Memories from my Childhood

These are things that go through my mind every once in a while and I wonder where it all went wrong.  I wonder where I broke, I wonder why I changed.

(LIFE STORY TIME)

As far back as I am able to remember, I have known how to read.  I remember reading the Bernstein Bear books with Martine before I was in school.  I don't know if I was "reading them" or just looking at the pictures, but I definitely went from one page to another and knew what was happening in the story.  In kindergarten, my friend drew a ninja turtle, and I added a speech bubble that read "PIZZA".  The teacher asked how I knew how to write that, and all I could think was "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles".  So obviously, I knew what I was reading if I was able to reciprocate what I'd seen and wrote it out.  I also remember spending lots of time in Kindergarten going through my dad's Astérix and Lucky Luke books.  Once again, I'm not sure if I knew how to read (I don't actively remember "reading", so I won't claim to be a prodigy) but I did go through the books numerous times, and I remember thinking Asterix at the Olympic Games had too much writing (Here's a sample).  When I got to 1st grade, I don't remember learning how to read, but I do remember not doing the required reading because the stories were fucking stupid, (I did lie that I did read them in order to get my grubby little hands on some of these bad-boys).  I remember when other kids needed to read out loud to the class, some read "The... d..og... wa...was... a....b.it...bit...bitch", but when my turn came, I just read it out loud perfectly.

So long story short, I was a smart kid and apparently picked up reading very easily since I was interested in reading material designed for older kids.

Now let's skip ahead to either second, or third grade.  I am VERY tempted to say second grade, but the memories are fuzzy, and I don't like bullshitting.  But I do remember the assistant principal keeping me in a separate room during class, late after school and sometimes on the week-end (I much later realized I wasn't being punished) to partake in a long series of reading and writing tests.  In the end, I remember my parents and I talking to the assistant principal and he said I was reading at an 8th grade level.  It makes perfect sense if you consider I had read every Tintin, Asterix and Lucky Luke book I could get my hands on from the school library.  I don't remember being an A level kid, probably because I didn't pay any attention in class, loved to be disruptive and agitated, and my report cards reflect this.  I do remember being top student whenever it came to dictations, despite my writing being very sloppy.

Fast forward again to 5th grade.  Up until this point, my schooling was done in Alberta in a French Catholic school.  5th grade started, for me, in October I think, in Montreal after a late-posting for my father.  First day in class, feeling extremely awkward, forced to share a tiny locker with 2 other students, and the teacher naturally continues his lessons, and I had no context of what the hell he was talking about when he asked for the students to open their notebooks to conjugate verbs.  Did the only thing I could think of.  "What's a verb?".  The French curriculum in Alberta and Quebec are apparently MUCH different than anyone thought.  The whole class thought I was either kidding, or really stupid.

My first day in class, everyone knew what a noun, adjective and a verb was.  That year they would learn much more in-depth things about French sentence structure, and there I sat, with a vague understanding of what a noun was and no clue what a verb was.  I remember opening up a blank notebook, a Bescherelle and staring at it, having no clue what the hell I was expected to do.  The teacher gave me a long list of verbs I was expected to conjugate fully by the end of the school year...  I don't remember working particularly hard to master it, nor do I remember struggling too much.  I do remember asking my parents for some help when trying to figure out types of adjectives, adverbs, and nouns.  But I do remember helping out other kids by the end of the school year (such as the three different types of verbs (Verbes Auxiliaires: Avoir et Etre, 1er groupe: end in -er, etc...).  My older sister Martine didn't adapt as easily however, forced not only to go back to 6th to 5th grade because there was too big a gap in what the kids were learning and what she had been taught, but the 5th grade classes were full at our current school and she had to go to another school.

5th and 6th grade in Montreal were fun for me, especially English class.  No kidding, the class was learning to count to 100 in 6th grade.  I was bored to tears.  The only thing they did was take the kids who already knew the basics of reading and writing in English, and put them in an advanced program, where they sat in the cafeteria and did a bunch of crap projects that did not teach jack, nor shit.

7th Grade time.  Move to Calgary for my dad's 1 year remuster (change of military occupation) course to ACS Tech.

Lose all my friends, new location, with the knowledge that I will be moving again after the school year is over.  None of the kids were nice to me, I didn't want to make friends I would lose, and I hated Calgary.  I remember going to English class, the teacher realizing I was far behind in the English curriculum because I had just spent 2 years being taught nothing useful in English and I didn't speak it at all in Montreal...so I get put in the ESL class (English Second Language, seems like an odd class for a French school in my opinion).  Once again I'm not learning anything useful...  I eventually get thrown back into the regular English class because I'm clearly having no fucking problem in retard English.  And what were they doing as I joined the class?  Explaining Plot Diagrams.  What the fuck is a plot?  You expect me to read 2 novels and write a book research?   Whatever, at least I'm learning shit, I don't care if I fail.  I didn't fail, but I didn't pass with flying color either.

That was definitely my longest school year.  Being pulled into the guidance counselor's office to talk about why I wasn't participating in class, why I wasn't trying to make friends, bullying and shit...whatever, I'm only here to finish the school year, leave me the fuck alone.   I got in a lot of trouble that year, angry very often, not giving a shit the rest of the time.  By the end of the school year, I still didn't have a single friend in the class, no one I ever hung out with after school.  I hated them all.

Moved to Trenton for 8th Grade until 12th grade and everything went fine, I was happy, had many friends and was doing all right in school.  Early 10th grade, started smoking pot, lasted until a few years after high school.  I smoked enough pot to be labelled as a stoner, although never actually showing up to class baked.  It was a small school, news traveled fast and the punishment wasn't worth it.  But I did it enough to notice a significant decrease in my grades and a much harder time actually trying to learn what I needed to learn to pass the class.  I became a sub-par student and felt stupid, but at least I was having fun when I wasn't in school.

I graduated high school, failed grade 12 English mostly because the teacher was/is a complete fucking knob (I had done all of the mandatory reading, but the teacher was a knob), so I don't have a bilingual diploma. 

(LONG STORY OVER, TIME FOR THE BLOG PART)

It's now years later, and the only thing I have is a vague memory of how incredibly smart a child I was.  Life's natural complications led to me having a difficult education, I could have steered clear of pot, I could have kept trying to maintain my smarts and surpass myself, I could have gone to university.  These aren't regrets, they are the realization of what could have happened had I made a completely different choice at some point in high school.  I knew exactly what I was doing when I took my first puff of pot, and I knew how far I would go, and I knew when I would stop (and I did, never did coke, and quit a few years after high school).  The decision had been made.  I had a LOT of fun, it was definitely worth it, I don't regret it, those are the memories I wanted to leave high school with.

The fact I was so aware of what I was doing when I did it shows I wasn't pressured into it, he proposed it, I considered it, made a decision and I knew what I was getting myself into.

I don't know why I stopped caring.  I didn't take up smoking pot because I was angry or rebellious, I just wanted to have fun, with the knowledge that stoners brains are like fried eggs.... I am still VERY often told I am a smart individual.  I don't see it personally, I make a lot of stupid decisions, actions and comments, I forget a lot of things DAILY, I have a hard time getting my mind around new concepts and understanding new material.  I know I ruined what WAS my intelligence when I decided to smoke pot.  How can I feel so dumb and be told I am smart?  Maybe I am overestimating how much IQ I lost when I smoked pot, (and I did, trust me, I did, I definitely feel it) or maybe I am recovering my smarts and not noticing it.

This may sound like I thought I was the next Einstein or something, or that I regret where I have ended up in life.  Really, it's nothing like that, the curiosity of what could have been eats at me however.

I have no ending to this.  This is just stuff that goes through my head every once in a while, decided to put it on here, not giving too many fucks if anyone reads it.  I like people to know where I come from.  Too many people shield themselves and never let people know who they really are.  I love reading people, understanding how they think and especially why they are they way they are.