My best friend and I had already organised a post exam 3 week cycling trip in the West Country, with a 2 or 3 day stop at my Nan’s included, so I didn’t have time to fret over the slow progress with the grant application.
That holiday was quite an adventure itself so I’m not going to dwell on it here, that will keep for another day. I’ll just say that I had the best 3 weeks I could remember and really didn’t want to come home so I stayed at my friend’s house for a few days and his Mum did all our accumulated laundry.
By the time I got home it was well into August and time was running out. If things didn’t pick up very soon I’d be doomed to going into the Sixth Form at Midhurst and the thought of that made me feel physically sick.
My results arrived with a note from the Head of Year congratulating me on the 100% pass rate and asking me to go in and discuss my A level choices, not something I’d anticipated doing. I dutifully took the bus into Midhurst and went in to see him.
My choices were predictable and he was quite happy with them. Music was inevitable, English Literature was predictable and French Literature was perfectly logical. He just wanted to be sure I understood the workload that Music would bring, the equivalent of an extra 2 subjects.
I reminded him that this was an academic discussion and that all being well the subjects I studied wouldn’t be his concern or that of anybody else at Midhurst. He just looked non-committal.
Worried and beginning to get angry I took the bus home. Once both of my parents were available I demanded answers yes, I demanded them.
Finally some sort of truth came out, they told me there was a concern that if I got the grant for Dartington it might adversely affect my University grant in 2 years time.
I was incandescent and a row started immediately, rapidly reaching the decibel level that guaranteed a painful ending. Desperate to maintain some sort of peace Mum dragged me out of the room and banished me upstairs to calm down.
I didn’t calm down and when I was called back to talk about things I flat out accused them of lying to me, they just didn’t want me to go! They’d just strung me along so I’d achieve exceptional exam results. Well that row ended predictably; I went back to my room subdued and sore.
I faced the ghastly reality that I wasn’t going to get out of Midhurst, I was doomed to spend another 2 years there. I made myself a promise before I eventually went to sleep. If I had to stay at that hideous place then they were going to remember me!
I did go back to Midhurst, into Lower Sixth and at the end of assembly on the first day of term the Headmaster asked if Mr McLachlan would attend him in his office immediately.
I already felt like an utter prick, we didn’t have to wear uniform in Sixth Form and the dress code was pretty loose but Dad had said quite adamantly ‘you’re not going to school looking like a hippie’ and I might as well have been in uniform, I’d had to dress that smartly.
It was obvious that every one was jumping to conclusions, only half an hour into the first day back and I was in trouble already. Throwing my best glare at anybody in range I stalked out of the hall.
He actually tried to be nice, offered his sympathy on the failure of the Dartington plan and hoped that we could develop a rather more amenable relationship over the coming 2 years. I accepted his olive branch with as much grace as I could muster.
At home a few weeks later I demanded an answer. Why didn’t they want me to go to Dartington, why were they so intent on screwing up my life? I finally got the honest, if sickening truth ‘Music isn’t a proper career is it?’ The subtext was all to clear, Music wasn’t a proper career for Me, it didn’t fit with their plans.
I was sent to my room before I had a chance to say anything, probably just as well and I stomped upstairs slamming every door behind me, deliberately inviting retaliation.
Quivering with rage I picked up my music stand and was about to hurl it through the closed window when I thought if I did that then my next move had better be cutting myself so badly with one of the glass shards that an ambulance would be needed.
If the window was opened though, something could go through it quite easily.
Me.
Love
The wretched plans of parents for their offspring – the biggest one and therefore often the most deeply upsetting is when one refuses to ‘give’ them grand children and profess oneself to be gay.
We all know that, don’t we – we’ve all in some measure – faced up to it.
Absolutely and the wealth of certain musicians who were of a similar age to me is, in retrospect a rather amusing thing. If success was all they cared about then music was undoubtedly the way forward but they wanted me to succeed in academia, a noble professor of something.
I know quite a few people who’ve suffered that grand children guilt trip. I wouldn’t mind so much but 2 of my 3 sisters produced 2 children each, any from me would have just been extras.
Yeah, been there, had that happen. I wanted to attend a state uni to study seed biology, but was deemed to “big” for me to attend. Mind you my high school had over 2.500 students, so it wasnt like i attended a small country school or anything. The school that was picked for me, didnt have any form of a horticultural program, so what in the hell was i supposed to study?
When our kids were getting ready to jet out into the world, we made sure to let them decide where to go to college, and what to study. Their lives, their choice. At least I learned, yeah?
I guess that’s all you can say. Too often resentment at the way we were treated or the chances we didn’t get is reflected in the way we treat kids. You at least made a conscious decision to break that pattern so at least something good came out of it.
Love
Mac
Oh how I understood you when you talked about being dressed so smartly at school. Until the abuse investigation started by my first grade school, no one cared how I was dressed. I had what ever old rag would fit over my head and anything that could be held around my waist. After the investigation I wore long sleeve shirts, vest sweaters, and long pants. No short sleeves, and no shorts. I have class pictures of me being the only kid in class dressed so. Very embarrassing. Lucky for me that stopped when I started 7th grade as my sister picked out the clothes she wanted me to wear so as not to embarrass her. She talked my folks into letting me where jeans and normal shirts for the first time. Was weird to get use to.
Hugs for you,
Scottie
Adults seem to forget how important it is to children that they look and dress the same as their classmates, being too smart is just as bad as being the “poor” kid who wears the worst clothes.
Hair was another thing in the late 60s and early 70s. All the other boys had long hair but mine was alomost military short at the back and being the only redhead just made me stand out more.
Probably not too surprising that I was full of resentment and pulled stupid stunts like running away.
Love
Mac
Oh Mac, so many similarities. My step father insisted that my hair be kept either shaved to almost nothing or in high school he relented and allowed me to have a short crew cut ( after much begging and pleading ) . In that day and age I was the very odd stand out and it was not an easy thing to carry as everyone was in to the 1970″s long styled hair. It was simply my step fathers way of making sure he could prove he was my boss and I was worth nothing.
Have a grand day,many warm hugs
Scottie
That sums it up perfectly, Scottie. Dad knew perfectly well that everyone else would be in jeans and t-shirts, he just had to maimtain his position of power. He had the hair thing going as well and as he paid the barber I got little or no say in the matter.
Love
Mac