Summer Reading - a short on how it used to be

Yes, it’s no longer December, but this piece only one day late. So you can suck on it. Anywho, this little treat is from a great friend of mine with a funny name. He’s a master of understatement and nostalgia. And very religious too, which I agree is a good way to make a buck nowadays. Jokes! Anywho, since we’re in ’ 09, why don’t we farewell ’08 with a sweet little tale about ‘back in the day…’

Enjoy.

One,

Six is a strange number. Six years ago I was in class 6M, at my sixth school, receiving my daily doses of stupid. Mrs Manners – what a name for a primary school teacher- she was my form teacher, maybe she still teaches here.

two,

Being back at Beverly Hills Primary is making me think, not just the typical nostalgic “Who am I?” But “why am I” and “how am I”. The sound of children reciting after their teacher, probably thinking that the world is as simple as math, is funny, seeing they’re wrong on both levels.

three,

There was a girl named Jennifer. She was Asian, smart and vegetarian. My best friend liked her since grade 4. Nathan, his name was. When I arrived at grade 6, I liked her too. There was something about Jennifer; maybe it was her being Catholic. Not that I knew that then. Nathan and I got into a fight once. He was telling me how fat boys never get the girl. So I punched him. He punched me back. It was quick, it hurt and as brutal as 11 year old boys can be, we would have been hurt if Mrs Manners hadn’t stopped us. We didn’t talk for a week. We did afterwards.

four,

Another time it was a day as hot as hell. The class was in gym and our teacher, Ms Nicholopolous attempted to teach us poor things how to do cartwheels. Most of the girls did them easily, save for the fat ones. Jennifer took to them like fish to swimming. Nathan had trouble at first, but managed to become adept enough to mock me. I tried. Ms Nicholopolous must’ve seen me struggle and pitied me, then she made continual suggestions for me to improve, “look down” she said, “kick harder” when I still couldn’t do it. I tried, I really tried. On my final attempt I was too close to the wall and kicked it down. The hole remained for the rest of the year, the school never bothered to fix it, the hole might still be there now if I checked, probably plastered with a piece of balsa wood in case the parents complained.

five,

There were 3 of us. We walked around the school every recess and lunchtime looking mean. Nathan, Jarid and I were the biggest boys in grade 6. Nathan was typical Vietnamese and well built and I was fat, Jarid was the son of an Albanian immigrant, but even for his country he must’ve been big, almost as tall as our form teacher and he was only 11. On a hot summers day we used to buy 40 cent icy poles from the canteen and suck on them, laughing as Jarid told us dirty jokes. He seemed to delight in our ignorance, shocking us with his knowledge of the human anatomy, he was the one that taught me that I didn’t come from my mother’s stomach.

six,

On the eve of the school play, as Nathan and I were arguing whether it was worse to be fat or stupid, Mrs Manners suddenly found us and told us to go to the principal’s office. When we arrived, I remember the mood being different from all the times we had detention for various misdemeanours. I looked across Mr. Morrison’s desk and he was speaking to Mrs Manners about calling the police. The thought of being arrested shocked me, but as I looked to Jarid, I realised the fault wasn’t mine or anyone else in the room for that matter. Jarid’s face was bruised and deformed, coloured in white, black and blue. He took a look at us and waved as we sat beside him. “What happened? I whispered to him, “my dad came home drunk yesterday and beat me, I beat him too!” In awe Nathan and I asked him questions about the fight until a man came to pick him up. He came to school for a week afterwards, but I’ve yet to see him since. Mrs Manners said that he needed to move away. I believed her.

seven.

I missed this place. It has things the world only makes parody out of. Acceptance for one, hope another. Everyone went at their own pace, there was no pressure to perform and every achievement was worn proudly like a veteran’s medal. I remember getting my first A+ and I got to stand up in assembly in front of all the people that didn’t, I made sure I returned every week after that. But that was years ago.


Steaven Cheung