A SENSE OF DREAD

Like they are for many people, parts of my high school years were nightmarish. Bullies. The opposite gender. Forced participation in stupid activities. Sadistic phys. ed. teachers. Pint-sized religious bigots. Reading all the textbooks for that year cover-to-cover during the first week, answering questions about the material from teachers accurately, and still not being allowed to bring novels to read during class but being told to just sit quietly with my hands folded and not being a bad example to others no we won't allow you to answer questions in class give the normal students a chance.

Also, you can't smoke your pipe in the bathroom on very long so-called potty breaks.

If absolutely necessary, there is a coffee place right outside the gate.

Taking tests was, however not nightmarish in the slightest.

See aforementioned total textbook reading.


Religion, art, and German were among my favourite subjects. The first because I had already read much of the bible, in both Dutch and English, and took issue with several passages in the Dutch translation favoured by the school, which was in the modern tongue, NOT the Staten vertaling authorized by the synod of Dort, and therefore wrong wrong wrong, even though as a disbeliever and near-atheist I considered all of it frankly ridiculous. Art and German were just natural abilities furthered by the parental library.

This morning I woke up from a test which would probably make me fail the year. I cannot remember the subject. Drenched in sweat. Can't remember the subject.

This looks like that second year phys. ed. teacher wrote it. What else would you expect from a sadist who had us all go on runs through the forest for three hours during snow storms over an uneven dirt road while he followed in his station wagon with a hot cup of coffee? He never remembered our names, so it was relatively easy to dive into the undergrowth after a bend and hide, shivering, till the bastard passed, but I'm surprised that he never worried at losing any of us. He would be cheerfully in the teacher's lounge having a second cup and cigar by the time I got back, so I never caught flack, but good lord he was a nasty piece of work.

That, and the swimming teacher who subbed for the Bitch of Belsen, have given me a distaste for sports that lasts to this day.



That high school no longer exists, by the way. They tore it down years ago. Quite likely too many brilliant cadavers in the trees behind it, which they undoubtedly swept under the rug, but an entire generation probably remembers their years there with horror. No wonder so many of them left that town and never went back.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================