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2005-10-10 - 9:05 p.m. Swarming Drones Of Stinging Nostalgia Last week my mom and dad came down island to take Bee and me out to lunch (at which I consumed a surprisingly good steakhouse veggie burger and the first alcohol [a single sleeman's in a frosty mug] to touch these lips since June). They brought a box with them, filled to the tattered brim with the detritus of my youthful passage through academia. I opened it up when I got home, and along with the usual bag of apples ("from the tree" as if all other apples were constructed in place on grocery store shelves by swarming nanomachines) and jars of homemade jam (1 x blackberry, 1 x yellow plum), I found my entire collection of report cards, "achievement" awards (yes, I call the validity of that term into question!), progress reports and newspaper clippings. Paging through it all piece for piece, I started to notice an interesting progression in my behavior through the years. Here begins a litany of self-involvement which will probably be of little interest. Abandon all hope. Kindergarten -  - "He tells fantastic, imaginative stories about his paintings... Rufus has a good sense of humour and is always friendly. I enjoy his wonderful smiles in our class." - (I have two vivid memories of kindergarten - 1) I arrived to school late one time to find I had just missed "the closing of the door." I knocked on the window and peered inside, but no one came to open it for me. I ran all the way home crying. I remember my dad was painting deck chairs red in the back and my mom made me a peanut butter and banana sandwich before they drove me back to school. 2) Adam and I were using the same set of paints (those little tin boxes of 12 watercolour pucks) and he snapped at me for mixing paint from one puck onto another. I burst out crying. I remember he felt really bad, but I just couldn't stop crying.) Grade 1 -  - "He is a cheerful boy who participates well in our class discussions." - (My one vivid memory from grade one had to do with those unfinished "seat work assignments." We used to have to do printing or arithmetic exercises written on the board to be completed on newsprint paper at our desks. As everyone finished, they would hand in their paper and sit cross legged on "the carpet" where one child would be chosen to decide what the weather was like, pop the balloon from yesterday, and pin up the new balloon, now emblazoned with a tidy jiffy-markered "cloudy" or "sunny" or "rainy." This was universally acknowledged as a great honour and every kid hoped to be picked. The only catch was that the seat work had to be finished on time or else you couldn't participate. So my one memory (which reminded me of all these details) was of the umpteenth time that I was too busy daydreaming to make much of my work. My matronly teacher scolded me and the tears just started to flow. I remember putting my head down on my desk, watching teardrops spread on the pencilled newsprint.) Grade 3 -  - "Rufus has shown talent in creative writing." (I have quite a few memories of Grade 3. That was the year I was put into a Creative Writing program and I won the class spelling bee and we did that test where the instructions say you are supposed to read all the instructions and the last question tells you not to answer any of the other questions and I was the first one to get it and I stood at the side of the class beside the teacher with a shit-eating grin on my face. My best friend failed that grade and we were a year apart for the rest of our schooling days.) Grade 5 -  - "Rufus is very conscientious about his work, and he is also very sensitive to the needs of others. - (Ahhh, grade 5, the wonder year. The year I got my glasses ("Mom! That stop sign has letters on it!"), met my life-long friend Rilk, and was placed in the "gifted program." The gifted program was the greatest thing about school for me. I looked forward all week to the day we would get bussed to the bigger elementary school in Parksville and do matrix problems, mock courts, independent research projects, and computer programming. If only every classroom was like that: well supplied (a wall of computers devoted to this one all-day class... in 1987!), about 15 students, an enthusiastic teacher, kids with matching interests. It was our big secret - we got to go have fun all day once a week. And I learned more in that class than I did in the next 5 years of everything else.) Grade 7 -  - "Rufus continued to be a creative human resource during third term." - (For some reason, someone thought it would be a good idea to allow me to skip a grade in math in grade seven. I hated math, found it interminably boring. And the disorganized boy was allowed to "work at his own pace." Which was, apparently, slow.) Grade 8 -  - "Assignments Not Handed In! Labs Not Handed In!" - (I spent more time wandering the halls in Grade 8 than I did in class.) Grade 9 -  - (Workshop responses to my short story "My Life As A Tap Dancer In Lesbian Malls With Green Rooves And Styrofoam Ceilings"): Not to wax Fulghumian on you, but it is kind of a revelation to me to think that throughout my life, strangers and loved ones alike have noticed two constants in me. On the one hand, there is creative endeavour, which is what I truly love in life. On the other, there is an utter void into which all ambition and organization are lost. I will say now that I am taking steps to enhance the former of those two hands, to gain the upper hand, as it were. Hm. |
