I have no cohesive memories before eighth grade—only bits and pieces of memory.
They come as fragments—fragments of fights, fragments of school lunch, and fragments of classroom horse-play. During eighth grade and high school, I remember much, but just not about the classroom. I enjoyed math and did well. During my high school career, I had only two math teachers and one of them for only one year. I learned from him and never had trouble understanding. It puzzled me when my classmates did not understand derivatives and integrals. I always thought that if they had so much trouble with calculus, then why take the class—by that time it was not required for graduation. I did okay in science, but did not like it. My teachers were stuffy and bored, nearing retirement or bitter or a bit crazed. Chemistry was fun, but only because it came easily to me. History interested me, but not the way my history teachers taught it. Government was a joke with a teacher there only to keep us busy and collect his paycheck as he lorded his power over the seniors as since the only teacher who taught a class required for graduation. Okay, maybe I exaggerate, a little, but that realization comes from years of hindsight. At the time, I felt that way and resented him for it. I still don’t remember much from Government other than boredom and how angry he could get. Boredom seems to be the theme—that and dread.[…Read More…]