Tag Archive: elementary school

The gifted class

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Tue. August 19, 2008

The other day, I read something on Julius’s blog that caused me to thing back to my time in the gifted class in elementary school. Back in grade 5, I was made to take an IQ test of sorts. I actually remember thinking about how fun the darn thing was. It was all like a small game show in my mind. Anyway, I think my teacher noticed that I was advanced and getting a little bit bored with the material, so she recommended that I get tested. My parents, God bless them, had no clue about all of this gifted business, so just consented. Hey, whatever works, right? When the results came in, it was recommended that I be transferred, so that was that.

When I joined in grade 6, I was joining a class that had already had one grade to bond together. You see, the gifted programme started in grade 5. So I have to admit that I didn’t really feel like I could mesh with everyone at the time. Hell, I was already socially awkward–almost used to being an outcast and ostracized from my time previous years for the greivous sin of knowing too much–so, I figured it was just par for the course. Thing is, despite not being entirely able to mesh, this was the first time that I was in a group where I felt like I belonged. How can I describe that? It’s more like, it was the first time I understood that no, being smart wasn’t something that should be stifled or hidden for the sake of fitting in. Being in that class, among similar people gave me free license to let me mind expand, to which I’m entirely thankful.

As you could imagine, a class like that sort of generates a bit of a clan mentality. See the school didn’t consist of purely gifted classes. There was also the “regular” class. God, I hate that term because it makes me sound so bloody elitist. Anyway, just due to the nature of the split, there was a definite rift between us and our counterparts. It wasn’t uncommon for them to taunt us and call us “brainers” as a derogatory. I don’t ever recall us fighting back. I mean, it’s not like we did anything to intentionally put us above the other class. We just put up with it. Early on, we were in our own silos, not really interacting with the other half. Within our classes we relied on each other as a survival mechanism.

That all sounds well and good, doesn’t it? As is the nature of things though, things weren’t so clear cut. Within our class, there were outcasts among the outcasts. I consider myself fortunate. I think I was more one of those floater types; I didn’t really belong to any group and was really on the periphery of a lot of things. I felt like I was just “there” and didn’t get much attention. For my personality especially, I think I was fine with that. I think I had too many eccentricities and quirks for that to work. You know, I might even consider myself borderline outcast, but really that was self-imposed. Anyway, as an observer, looking back now I almost feel sorry for some of the people that got the brunt of the taunting. That’s not to say some of it was undeserved, but God, I pray that some of them have gotten so much stronger from having survived all of that. I know some of them have and have gone on to bigger and better things.

Through the wisdom of the teachers, we eventually did start sharing certain subjects with the other class. See, both sides had the same curriculum, but maybe we had a little bit more enrichment. Does that make sense? Anyway, over time, due to all that integration it seemed like a lot of the sniping died down. By grade 8, I could swear that it wasn’t so much an us vs. them thing anymore. We were just the other class. Sure, still “brainers” but whatever.

A lot of this just sits in my memories as a time when I was just coming into my own, trying to build a sense of self. I am thankful for this period as a time when I realized that I’m not so broken. It wouldn’t be until late high school that I’d start feeling that way again, but…that’s another story.

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Like a muffin or a beet

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Fri. April 25, 2008

Out of the blue this old commercial popped into my head and I haven’t really been able to get it out.

In my mind, I associate this PSA with grade 6. It reminds me of this guy named Luke who used to sing this damn tune on the bus. I’m sure he thought he was being funny, but in the end it just made me think of that guy as being a nutjob.

What do I remember about this guy? Well, he took a liking to pretending to have trashy orgasms on the school bus. It became routine for the school driver from hell to bellow out: “Luke-a-shuttuppa!” He used to howl when you said “snare drum.” On a dare, I got him to do a snot rocket in the school yard. Unfortunately for everyone, he found enjoyment in doing them. Even more unfortunate is the fact that the guy was brimming with mucus. You could hear it in his voice. I’m sure that he would have suffocated if he didn’t expel that glop somehow.

I had to do a dance routine with the guy once for gym class. Fuck, I don’t know what to say about that event. There’s a midpoint somewhere between having fun and being mortified. I’m sure I leaned toward the mortified end of the spectrum, but that guy was pretty damn shameless.

I remember being stuck with him on a research project on the Galapagos Islands. At some point early on in the process he announced that he’d be going on vacation in the Caribbean. He said that he wanted to help out but his computer suddenly came down with serious virus. Bullshit. He even printed out a sheet with some bloody garbled junk on it: “5the 5the 5the”. Of course, back then I had no idea about computer stuff back then so I just accepted it while knowing he was a being an outright bastard about it. It didn’t matter anyway: I was perfectly capable of doing the work on my own. In the end, I submitted the report without his name on it. What could he do about it being off in the Caribbean?

In the end, the guy moved to Buffalo. Prior to, he kept bragging about being enrolled into Nichol’s Academy, and making a joke that they had a high school named “Dime’s.” Ooh Lord. The joke wasn’t funny the first time around. Interestingly enough, it didn’t get any funnier by the 23rd time.

That’s all I care to drag out of my head for now. It’s quite enough for me to remember his telling me not to put it in my mouth.

ICK.

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Flashback: “Beaver!”

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Sat. February 2, 2008

I’m not really sure why I’m writing about this event that probably took place 16 or 17 years ago. The memory suddenly popped up in my mind, and it’s sort of festering there. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I’m currently wearing braces. Who knows? So I’m going to write about it in the attempt of letting it go.

This actually took place way back in grade 3 or 4. It was recess and I was walking around the schoolyard alone as was kind of standard back then. I’d just moved to that school in grade 3 and fitting in wasn’t easy at all. I don’t know what it was but unlike my previous school I was a social outcast. Sure, I had a few friends, but I was often the butt of sneers or whatever it is that school children do. Maybe it’s just that I hadn’t gotten used to the idea of reeling in my intelligence to fit in, or that I was too serious for my age, or that I wasn’t dressing like the others. Well, whatever the case was that made me “weird”, walking around the yard alone was normal. It’s sort of sad when I think about it.

Anyway, back to the story. As I was wandering around, Tommy to class clown/irritant came up to me and said: “do you want to be really cool?” Well, how can you pass that up, eh? He said, “go up to Lena and call her a beaver!” I guess I thought it was innocuous–you know, harmless name-calling. Lena was a girl in my class that I didn’t really talk to. So, I spotted her on the bench over at the baseball diamond. She was flanked on either side by her friends. I casually walked over and did my duty.

“Beaver!”

I started walking away shortly after, but not before I heard one of her friends yell out in anger “go away, Jason!” I didn’t notice it before when I was approaching her, but after the fact I noticed that Lena was almost in tears. Her friends were actually there consoling her from some previous hurt. At the time I hadn’t drawn any connections and just moved on with life.

After school, we were all in the process of leaving the school grounds. There were a couple of classmates around as we left the playground area. As I was leaving the school to walk home, I overheard Lena speaking to her mother: “There! He’s one of them!” The mother asked which one, and she pointed in my general direction. I was still oblivious to any relevance to whatever had transpired earlier.

The next day, in French class, a teacher from another grade came storming in demanding apologies from several people. She told certain people to stand up. I think that included Tommy among others. I wasn’t actually told to stand up. I didn’t know what was going on. Then she started: “How dare you make fun of Lena! What gives you the right to make fun of her front teeth!” EH??? Finally, it dawned on me what that whole “beaver” business was all about. I felt horrible. One of the few that were singled out started protesting. He was saying that he never made fun of Lena. Outside of this incident I knew this guy to be very honest and polite, so I really believed that he wasn’t involved. Then I realized that the day before this guy was walking close by to me when I was leaving for home the day before. I guess when Lena pointed me out her mother thought it was the other guy. I gave a quick glance over to Lena, and she glanced back. She was really wanting to correct the teacher and point out that it was me. It’s just that the teacher was on such a tirade that she couldn’t really get a word in. She raised her hand and quietly tried to correct her: “but…!” There was no use though. The damage was done.

I never did apologize to her because I was fighting my own struggles back then as well. It’s probably all inconsequential now at this point in life. However, I sort of feel bad now thinking that I unwittingly became a part of the problem that was making my life difficult as well. It’s hard being different at that age. There’s a certain amount of cruelty that exists in that setting. The cruelty fades over time in more ways than one.

People mature. People heal. Some people don’t forget though–I’m one of them.

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What have you been up to?

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Thu. February 1, 2007

The other day, I spent a few moments chatting with Nuwan, whom I hadn’t seen in a few years. We were really good friends around grade 7 and 8, then time and distance did its thing. We haven’t really kept in touch all that much since–though there was a period during our early university years when we were telling each other about our wanting to quit engineering.

It was really good to speak with him because even after all this time I think we still found ourselves kind of thinking along the same wavelength. There was one thing that I typed out that seemed wholly relevant to this meeting as well as others of a similar nature (seeing or talking to someone after a long absence). I don’t remember the exact words now—and I turned off chat logging a little while ago. However, it went something like this:

Home is home.
Work is work.
The status quo is great!
…
A lot has happened during all this time,
but at the same time, it all seems so irrelevant now.

He agreed and said that he hated having to answer the question “what have you been doing (during all this time)?” To be honest, I hate it too. I mean, there’s just been so much: great things, shameful things, big things, insignificant things, laughter, tears, pain, contentment, etc. To list it out is an ordeal best served during more appropriate moments, know what I mean? Indeed, that’s the kind of thing that should probably come up in other conversation, but not in a re-introduction, know what I mean?

Hey, that’s not to say that I’m not proud of what has happened. Heaven forbid. Just…does anyone really want to know everything right away? I know I don’t. It sounds selfish, but seriously, too much and anything said would probably be forgotten soon after. After all, you’re way past the first-impression stage. Whatever concepts and archetypes you’ve used to frame this person are already set, barring something drastic like sex-reassignment surgery (or something else). Err…you know what I mean.

I guess the burden of having to explain oneself is more pronounced when you’re forced to reconnect so many times in a short period with people in your past. Maybe that’s one reason why I don’t really want to join Facebook. Thing is, when you re-meet someone, it’s almost like it’s necessary to ask. It’s a matter of politeness. It says, “I’m still interested in you,” which, honestly, is comforting to know. So…perhaps then, the onus is really on the person giving the synopsis.

What am I saying? Well, I guess…if I ask what you’ve been up to, please keep it short but meaningful. Ultimately, it’s for everyone’s benefit.

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Days gone by

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Sat. October 21, 2006

Last night, I spent a long while listening to stories of days gone by from people from my past while tending to a pit of smoking meat. Last time I was in the same situation was…last December. All that reminiscing triggered a great deal of self-analysis on my part, but perhaps not over what you might expect. I didn’t feel horribly inadequate, or like my life was leading my nowhere. Far from it. I was more concerned over the difference between how I’ve been viewing my past in comparison to how others do the same thing.

Now let’s see. I’d say that my past hasn’t been entirely filled with greatness. Growing up, I was always awkward and had trouble socializing for various reasons. My intellect seemed to put a barrier between myself and the rest of my peers. No, I’m not bragging–it was very truly tough. You know how rotten kids can be back then. High school wasn’t a walk in the park either. I was only starting to figure myself out, and realized fairly quickly that for better or worse my personality would be a tough sell. I’m fortunate in that at some point when University rolled around, I finally grabbed onto strengths and weaknesses with two hands and swung them around to my advantage like a sharpened sword. And here I am, feeling somewhat empowered, albeit a little bit bruised.

I’ve always maintained that my experiences have led me to where I am today. I may look back once in a while, but if I’m to set my eyes on something to focus most of my attention on, it would surely be on today, and perhaps a bit towards the future (though, as you all know, my vision gets blurry when I focus too far ahead of myself).

Fair enough, you know? Not everyone is like that. Last night, I was listening to some people whose feet almost seemed firmly entrenched in the past. They spoke of those days as if they were the legendary glory days of yore. Hey, like I said, I look back once in a while as well. However, there was something different about they voices that I was listening to. The speech was tinged with an echo of sadness over times that will never return. Good for them, I guess. I suppose I can admit to being a little jealous that they had such a great time in comparison to my struggling. However, seeing as how we’re still young, it seems like a waste in my mind to pine for those old days as if life can never get better than that. Whether or not that’s true is far from the point. I mean, does the future hold so little excitement? Not in my eyes. Anything can happen. I’ve learned as well, that obsessing over the past can’t really bring you any progress. At best, I can say that focusing on my past can help me learn things that can only be found in post-analysis, which *might* be then helpful to the future. However, digging up old corpses along with buried treasures can cause unnecessary pain.

Heh. Saying all this almost makes me feel hypocritical. I mean, after all, I’ve been writing about my experiences in University, right? Maybe the difference is, then, that I’m not necessarily longing to go back.

So wait a minute…if my past was actually a bit more pleasant, would I be so any more hesitant to travel back in my mind? I’ll never know. If that was true, I’d surely be a different person that who I am today. That being said, the fact that little to no progress can come of obsessing on the past would hold.

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