I didn’t think last nights blog (Part 1 of High School Confidential) would be as draining as it ways. Or make me feel as guilty as it did.
Mmm…doing something that leaves you feeling exhausted and guilty…sounds like something else I do – on occasion.
Anyways, enough with the getting sidetracked. You all wanna hear the conclusion of my story.
If you haven’t got up to spead, I suggest you click here to read Part 1 first .
You may now continue reading.
When we last left off, I discussed the events that led to the night my brother killed himself, and how a few years later I was about to experience something very similar.
As I said, Standard 8 was the year I completely let my mind slip in terms of school work. I was angry at myself for allowing this to happen. After all, I was the guy who was winning academic awards left right and centre in Primary school. Ah, those special book prizes…they really made me feel worth something. And being Head Boy was something I felt truly honored to be.
Sure it was under controversial circumstances, but I don’t think anyone can argue that I wasn’t a good Head Boy. Despite losing my brother and dad within a year, I lead pretty damn well.
High School was different though. I was lost and alone, and even though I felt I had a best friend, I don’t think anyone saw me as THEIR best friend.
Living out the area was tough as nobody really wanted to come to “my side of town”.
As I allowed my school work to suffer, I mistakenly created a snowball effect in my home life too.
Failure was NOT at option. Cliché alert!
But my mom made it clear even after what had happened with my brother that I needed to focus on my school work and if I ever failed, I was on my own…in more ways than one.
Talk about peer pressure.
Of course I ended up failing tests…one by one.
Now back then when you failed something or got in trouble, you had to get your parents to sign your diary or test. (Oh how I loathed those little red books!)
I’m a pretty brave guy…but there was NO CHANCE IN HELL I was going to show my mom a failed test…so, I did the only thing that made sense. I forged her signature on my tests.
Of course it was the worse signature imaginable, but in my head I always though it “looked pretty damn good”.
There was always that weird rush when a teacher checked the signed test. To be honest, I think they knew it was fake, but they had a soft spot for me and always let me get away with it.
It got worse and worse, and I got into the habit of “getting away with it” because it was easier than the alternative of facing my mom.
Till one day.
I remember the day quite clearly.
As I walked out of school one day, I put my bag in the car and got in the front said. As I wanted to kiss my mom hello as I always did, she ignored me.
Uh oh. This spelt trouble.
I asked what was wrong, and she coldly replied “Just you wait till we get home”.
My blood ran cold. What now?
The ride felt like it was over in two minutes and when we got home, the first think I saw was the red school diary on the kitchen counter.
I had inexplicably left it at home!
My mom question the forged signature immediately. I um’d and ah’d and came up with all sorts of excuses.
“what else are you hiding shaun!”
Seething with anger, she through the hardback diary at my face.
Then took my school bag from me and emptied it out.
She found some more forged tests. (why did I not destroy them!)
What I remember most was her finding some little plastic toy pigs in my bag.
My friend and I at the time were on a huge Bill & Ted vibe, and constantly quoted the Ziggy Piggy line in the movie. So the pigs were an inside joke.
Of course, Ziggy became the term that refers to this incident.
My mom became violently angry and grabbed me by my fringe (which was quite long at the time), she dragged me to the bathroom and began to cut the fringe off. She ripped at my fringe so hard that I swear it hasn’t been able to grow long since (because well it hasn’t).
It was about 2.30pm. and what began was one of the longest beatings of my life. Anything and everything became a weapon to my mom.
Of course it had been a rainy day, so what just happened to be laying about? Yup, you guessed it. An umbrella.
This particular umbrella had been one of my favourite things (not after this of course), because it had some decorative dice on it.
My mom proceeded to beat me over and over with the umbrella, until I could no longer stand. In fake the umbrella had bend practically in half by now, and the dice marks were embedded in my bloodied skin on my back.
The welt were so thick, that I actually stopped feeling the pain.
Angry but what “I had made her do” grabbed her car keys and said she was going to go drive her car into a bus.
Smashing ornaments and she left, she locked me in the house and left.
About an hour later she returned, with my aunt.
When she saw how badly I was beaten, she was in shock and asked my mom how she could do this. My mom of course was irrational (as she still is today), and asked to explain the story.
Which I did, and simply just said I was scared to show her a failed test.
The rest of the evening is a bit blurred, and I don’t remember much more than my mom telling me not to dare tell anyone what happens in that house.
Of course the morning, I was battered and blue, but nothing a school uniform couldn’t hide.
At school, I couldn’t hardly talk, let alone move muscle without being in pain.
Thought the excuse escapes me, I managed to get out of gym class.
I think I briefly mentioned something about the previous night’s events to my best friend, but with a casualness that never warranted further enquiry into my troubles.
The cruel humour that is my life leaves me with one moment that still makes me laugh to myself.
Someone said to me “ah man, you cut your fringe off.”
….yes….yes I did.