The next morning I was given two envelopes, one addressed to my Games Master and one addressed to the Headmaster. The one to the Headmaster went to his secretary of course one could hardly expect the man himself to take notice of the trivial matter of a broken Fourth Former.
Delivering the other letter to my Games Master was upsetting. While sympathetic he was really disappointed, being convinced that he could make a good player out of me. Being a somewhat manipulative kid I thought about enlisting his help for an appeal but Mum had forestalled that, the letter stated quite categorically that the decision was irrevocable.
What, I had to ask, was I supposed to do on games day come September? All he could say at that point, it being only late April was that he’d have a think about it, we’d work something out. He did archly suggest that in the meantime swimming would be good therapy but I wasn’t getting trapped that easily. I hated swimming and he damn’ well knew it, it had been the one thing I’d dared to defy him over as a First Former.
At afternoon registration I was told to go to the Headmaster’s office, he wanted to see me personally. None of my classmates knew about the rugby ban yet so it was automatically assumed that I was in trouble and lots of jeering followed me out of the room.
For some reason the Headmaster and I hadn’t got along since we first met when I was a Third Former so I wasn’t very keen on going to see him but there was no way of avoiding it short of walking out, something that had crossed my mind more than once in the four years I’d been there.
As it turned out sympathy and reaching out were the order of the day so I chose not to throw my toys out of the pram and managed to have a fairly grown up discussion about the situation.
The problem was that nobody had any experience to draw on, no boy in the known history of my school had ever been flatly told that he couldn’t play rugby anymore. Long lay-offs with injury were common enough, but never a lifetime medical ban.
That’s how I made my indelible mark on the school, whilst still only a Fourth Former. I’d always said that they’d remember me but that really wasn’t what I had in mind.
My Form Master offered to make a formal announcement for me, rather than let rumour and misinformation take over and I readily agreed. All I had to do was sit there red faced and miserable while all the boys thoroughly enjoyed my misfortune.
I’d been right that time when I was ten and got into so much trouble with Mum, if I was “just as God made me” then he’d done an utterly crappy job and should be thoroughly ashamed of himself.
Love
Why on earth would boys of 14 and 15 make fun of your misfortune?
Are you quite certain that wasn’t more in your mind?
I can well understand your not being overjoyed at being sent for by the head master though!
That was the way the boys in my school enjoyed treating me. While I was just injured everything was cool, there was even some respect. Being permanently banned moved me from honourably injured to “spas” in the space of a minute. Just another difference to exploit.
Given that I hated them all anyway the added piss taking just reinforced my feelings.
Getting sent to the head was to become a feature of my life from 5th form until the end of 2nd year 6th but for much less tolerant discussions.
Love
Malcolm
I found high school to be very cliquey. I was lucky in that I was not in the IN crowd nor was I in the out cast crowd. No one paid much attention to me and with the exceptions of a few kids I hung out with a little bit at school, I stayed to my self. I couldn’t have anyone over to the house, and had no time after school to spend with anyone. But I did notice kids who got really picked on for anything, and I saw kids who would do anything to be included or get the attention of the IN crowd. I felt really sorry for both groups and just went my own way and developed my own personality and ways. So I can just see the kids reacting as you describe. I can only hope young people Like Amar, Ben, and the rest have made those days of the past.
Many hugs.
Scottie
Scottie
In the sort of school I went to, particularly amongst boys, there was a very clear dividing line between boys who were good at sport and those who weren’t. While I was playing rugby and even while I was injured I was accepted as one of the sporty boys. When the ban was announced I was instantly thrown out of that group.
For all that my school was supposed to cherish superior intellect, that only happened if you were good at games as well, being the brainy one in my year did nothing to enhance popularity. I really do hope those days are becoming a thing of the past.
Love
Mac