“Better a Witty Fool, than a foolish
wit.” Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, Act 1, Scene 5, Page 2.
Whenever there is loss or change in a
family it makes you drive deeper into yourself and examine the past.
Often with death tears are related to this, somehow I don't have
enough left to cry. I don't think it is shameful to cry, I don't
think it is weak to cry. I find in my case, I find death more of an
inward journey of reflection than sadness.
During this crazy journey I call life,
I have cried many tears and suffered much pain. The pain besides
physical are the scars of school life and harsh labels and criticism
of being dyslexic. This is my pain and this is for what I cry.
Ever since I can remember I have been
labelled the stupid kid. With this labeling there comes resentment
and hatred and the ability for others not to understand who I am or
what I was. This does not affect me now although memories haunt me.
I cannot relish myself in memories as I have 2 young children and a
family that demand I move on, and really to sit and cry about the
past to me is downright selfish. (In my eyes)
I was always a bright child although in
reports from teachers when it came to reading and writing were
reports of being disruptive, not able to concentrate and easily
distracted.
Yes, I was all of those, but I was also
not diagnosed with dyslexia.
At times now when I tell people I
cannot tell my left from my right one of the first stepping stones to
learning as a child and as a forty year old I cannot differentiate
the two, people would laugh when I would say I was dyslexic and
assume I was joking.
Then when I told them that it was the
truth, they would treat me strangely. I did not feel strange, but I
found it odd how people immediately thought that I was stupid.
Now I laugh, thinking “I am more than
OK, I am happy with a beautiful family.”.
I would be banished from groups, and be
labelled and laughed at and children were so cruel, I would not even
want to imagine a child in that situation. I had been bashed in
grade 5 so badly I had bruised ribs. Boys used to throw things at my
temples in class to see if it was a dangerous spot on the head, and
when sitting in class, the girls used to shove steel rulers into my
back while a sadistic male teacher would know it was happening.
I would go home and cry for hours, the
only reason I was not labelled for life the 'idiot' is that I had a
love and understanding for classical music and excelled at Classical
Ballet. All of my childhood I had been beaten and spat on for being
stupid, and never telling my parents. Of course, all the reports the
teachers gave to my parents were that I was disruptive and not all
there.
My parents put me into one of
Melbourne's Poshest girls schools to see if they could sort me out.
Again, I was put in the 'Idiot' box. I must admit, going to school
with some of the 'smartest' girls in the state and country was a
little off putting but again everyone failed to see me as an
individual. They were looking at the big picture of what a 'young
lady' should be and act like. I rebelled very badly and I refused to
fit in. I did not want to be a lady and used shocking language at
the teachers, of which I am not sorry for because I believe I was
voicing an opinion that they were not ready to be challenged with. I
was expelled after a year. The biggest waste of a year of my life!
Looking for schools, and labelled a no hopper and useless human being with my parents tearing their hair out.
I was still excelling at Ballet, but begun riding and taking
dressage classes.
I began at an alternative school where
I was not put into a box, where I was given freedom to think what I
liked and be able to voice a opinion and even better, learn to
listen.
I was unable to read, write and
comprehend a book at this point, but at least I was aware that I had
a voice in society and I did not have to fit in. This is where I
challenged conformist views of society and recognised that people
were learning like robots. I still could not learn in a conventional
way, but I had my place in society and I was allowed to be who I
wanted to be.
I could listen to Classical music while
appreciating the lyrics of the Beatles, jazz riffs, chord
progressions and work out to me that music was simply a mathematical
equation. I could express myself within the arts, through visual
art, dance and movement.
Everyone during my senior years knew I
was 'different', but they could not put there finger on what it was.
I was then given the lead role in a
Shakespere play, with everyone thinking that I would be hopeless.
Within a two week period I had the play in my head and could recite
it line by line and every person's role. I then found out that
others had found this quite difficult. My memory is the key. I
could not read, write or comprehend books, but repetition and being
able to visualise stories was my key. People came up to me with
looks of amazement after this looking at me like an alien, that the
'idiot' child actually had the ability to achieve.
Thus far, I can now read and choose to
read anthropology, philosophy, text books and physics. Stephen
Hawkins is now a hero of mine and 'New Scientist' is one of my
favourite magazines.
All now is said and done, but I guess
the moral to the story is, you never can tell yourself how far you
have come in your life and what you achieve. With a sudden death of
my husbands father a dear friend that has known me from a very young
age came over to just be with me.
She told me, she remembered the time I
could not read and write. She said in the nicest possible way, “No
one would have ever imagined you would be where you are, doing what
you are doing or have done what I have done.”
Today I look back and reflect, as I am
like an elephant that recollects everything. Yes, I have come far,
but we all have, we are constantly on a journey of discovery and
evolution. Where this will lead me, I have no idea and for what I
don't know. Who Care's? Only the future will tell.
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