying I was “too old”. I had looked around at the 11-12 year olds before me and scoffed inwardly.
Anyway, I was a target because I was a nerd, I dressed how I wanted (with my Mum’s assistance), and was a notorious bookworm.
My attackers came in the form of four eleven-year old boys. The two main ones bullied me primarily for my heritage, despite the fact that their ancestors came from the same region I was born.
My point is that it took my teachers a whole school year to notice that a once charismatic student was now an introverted bibliophile. When they did notice it was because one of the guys stood up and ratted on his buddies, trying to save his own skin. The counselor shook her head slowly as I explained that it was not one d*****bag, but many, and they all thought they were kings of comedy. I didn’t like the joke. I like to think that since that June, I’ve remained introverted, and have only recently escaped my shell because I’m done with everything.
My sister also got picked on most of last year because she’s so soft and sweet- I was ready to fight for her. As usual, disciplinary action took a couple months, like the whole school year. This makes me realize that some schools just ignore kids who are too afraid to speak up for themselves and physiological effect can permanent. If we don’t deal with these problems early on, those words can stay in your mind, long after the danger has passed.