My nephew was diagnosed with ADHD a long time ago. Off his Ritalin for a while now, but he has anger mgmt. issues. He wanted to see a different psychiatrist because the other man wasn't helping him at all (certainly loved the paycheck tho!). This licensed "professional" told him because he wasn't jabbed, she would not see him. Can you believe this bullshit? He did tell that woman who claims to be a doctor who cares for people that he wasn't going to take any vaxxs for fear of dying. No, you cannot even stand up for yourself in doing the Right Thing in this country, Murder Capital of the World. If I am forced to go, I WILL take one of them with me.
Much like reading those articles from Agent regarding those Smart Meters and the dangers. How many people's homes will have to burn to the ground before they are removed? I realize some cities are allowing people to switch back to the old style. God help us!
Glad to hear he is off the Ritalin. That is nasty stuff. About ten years ago, a conspiracy between some cops, a district attorney, and a judge determined I had "mental health issues" because I spouted off about the nonsense perpetrated by the 9-1-1 Commission at a local town council. (They did not say that but it was not hard to connect those dots.) I was charged with "giving false information to a police officer" after refusing to give an ID and a full name. (Long story that.) My lawyer suggested I go on some program that involves probation- I cannot recall the exact name of the program any longer- where you essentially plead guilty but technically you are not pleading guilty. At any rate, part of what I had to do was take a "mental health evaluation", and I was supposed to submit to any "medications" the "health professional" "recommended". Needless to say, I could see where this was going. Luckily, the probation officer was one of my former classmates from High School (Our Lady does look out for the stupid- which is what I was at the time) and she looked the other way while I relocated to Kentucky (I was not supposed to leave the county) until the Statute of Limitations ran out. I dodged a real bullet there. (And people wonder why I am "jaded".)
I also researched how they conduct these "mental health evaluations". The questions are blatantly intrusive, to put it mildly. Quite frankly, I think the humiliation is intentional, and part of the process. So far as I am concerned, the whole "profession" of psychiatry is riddled with Operatives who might make the victim the next school shooter or whatever- riddled as they are with those "SRIs" (Serotonin reuptake inhibitors). I think your nephew would be a heck of a lot better off seeing a good pastor and seeing if he had underlying moral issues that need to be addressed, such as an addiction to masturbation.
That idiot who refused to see him because he refused to get vaxxed was actually doing him a big favor.
What might also help the "anger management issues" is some fasting and self-denial. Go a whole day without watching movies and/or eating snacks. Instead, read a good a book and take a quiet walk.
People might not want to admit it, but things were a heck of a lot saner when Catholics gave up something for Lent and had "Fish on Fridays".
Good suggestions. My nephew's father was a mouthy, abusive SOB. Not good father material at all. My sister put up with him, being the airhead that she is. Hoping things will get "better", which they never did. However, the bastard died of cancer, so Adios. Both his sons are messed up. I don't think either of them have a job. Angry Nephew can't hold down a job. His mouth and anger gets him in trouble every time, and in actuality, is quite bright. Just can't stay focused and/or gets so pissed off when agitated. His obsession with his cell phone and whatever he's into is one horrible distraction instead of looking into his inner self. At least this young man has the sense to just say No. It is true, too much junk food and too much social networking. Nephew isn't totally crazy, he needs the proper guidance to find his way.
I have tried for many, many years to give her the, what I thought, was the most sensible advice. Much to my dismay, it all fell on deaf ears. I try and stay out of it now. Her problems and those are not my children. I at one point became so stressed out with listening to her it made me physically ill. So I had to walk away.
We were all young once and thought the older folks were just a bit too preachy. At least, that was my perspective. The best lessons in life are the ones you learn yourself, if you survive them. The School of Hard Knocks.
Nothing you say surprises me a lot. The current malaise of our society is due to the breakdown of fathers, which started after WW2, in what Donald Jeffries calls America 1.0. My Father- and thank God he finally woke up and died well- was a sissified wimp who could not pound two boards together, dig a real hole, or walk five miles. He grew up around dogs and chickens but knew nothing about them, was scared to death of German Shepherds and Roosters, and real work. (I remember one time when I suggested we get a wood stove. "Oh, the drudgery, the work, the getting up at midnight to bank the fire, the cutting and splitting and hauling." You would have thought I was suggesting an expedition across Kenya through Savannas filled with packs of roaring lions.) My Father was raised in the World of High School Basketball and Hello Dolly, a world where every problem was solved by the plumber and the lawyer, you paid your taxes, went to Mass on Sunday, and all was well. He was a product of my maternal grandmother, who also ruled the proverbial roost while her husband was a janitor at the public school. But at least he knew how to cut down a tree.
My aunt married a similar person, a college wimp whose idea of adventure and manliness was watching Charlton Heston. And she raised my godchild, who is divorced and an obese train wreck eating himself to death. They subsidized his whole life after he dropped out of college- not that he was college material to begin with- with his father giving him a job at his company, and giving him loans from the bank of mom and pops. He got into drugs and the rest, as they say, is history.
And I could give a whole litany of such cases going back to the '80's. When I was training broiler chefs at the Steakhouse back in the '80's I heard dozens of horror stories, and I saw them too. That was when the snowflakes started falling- people that would burst into tears because you told them they were doing something wrong. By all that is Holy sometimes I felt like I was in charge of Romper Room. And during my brief stint in the education racket, I saw it in spades. Truly, it is only by the grace of God that the whole USA has tottered along the road of history for this long. I had expected the whole thing to collapse by 2000. Luckily for us, the Soviet "Evil Empire" and the "Muslim World" was just as dysfunctional.
If there was something like Sparta or Romulus and Remus or Attila's Huns around, they could just start galloping and conquer the world. If they had Tiger Tanks the only thing they would have to stop for is Gas.
Sorry to hear your father was such a great example of manliness. My dad was a bricklayer, learned his trade in the CCCs, and worked his tail off to support us nine little Indians. He tried to give my mother everything she desired, within financial and sensical reason, but it never seemed to be good enough since she compared her poor lifestyle to those of her sisters who's husbands had better jobs. After dinner, my father would take the time to read the newspaper for relaxation before being hounded to get this or that done. Mom was not a good cook (an excellent baker), but Dad ate everything on his plate, never once complaining, never wasteful, as growing up during the Depression taught him well. He cashed his check and gave her the money for bills and whatever. Would shop at the grocery store on his way home if need be. Would take us to the local beach on a hot day just to stand there to watch us playing around in the water. I will never forget seeing him standing on the beach in his white T-shirt and work khaki pants. I'll say one thing about my father, he never looked like a slob, no matter where we went..
Mom always wore dresses and an apron. Sign of the times. She never cared if we tried on her earrings or put on her lipstick. We didn't steal from our parents either. The thought never crossed our minds.
They were members of the Catholic Church that at that time was the closest and they served there at certain functions. I'll never forget the time Dad came home with a black eye. I think some other man asked my mother to dance or something at a New Years party, but it triggered my father. I never did find out what happened. He was strong from all that bricklaying. When he hit you, you didn't see stars. You saw the sun. When he told you to do something and gave you "that look", it meant business.
Mom sewed, was quite good at it. But we wore a lot of hand-me-downs. In first grade (public school), I had to wear boys boots to school and was I ever ridiculed. I used to beat up the boys at that age even though I was quite small. I could outrun the little brats too. I wanted to be like one of my brothers. Well, they were useful, taught me how to throw a punch. Used to cut the hair on my arms so it would grow longer. LOL I must have really scared my parents.
I remember so well my favorite outfit. A brown and red cowgirl outfit. I think I am wearing it in my 1st grade picture. If I could have worn it every day, I would have.
Until that horrible Catholic school. 2nd to 8th grade. It was like a Nazi concentration camp, to me. Life took on another whole twist, down a road I did not like. Mean nuns, shouting priests, and the constant threats that you'll burn in Hell forever. Wearing those awful uniforms and nasty nuns who always were checking your hemlines - better not be above your knees. I would fake every illness I could think of. I was so happy when I caught the measles and chicken pox. I would barely get thru doing my homework, almost flunked 5th grade. That teacher was hateful, Mrs. Labbs. I'll never forget that witch. And Mr. Bevil in 7th grade. Fat punk from Texas with slight buck teeth who wanted me to stand up and sing in front of the class and I refused coz I can't sing. He yelled out loud, You're going to get an F! Seriously? Singing like a dying bird is not everyone's forte and I didn't want to embarrass myself. Too bad I didn't swear at the overstuffed baboon. I would have gotten kicked out. Should have tried harder no matter the consequences. Trust me, I had lots of black pepper and tabasco sauce dumped on my tongue from my mother. Did it go any good? No.
I just remember the summers best. Away from school and the bullshit. Outside to venture into the woods or to play with neighborhood kids. Riding bikes, playing in the trees, visiting relatives, or camping out in the back of my dad's Chevy wagon fighting the invading mosquitoes. That was a big deal. Red Light, Green Light games. When the cow pasture across the street was turned into one huge golf course, then we'd cruise the course at night, dodging the guys who were out on the golf carts checking the grounds. We'd also walk the then country roads at night and pretend we had Tourette's Syndrome. Passing cars would beep at us. Dopey stuff kids do. Not at all compared to the sad mess of whatever kids are into today. I feel sorry for most of them.
I always admired bricklayers. They were not paid nearly enough in the old days. I have laid bricks before- done a perfect job. But what it took me an hour to do a real brick layer can accomplish in five minutes flat. And yes, it was hard work. Mud is heavy stuff, and mixing it yourself is not easy. (I was the mudman for the bricklayers several times.)
I went to Catholic School too and yes, I had several misfit sisters. Now Sr Laticia in 1st Grade was a gem, but Sr Adrian in 2nd was right out of the pit of hell. If had not been for poor Jimmy Griffy I would have tasted the full blunt of her wrath. I was a social misfit at school, and not at all interested in sports. In a world where you were measured by how fast you could run or how far you could toss a ball, I was the outcast of the outcasts. I was not picked to be on a team, I was the default last man standing. When the classmates started picking in gym class, if somebody was not sick I knew right away which team I would be on. Sometimes a classmate would be sick. In that case I got to watch because I was the odd man out, and never minded at all. Rather I took to reading and by the third grade was an accomplished reader, although you would never know it, because I had already finished the story and was three stories ahead in the reader and so when called upon to read I had no idea where we were because I was not following along, and somebody would have to point out to me where to read. And they used to tell my parents: "Oh poor Michael. We don't know whatever is going to become of him."
When I was in third grade my parents took me to the psychiatrist. After one or two sessions, this man, who fortunately had integrity, told them: "This child is reading at a 7th Grade Level. All his problems are social".
My mother then came up with the brilliant idea to enroll me in Public school. Now, for all the shortcomings of the catholic school system, rest assured, the public school was several orders of magnitude worse. In that 4th grade, I was relentlessly made fun of. All the kids called me "gramps", derogatory for "grandpa". I was the target of every bully, especially the ones in the fifth grade. And many of them were on the "safety patrol". I was always being arrested for infractions and presented before the board. Now, half of those infractions were fanciful, and half were because I resented their utter tyranny. "Walk on the pavement," they would yell, when the grass was the playground and we ran all over it at recess. Well, I would step into the grass and walk around the maple tree to explicate my freedom, and be hauled before the truant board. (I think those safety patrol guys went on to become cops- it is how the police behave today.)
Yes, my summers were wonderful to. The best experience I had was riding the train across Pennsylvania and going to grandma's house for two whole weeks before my parents got there. Of course, my cousin was dysfunctional. She got howling mad because the pedal fell off her bicycle when I was riding along the railroad bed. (the tracks had been pulled up and sold for scrap, the ties had become retaining walls.) But the threads to that pedal were shot and it had always been falling off. You just put it back in, tightened it as best as you could with a wrench, and went on. (If I knew what I know now, I would have wrapped a piece of aluminum foil tightly around the threads and then screwed it in. That would have held for good long while.) And my grandma was also dysfunctional. She got so upset at my cousin that she threatened my aunt that she was going to burn the house down, and stormed with a pack of matches into the basement. Ah yes those days of youth.
I sure could have used your father to give both my grandma and my cousin a sock in the jaw. Doubtless it would have done some good.
Meanwhile, back at Catholic School, I also had some misfit teachers. I recall Bill Keller, who was somewhat of a megalomaniac. He used to throw tirades, especially in the science lab. When I was in First grade and had to wait for lunch, I used to stand outside his door and hear him yelling at the 7th graders, and I used to hope he would be gone by the time I was in 7th grade but, alas, I had him for science classes starting in the 6th. In the grade he paddled me for an incident which was so stupid I cannot even recall it, something about using the nickname he had given to one of the students, Booby or whatever.
Yes, the world is full of people who abuse their authority, and the Prussian School model is a disaster- one of the seedbeds of socialism. Parents have no idea how much better off families would be if children were home schooled, and those destined to be janitors and herding sheep not subjected to the rigors of scholasticism.
I was always the last one picked for teams too. I wasn't much into sports. Didn't like baseball, not after I saw a girl hit right into face after she pitched the ball to the batter. She was very good at being a pitcher, but that must have really hurt. The only sport, if you will, that I was good at was dodge ball. No one could nail me. I was the last man standing.
I do not want to appear that every teacher at the Catholic school was evil. My 3rd grade teacher was very sweet. 4th grade teacher was Ok, taught us Spanish. The kids in my class were mean and would make the 6th grade nun cry. They'd call her names. The community where we attended the school was not in my district, so these kids came from more "refined" families. Or so they thought.
My mother did make me become a Girl Scout. Boorish, but I did like the camping we got to do occasionally, even one trip in winter. I was forced to take organ lessons which I hated, found it boring, but we had an organ in the house. Perhaps she wanted her daughters to become just like her. Not my cup of tea.
By 8th grade, I had my friends formed that I hung around with. It was the latter part of the 60s so boys and who was necking with who were whispered everywhere. These fellow students that I finally had gotten used to would not be the same ones I went to high school with. So another life changing adjustment was about to take place. Either way, I was not sorry to leave that school. Too much churching in my opinion. Not with all the hypocrisy I witnessed. I was getting tired of being bossed around and constantly told what to do with threats.
Our summers were also filled with going to the public school library to pick up books to read. We'd cut thru the fields before the golf course was built. I could read fast and it was the one thing I loved. A good way to escape life and have your own personal adventures.
My nephew was diagnosed with ADHD a long time ago. Off his Ritalin for a while now, but he has anger mgmt. issues. He wanted to see a different psychiatrist because the other man wasn't helping him at all (certainly loved the paycheck tho!). This licensed "professional" told him because he wasn't jabbed, she would not see him. Can you believe this bullshit? He did tell that woman who claims to be a doctor who cares for people that he wasn't going to take any vaxxs for fear of dying. No, you cannot even stand up for yourself in doing the Right Thing in this country, Murder Capital of the World. If I am forced to go, I WILL take one of them with me.
Much like reading those articles from Agent regarding those Smart Meters and the dangers. How many people's homes will have to burn to the ground before they are removed? I realize some cities are allowing people to switch back to the old style. God help us!
Glad to hear he is off the Ritalin. That is nasty stuff. About ten years ago, a conspiracy between some cops, a district attorney, and a judge determined I had "mental health issues" because I spouted off about the nonsense perpetrated by the 9-1-1 Commission at a local town council. (They did not say that but it was not hard to connect those dots.) I was charged with "giving false information to a police officer" after refusing to give an ID and a full name. (Long story that.) My lawyer suggested I go on some program that involves probation- I cannot recall the exact name of the program any longer- where you essentially plead guilty but technically you are not pleading guilty. At any rate, part of what I had to do was take a "mental health evaluation", and I was supposed to submit to any "medications" the "health professional" "recommended". Needless to say, I could see where this was going. Luckily, the probation officer was one of my former classmates from High School (Our Lady does look out for the stupid- which is what I was at the time) and she looked the other way while I relocated to Kentucky (I was not supposed to leave the county) until the Statute of Limitations ran out. I dodged a real bullet there. (And people wonder why I am "jaded".)
I also researched how they conduct these "mental health evaluations". The questions are blatantly intrusive, to put it mildly. Quite frankly, I think the humiliation is intentional, and part of the process. So far as I am concerned, the whole "profession" of psychiatry is riddled with Operatives who might make the victim the next school shooter or whatever- riddled as they are with those "SRIs" (Serotonin reuptake inhibitors). I think your nephew would be a heck of a lot better off seeing a good pastor and seeing if he had underlying moral issues that need to be addressed, such as an addiction to masturbation.
That idiot who refused to see him because he refused to get vaxxed was actually doing him a big favor.
What might also help the "anger management issues" is some fasting and self-denial. Go a whole day without watching movies and/or eating snacks. Instead, read a good a book and take a quiet walk.
People might not want to admit it, but things were a heck of a lot saner when Catholics gave up something for Lent and had "Fish on Fridays".
Good suggestions. My nephew's father was a mouthy, abusive SOB. Not good father material at all. My sister put up with him, being the airhead that she is. Hoping things will get "better", which they never did. However, the bastard died of cancer, so Adios. Both his sons are messed up. I don't think either of them have a job. Angry Nephew can't hold down a job. His mouth and anger gets him in trouble every time, and in actuality, is quite bright. Just can't stay focused and/or gets so pissed off when agitated. His obsession with his cell phone and whatever he's into is one horrible distraction instead of looking into his inner self. At least this young man has the sense to just say No. It is true, too much junk food and too much social networking. Nephew isn't totally crazy, he needs the proper guidance to find his way.
I have tried for many, many years to give her the, what I thought, was the most sensible advice. Much to my dismay, it all fell on deaf ears. I try and stay out of it now. Her problems and those are not my children. I at one point became so stressed out with listening to her it made me physically ill. So I had to walk away.
We were all young once and thought the older folks were just a bit too preachy. At least, that was my perspective. The best lessons in life are the ones you learn yourself, if you survive them. The School of Hard Knocks.
Nothing you say surprises me a lot. The current malaise of our society is due to the breakdown of fathers, which started after WW2, in what Donald Jeffries calls America 1.0. My Father- and thank God he finally woke up and died well- was a sissified wimp who could not pound two boards together, dig a real hole, or walk five miles. He grew up around dogs and chickens but knew nothing about them, was scared to death of German Shepherds and Roosters, and real work. (I remember one time when I suggested we get a wood stove. "Oh, the drudgery, the work, the getting up at midnight to bank the fire, the cutting and splitting and hauling." You would have thought I was suggesting an expedition across Kenya through Savannas filled with packs of roaring lions.) My Father was raised in the World of High School Basketball and Hello Dolly, a world where every problem was solved by the plumber and the lawyer, you paid your taxes, went to Mass on Sunday, and all was well. He was a product of my maternal grandmother, who also ruled the proverbial roost while her husband was a janitor at the public school. But at least he knew how to cut down a tree.
My aunt married a similar person, a college wimp whose idea of adventure and manliness was watching Charlton Heston. And she raised my godchild, who is divorced and an obese train wreck eating himself to death. They subsidized his whole life after he dropped out of college- not that he was college material to begin with- with his father giving him a job at his company, and giving him loans from the bank of mom and pops. He got into drugs and the rest, as they say, is history.
And I could give a whole litany of such cases going back to the '80's. When I was training broiler chefs at the Steakhouse back in the '80's I heard dozens of horror stories, and I saw them too. That was when the snowflakes started falling- people that would burst into tears because you told them they were doing something wrong. By all that is Holy sometimes I felt like I was in charge of Romper Room. And during my brief stint in the education racket, I saw it in spades. Truly, it is only by the grace of God that the whole USA has tottered along the road of history for this long. I had expected the whole thing to collapse by 2000. Luckily for us, the Soviet "Evil Empire" and the "Muslim World" was just as dysfunctional.
If there was something like Sparta or Romulus and Remus or Attila's Huns around, they could just start galloping and conquer the world. If they had Tiger Tanks the only thing they would have to stop for is Gas.
Sorry to hear your father was such a great example of manliness. My dad was a bricklayer, learned his trade in the CCCs, and worked his tail off to support us nine little Indians. He tried to give my mother everything she desired, within financial and sensical reason, but it never seemed to be good enough since she compared her poor lifestyle to those of her sisters who's husbands had better jobs. After dinner, my father would take the time to read the newspaper for relaxation before being hounded to get this or that done. Mom was not a good cook (an excellent baker), but Dad ate everything on his plate, never once complaining, never wasteful, as growing up during the Depression taught him well. He cashed his check and gave her the money for bills and whatever. Would shop at the grocery store on his way home if need be. Would take us to the local beach on a hot day just to stand there to watch us playing around in the water. I will never forget seeing him standing on the beach in his white T-shirt and work khaki pants. I'll say one thing about my father, he never looked like a slob, no matter where we went..
Mom always wore dresses and an apron. Sign of the times. She never cared if we tried on her earrings or put on her lipstick. We didn't steal from our parents either. The thought never crossed our minds.
They were members of the Catholic Church that at that time was the closest and they served there at certain functions. I'll never forget the time Dad came home with a black eye. I think some other man asked my mother to dance or something at a New Years party, but it triggered my father. I never did find out what happened. He was strong from all that bricklaying. When he hit you, you didn't see stars. You saw the sun. When he told you to do something and gave you "that look", it meant business.
Mom sewed, was quite good at it. But we wore a lot of hand-me-downs. In first grade (public school), I had to wear boys boots to school and was I ever ridiculed. I used to beat up the boys at that age even though I was quite small. I could outrun the little brats too. I wanted to be like one of my brothers. Well, they were useful, taught me how to throw a punch. Used to cut the hair on my arms so it would grow longer. LOL I must have really scared my parents.
I remember so well my favorite outfit. A brown and red cowgirl outfit. I think I am wearing it in my 1st grade picture. If I could have worn it every day, I would have.
Until that horrible Catholic school. 2nd to 8th grade. It was like a Nazi concentration camp, to me. Life took on another whole twist, down a road I did not like. Mean nuns, shouting priests, and the constant threats that you'll burn in Hell forever. Wearing those awful uniforms and nasty nuns who always were checking your hemlines - better not be above your knees. I would fake every illness I could think of. I was so happy when I caught the measles and chicken pox. I would barely get thru doing my homework, almost flunked 5th grade. That teacher was hateful, Mrs. Labbs. I'll never forget that witch. And Mr. Bevil in 7th grade. Fat punk from Texas with slight buck teeth who wanted me to stand up and sing in front of the class and I refused coz I can't sing. He yelled out loud, You're going to get an F! Seriously? Singing like a dying bird is not everyone's forte and I didn't want to embarrass myself. Too bad I didn't swear at the overstuffed baboon. I would have gotten kicked out. Should have tried harder no matter the consequences. Trust me, I had lots of black pepper and tabasco sauce dumped on my tongue from my mother. Did it go any good? No.
I just remember the summers best. Away from school and the bullshit. Outside to venture into the woods or to play with neighborhood kids. Riding bikes, playing in the trees, visiting relatives, or camping out in the back of my dad's Chevy wagon fighting the invading mosquitoes. That was a big deal. Red Light, Green Light games. When the cow pasture across the street was turned into one huge golf course, then we'd cruise the course at night, dodging the guys who were out on the golf carts checking the grounds. We'd also walk the then country roads at night and pretend we had Tourette's Syndrome. Passing cars would beep at us. Dopey stuff kids do. Not at all compared to the sad mess of whatever kids are into today. I feel sorry for most of them.
High school. Thats another chapter.
I always admired bricklayers. They were not paid nearly enough in the old days. I have laid bricks before- done a perfect job. But what it took me an hour to do a real brick layer can accomplish in five minutes flat. And yes, it was hard work. Mud is heavy stuff, and mixing it yourself is not easy. (I was the mudman for the bricklayers several times.)
I went to Catholic School too and yes, I had several misfit sisters. Now Sr Laticia in 1st Grade was a gem, but Sr Adrian in 2nd was right out of the pit of hell. If had not been for poor Jimmy Griffy I would have tasted the full blunt of her wrath. I was a social misfit at school, and not at all interested in sports. In a world where you were measured by how fast you could run or how far you could toss a ball, I was the outcast of the outcasts. I was not picked to be on a team, I was the default last man standing. When the classmates started picking in gym class, if somebody was not sick I knew right away which team I would be on. Sometimes a classmate would be sick. In that case I got to watch because I was the odd man out, and never minded at all. Rather I took to reading and by the third grade was an accomplished reader, although you would never know it, because I had already finished the story and was three stories ahead in the reader and so when called upon to read I had no idea where we were because I was not following along, and somebody would have to point out to me where to read. And they used to tell my parents: "Oh poor Michael. We don't know whatever is going to become of him."
When I was in third grade my parents took me to the psychiatrist. After one or two sessions, this man, who fortunately had integrity, told them: "This child is reading at a 7th Grade Level. All his problems are social".
My mother then came up with the brilliant idea to enroll me in Public school. Now, for all the shortcomings of the catholic school system, rest assured, the public school was several orders of magnitude worse. In that 4th grade, I was relentlessly made fun of. All the kids called me "gramps", derogatory for "grandpa". I was the target of every bully, especially the ones in the fifth grade. And many of them were on the "safety patrol". I was always being arrested for infractions and presented before the board. Now, half of those infractions were fanciful, and half were because I resented their utter tyranny. "Walk on the pavement," they would yell, when the grass was the playground and we ran all over it at recess. Well, I would step into the grass and walk around the maple tree to explicate my freedom, and be hauled before the truant board. (I think those safety patrol guys went on to become cops- it is how the police behave today.)
Yes, my summers were wonderful to. The best experience I had was riding the train across Pennsylvania and going to grandma's house for two whole weeks before my parents got there. Of course, my cousin was dysfunctional. She got howling mad because the pedal fell off her bicycle when I was riding along the railroad bed. (the tracks had been pulled up and sold for scrap, the ties had become retaining walls.) But the threads to that pedal were shot and it had always been falling off. You just put it back in, tightened it as best as you could with a wrench, and went on. (If I knew what I know now, I would have wrapped a piece of aluminum foil tightly around the threads and then screwed it in. That would have held for good long while.) And my grandma was also dysfunctional. She got so upset at my cousin that she threatened my aunt that she was going to burn the house down, and stormed with a pack of matches into the basement. Ah yes those days of youth.
I sure could have used your father to give both my grandma and my cousin a sock in the jaw. Doubtless it would have done some good.
Meanwhile, back at Catholic School, I also had some misfit teachers. I recall Bill Keller, who was somewhat of a megalomaniac. He used to throw tirades, especially in the science lab. When I was in First grade and had to wait for lunch, I used to stand outside his door and hear him yelling at the 7th graders, and I used to hope he would be gone by the time I was in 7th grade but, alas, I had him for science classes starting in the 6th. In the grade he paddled me for an incident which was so stupid I cannot even recall it, something about using the nickname he had given to one of the students, Booby or whatever.
Yes, the world is full of people who abuse their authority, and the Prussian School model is a disaster- one of the seedbeds of socialism. Parents have no idea how much better off families would be if children were home schooled, and those destined to be janitors and herding sheep not subjected to the rigors of scholasticism.
Regards.
I was always the last one picked for teams too. I wasn't much into sports. Didn't like baseball, not after I saw a girl hit right into face after she pitched the ball to the batter. She was very good at being a pitcher, but that must have really hurt. The only sport, if you will, that I was good at was dodge ball. No one could nail me. I was the last man standing.
I do not want to appear that every teacher at the Catholic school was evil. My 3rd grade teacher was very sweet. 4th grade teacher was Ok, taught us Spanish. The kids in my class were mean and would make the 6th grade nun cry. They'd call her names. The community where we attended the school was not in my district, so these kids came from more "refined" families. Or so they thought.
My mother did make me become a Girl Scout. Boorish, but I did like the camping we got to do occasionally, even one trip in winter. I was forced to take organ lessons which I hated, found it boring, but we had an organ in the house. Perhaps she wanted her daughters to become just like her. Not my cup of tea.
By 8th grade, I had my friends formed that I hung around with. It was the latter part of the 60s so boys and who was necking with who were whispered everywhere. These fellow students that I finally had gotten used to would not be the same ones I went to high school with. So another life changing adjustment was about to take place. Either way, I was not sorry to leave that school. Too much churching in my opinion. Not with all the hypocrisy I witnessed. I was getting tired of being bossed around and constantly told what to do with threats.
Our summers were also filled with going to the public school library to pick up books to read. We'd cut thru the fields before the golf course was built. I could read fast and it was the one thing I loved. A good way to escape life and have your own personal adventures.
Many Thanks, WW!
If I am really good and still around can I get a deep discount on American Memory Hole? Am looking forward to that one.
Will see what we can do, WW. The problem is that Skyhorse doesn't give authors many copies. Thanks!
We'll Trust in Thee and keep our Rosaries Dry.