When You Call Yourself Names

At 19, I was gone
I ran
Left my country
and a mother who was mostly silent
Escaped a father who was a brute
I got the best of his worst, being the oldest son

Expected to enter law or real estate
Placed in boarding school at the age of nine
I despised it
It was the most expensive school in my country
Though the public school had creative, imaginative teachers
Those kids received a better education
We had pretentiousness, networking and "proper" old school marms
all the way from England
My aunt -who shouldn't have- paid for it all
My father -who shouldn't have- wanted my profound gratitude

I haven't attended any reunions
I did make friends for life
Our bonds are more akin to having survived prison together
When I took my son to visit the school
you could still smell oppression in the wood
I showed him where they made us kneel
Sam Neill, the actor, graduated two years ahead of me
Once a celebrated alumnus, they asked him to return
He refused to come back, ever, unless the caning stopped

I would've been one of those kids on Ritalin
had they been diagnosing such things in my day
I just needed to organize things differently
Always been a copious reader
Always a self-educated learner
I left.
Traveled to Australia. London.
Eventually passed my boards
Took less than six months once I started
Earned a scholarship to art school
My father hadn't allowed me to carry art books or
consider such pursuits but I've always kind of known
Always kind of known

At 24, I called myself an artist
At 24, my life began

Comments

Feed Them

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...and then...

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