I was beginning to hate being 15. It seemed that when it suited my parents and School Masters I was expected to behave like an adult but when it came to decision making I was immediately returned to childhood status and denied a voice in things that affected my life.
I bemoaned that fact to my Form Master when he asked how the appointment had gone and was dismayed that he agreed with my parents. I admired that man a great deal and had thought he would take my side, which just goes to show that I should never have really trusted anybody. The conclusion I’d come to while I was being abused was, after all, the right one. The people who had influence over my life simply enjoyed wielding power over me.
Anyway, in the spirit of of not letting me do anything important for myself, Mum made an evening appointment at the GP’s surgery and then decided that instead of coming home and going with them in the car I should get off the school coach in Petworth and wait for them there.
In fairness Mum did offer to give me some money so that I could get a snack while I waited but in a truly Malcolm display of cutting off my own nose to spite my face, I claimed that I had my own money and would take care of myself. That’s what being grown up was all about wasn’t it?
Small wonder that an argument started and Dad got involved but I was in absolutely no mood to compromise and ended up being sent to my room to “calm down”. The claim that I had money was rubbish, I was utterly skint, but I wasn’t admitting that, I’d chosen martyrdom and that’s the way it was going to be.
So it was that on a thankfully mild afternoon I sat on a low wall and buried my head in the Robert Silverberg book I’d taken out of the school library that lunchtime. My parents didn’t approve of my obsession with Science Fiction and there’d been more than a few serious rows about it, I was only supposed to read curriculum appropriate books. I also knew that Mum found some of the subject matter in SF a bit disturbing. Probably a good thing that I hadn’t discovered Philip K. Dick at that point.
Despite the discomfort of a brick wall under my bony bum I was soon lost to the world and was quite startled when Mum said “Hello, Malc Darling”. Looking up I saw two frowns aimed at me and my reading material. Hastily stuffing the offending volume into my pocket just brought a rebuke, that blazer had to last me until summer holidays.
It had already been reinforced with leather patches on the elbows and leather strips on the pockets and lapels. There was a dark blue stain against the royal blue where some twat in my Form had punched me in the chest and broken my fountain pen. That pen had been a gift and I was heartbroken at it being smashed like that, I didn’t give a damn about the damage to a blazer that I loathed wearing and somehow the incident became my fault.
Dad tossed his car keys at me which, being a very good slip fielder, I neatly caught getting a little smile of approval from him and I ran over to the car to stick my satchel, violin and viola in the boot. It hadn’t been games or gym that day so I only had the three pieces of luggage to carry around.
That done, and the boot carefully double checked, I’d be in so much trouble if I left it unlocked, I rejoined my parents and we went off to the surgery where, I was completely confident, I’d be given the green light for a continued rugby career.
Love
That age, truly difficult to handle for all involved. Including the poor teenager. Too old, not old enough. Not wise enough to carry the burden of responsibility, old enough to ‘know better’. Somewhere in there, in between, you’re tossed around trying to find your way. How ‘fun’.
Nowadays I’m at the other side of the barricades and are trying to find that very same balance. Ugh. Did I say it is difficult to handle?
Love
Daniel
Daniel
The worst part was being told “act your age” I didn’t know what how I was meant to do that.
Knowing what I put my parents through I can only sympathise with your position now, the barricades image is pretty apt, it’s something of a combat situation.
Love
Malcolm
How often we build the scenario up in our minds, just the way we want it to go. the words we will use, what others will say, and of course we always look good and get what we want.
Seems to never happen quite the way we imagine it will. I wonder why?
Hugs,
Scottie
Scottie
An easy trap to fall into I think, when you want something really badly it’s all too easy to convince yourself that things will turn out right.
Oh well, we live and learn (I hope)
Love
Mac
blazers.
ink staines.
being left hanging around.
disinterest or condemnation of most of the things we wanted to read or do.
no understanding of the pressures they were all putting on us, often before we’d been prepared to accept them.
it all chimes you know, Malcolm!
Micky
Yes, “act your age” but still “you’re just a child” so much fun trying to work out what that all meant!
Would I do it all again?
FUCK NO!
Love
Malcolm
This was the kind of pressure that led you to excel later in life, but at that age is just misunderstood. I have a feeling that you count it as a blessing now.
Ian
You’re right in one way but in another way I could have done without the lesson. All I ever wanted was to be me and it took me nearly half a century to know who that was. Honestly? Yes, it’s who I am but sometimes I wish it wasn’t.
Love
Mac