Grade Eight Rebel:
A beer with lunch? Not in eighth grade -
but still the tale is told
of epic winter carnival
when one kid was that bold!
The classroom was unsupervised
when he pulled out the can.
Then "Teach" returned and spotted it
so "Kid" got up and ran.
Our teacher screamed, "GIVE ME THAT BEER!"
and "Kid" screeched, "It's mine, Sir!"
And then a lively chase ensued -
oh yes, 'twas quite a stir!
Our teacher bellowed, "GIVE IT HERE!"
Kid taunted, "Get your own!"
We all breathed in collective gasp
at how much nerve he'd shown.
The atmosphere was tension fraught
as all the class observed
a war of wills twixt calm disdain
and thoroughly unnerved.
Our teacher gained the upper hand,
and rebel met his fate,
I'm guessing he was satisfied
that teacher took the bait.
Suspension surely was his goal -
one gasp inducing jeer
was likely worth the cost involved
in giving up his beer.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, April 26. 2016
This "Incident" (circa 1975) has been rolled out a time or two as my personal testament that there have always been precocious kids in classrooms. I went to an average public school in a middle class neighbourhood, but by the time I had graduated elementary school I'd seen a few things first hand - like a kid bringing a beer in his lunch box on Winter Carnival day, which had happened the year before when I was in a split classroom of grade seven and eight students.
A girl in my class in grade six had to quit school to have a baby. Stories circulated that a girl in the grade below me got married the summer between eighth and ninth grades "because she had to." The girl who lived in the house next door to me had a baby when she was thirteen. I wasn't terribly surprised - she'd woken me up a time or two the year before that - most notably on the night she reeled home at three in the morning offering the neighbourhood a very drunk, raucous rendition of "I Just Wanna Rock and Roll all Night..."
We hear a lot about how terrible the world is now, but things were pretty screwed up forty years ago too. At my high school dances kids puked in corners after smuggling in booze in opened cans and bottles of "pop" - something that wouldn't be allowed to happen now. I once saw a straight A student selling drugs in the school library, and on a more dramatic note, there was a fatal stabbing in the washroom of the second high school I attended - just a year or two after I graduated.
Some might say that my childhood and adolescence took place in a more innocent era, but I'm not entirely convinced. The 70's, after all, was a generation filled with social change and - some would argue - moral change. Media and music made the masses aware of problems that existed within society's framework. Great changes began to happen as the "Me Generation" insisted on a few basic human rights for all, regardless of race, gender or colour. Archie Bunker showed us how silly bigotry looked. People protested against war. Some tried to "turn on, tune in and drop out."
It was an era when a lot of people still smoked like chimneys. They had yet to be convinced that it was a dangerous habit. A lot of people thought nothing of hopping behind the wheel after a few drinks, and seat belts were an annoyance that most carefully tucked away. For all the awareness - and self awareness - that was beginning to emerge, there was still a lot of ignorance. Some of it was a happy sort of niavete - people would've been shocked at the notion that metal detectors would become common-place at entrances to high schools, or that inner city middle schools might someday clamour for daycare.
Oddly, I think that many kids who were raised in my generation saw, heard and experienced a lot of things that we protected our parents from. Those trusting folks who let us roam the neighbourhood on our own from dawn to dusk would have been scandalized if they'd known how much we were aware of. Those stoic parents who never mentioned words like "incest" to us would've been surprised by the hushed conversations we had at slumber parties. It really wasn't an era that was more innocent at all - just a whole lot less communicative.
So I have to say it - maybe things are actually getting better. Maybe if more parents had stifled their squeamishness and really talked to their kids about sex - in all of its forms - there would've been fewer teenage pregnancies and kids who grew into screwed up adults because they were afraid to talk about things they'd experienced. Maybe if more of those kids had known they'd be believed if they told someone that their boss was touching them, or their ex-boyfriend was stalking them - they would have said something. Maybe if there had been metal detectors at that school back then, one girl wouldn't have had her life taken in a bathroom stall.
Things were always pretty screwed up - but in those days we didn't talk about what happened. In some ways, this lack of dialogue enabled a more troubled generation to emerge. I certainly never told the story of my seventh grade teacher tackling an eighth grader to the floor for popping open a Molson in the classroom until I was grown up. I didn't want to shock my parents. Likewise, girls who were sexually assaulted didn't speak up back then. They usually suffered in silence, afraid to shock their peers by disclosing traumatic personal details. Kids were sexually abused then too - but few talked about it, and their silence made the problem more acute - until incest and molestation became subjects we could no longer tidily sweep under the rug of propriety. I knew kids who suffered these abuses in childhood, and never spoke up until they were grown. Thank goodness children are now educated on these issues and encouraged to speak up.
When I was twenty-one I got a fast food job working for a man who was a predatory pervert. I had the misfortune of working the night shift with him. He'd contain his behavior until my co-workers left, but from ten in the evening until two in the morning it would be just the two of us in that sub shop, and he'd harass me non-stop. He was lewd in speech and mannerisms and made very personal comments about me. He wasn't shy about asking extremely personal questions about my relationship with my boyfriend. At first I tried really hard to ignore him and his queries met with angry silence. When that didn't deter him I tried to put him off by curtly telling him those things were none of his business. By then he could see that he was rattling me, and his comments escalated. My friends all knew I hated my job, but only my boyfriend and room-mate knew why. I hung in there for three months because I needed to pay my rent and eat, but when comments became touching I quit on the spot. An employment counselor I saw later told me that I should've sued him for sexual harassment, but I was afraid to. Now I regret that he was able to carry on with his terrible behavior, and I'm sure he did. After all, he had told me when I was hired that he only employed girls because boys were "harder to manage." I pity all the hapless, unsuspecting young females who were hired after me.
I should have spoken up. My whole generation should've spoken up - but sadly we were raised in a time when words like rape and incest were whispers used mostly in the context of unsubstantiated rumours because nobody told and nobody talked.
Like many of my generation, I've been known to complain about how "mouthy" kids are today. But I see that as a mixed blessing, because there are some topics that can no longer be hushed. Yes, there are awful, disrespectful kids out there today, but I can argue that there always were. And maybe kids have become more entitled and demanding because too many parents would rather be buddies than authoritarians now. (I'm sure I'll tackle that issue another time...) But one entitlement I won't ever dispute is the right to tell your story and get whatever help you need. And the really, really good news is that the younger generation is better educated on what behaviors are unacceptable and less afraid to talk.
I'm grateful that as a parent I refused to register shock when my kids talked to me about things they saw and heard - and that they came to me with questions that would've left my own parents aghast. I'm glad that our family supper table was a place for honest dialogue, and that my sons weren't afraid to broach subjects that my parents would've considered taboo.
I'm also glad that in this "let it all hang out" world my kids retained enough innocence to be a bit shocked when I told them about "the incident" at Winter Carnival '75.
No comments:
Post a Comment