Dreams, school, and teachers oh my.

I had a dream about High School last night. It was quite frightening really, you see, I graduated mid-term from that hell-hole educational institution. I'm not going to share the dream, but I really would've been glad if that never would've happened. I hate dreaming about that place. I wiped my hands of it December 2006.

*SIGH*

I feel as though I'm stagnate. It's a horrible feeling. But alas, I am to start schooling in January-maybe then I'll feel as though I am progressing after that time.

I think that the biggest problem in my life at the moment is the fact that I am a student. That's how I define myself. Because I love learning, I love reading, and most of all, I love gaining knowledge, whether it be about people, places, things, ideas, suggestions, theories, anything really, as long as I can learn. Different writing styles attract me. When I was seven, I read the dictionary for fun. So every once in a while, I bust out a word that I remember reading and it stuns other people for the simple fact that I use big words occasionally. I love spelling. LOVE IT!!!

Occasionally, I find myself pondering about childhood. What would have happened if my childhood would have been different? Would I be the same person I am today, I doubt it. No, I wouldn't I would have been a completely different person.

One of the most important times of a person’s life was childhood. The manner in which a child grows up affects him or her for the rest of their lives. Parents imprint a child from a young age with the way they discipline and raise them or the lack thereof. They can mold a child into becoming a well grounded and good adult or they can turn them into a hateful bitch or bastard being. I would have liked to say that my parents were kind people to me and that we were the closest family ever, but I would be lying. And lately I have taken to telling the complete and utter truth no matter how it degrades someone or offends. We have freedom of speech for a reason so what better way to exercise it than with the truth.

Other people raised me in all reality. My parents both worked jobs that disabled them from spending too much time with me and when they were home my father was watching NASCAR and my mother was doing housework while I stayed in my bedroom reading, or my downstairs playroom playing with my dolls or Super Nintendo. Or, I was outside pretending my swing set was a far away castle and while I was sitting on the monkey bars I pretended that I was a princess and I was waiting for that knight in shining armor to come across the moat and save me from the horrible fire-breathing dragon. Being a typical girl on that account, but really, in all reality-I was a tomboy and I preferred playing in the mud and dirt and riding my bike down the trails in the woods in our addition, or going to the cemetery and reading the headstones (quite a morbid little kid, wasn't I?).

When I started school I began as a student of Head-Start. Margaret Staggs (no relation) was my bus driver. She was a kind old lady and a funny lady. She would drive around until I was the last student on the bus so my parents would be home by the time she dropped me off. Of course, I was five and had a key to the house so I would say that the car was in the garage (which if any vehicle could fit in our old garage, it would have been a miracle with all the wood projects that I did with my father when he did have free time) and unlock the door and go in by myself fix a bowl of cereal and sit in front of the TV and watch WB4 Cartoons. Gargoyles was my favorite. That and WishBone. I learned most of the greatest pieces of literature from WishBone. Romeo & Juliet, The Case of the Baskerville Hounds, Rumplestiltskin. God, the list goes on. But most of the time, I would go to my Grandmother's house.

Did you ever get wipped with a rosebush stem? Hurts like hell. Of course, back in the day, it wasn't child abuse to get wipped with a switch of the plant that an elder told you to go pick yourself, and if you choose the one that you thought would hurt the least you'd have to go get a different branch. I think sometimes that she's the one that put me in line when I was acting out. The one time my father wipped me I took my little chair and smashed it over his back. Come to think of it, I've never done well with discipline. I always felt if you hit me, you're gonna get hit back. No matter who you are. I guess that's my problem. I follow the Golden Rule a little too closely. I digress.

I've had countless babysitters (one of which was abusive & I stopped seeing them after my Great Aunt gave them the what-for. Which is unlike her seeing as how she's a good Southern Baptist lady.) But my teachers are the ones that raised me. Let me explain. I would go to school from 8-3. Then my bus ride in my younger days would last 40 minutes. I'd get home, and be by myself until about 5 or 6. Sometimes 7 when my mother began working nights she would be home for 10 minutes, tell me what to tell dad to fix for dinner (the only thing that man could make was fried taters and chicken I had to make the mac & cheese and asparagus.) And then be on her way, and then dad would get home at fix dinner at 7:30. I would do my homework, and go to bed. Get up the next morning and do it all over again.

In sixth grade I was in quite a state. I hadn't been eating for a year, and was depressed, cutting, and just plain suicidal. I had the most amazing teacher who forced me to sit in her classroom during lunchtime just to assure that I ate and would accompany me to the bathroom so I wouldn't throw up. She knew about my dirty little secret and watched me to make sure I wasn't a lost cause, because she, like most of the educators I've had told me I had this potential that she wanted to see used for the greater good and not by destroying myself. I quit my habits to please her. She made me try out for basketball and my teammates treated me like crap. But I enjoyed defensive playing in Basketball, and I was good at it. We were undeafeated that year.

I moved mid-semester. To a little hill-jack school by a cemetery and field. A mile off of the highway. I lived in the boonies, got on the bus at 6:45 every morning and kept myself after school until 5 pm so I wouldn't have to ride the bus. I did this all three years of Middle School. Avoided going home. Hung out with other kids, enjoyed life for once. My coaches saw me more than my parents. I loved it.

High School wasn't much different. I hung out with people after school my freshman year. (Older kids, who drove.) Then I joined Marching Band and hung out with all the Band Geeks, Guard Freaks (I was a Guardie). And that consumed my life for the next two years. Senior year I left home. Got married, had a kid, graduated.

So, I raised myself and the teachers helped me. They all were supportive. Minus a few...no real names given, but Senora I'm-too-good-to-answer-your-question and Mrs. was-your-absence-excused...

However, back to life. My child is crying. He's murmuring Mumumumum. Which means "Mum." Love that little boy. Toodles.