my mother and school

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My mother always told me that when I grew up I would understand why she pushed me so hard to get better grades.

I am twenty five years old and still have absolutely no idea why I had to get perfect test scores all the time.
I remember being slapped on the hand with a one foot Orion plastic ruler whenever I gave her wrong answers whenever she reviewed the day’s school lessons with me. Sometimes she would use the pencil or pen to hit me on the forehead. And I never quite understood how that could’ve helped me learn faster or desire to learn more in school. That was from first to third grade. I was above average in my class. My best subjects were reading, language and religion. At the end of the third grade school year I have taken to screaming at her whenever she lectured me about getting better grades in school.

When I turned nine years old, I realized how much I hated school. I hated it. I was tired of being told what to do. I was tired of being told what not to do. For all my hard work, nothing satisfied my mother and I could not see the point of being in school if all it brought me was distress.

By the time I was in fourth grade my grades started sliding down the charts. And the screaming contests at home slid up on the noise level. Even so, reading and science were my best subjects. My mother seemed to be at her wits end and dished out one punishment after the other thinking that if she punished me enough I would finally concede and give her a better report card the next time. She could not have been more wrong.

In my fifth grade I started to get failing marks. My parents were called in to meet with the principal because of my very willing participation in several acts of misdemeanor. My teachers were convinced that I worshipped the devil because I got caught listening to a Guns n’ roses casette tape in school. Needless to sat my mother wanted me dead. She was already pinching my arm the moment I met her outside the principal’s office. She told me I brought her shame. And she spanked me with the bamboo rod when we got home. My painful welts refusing to let me sit in comfort for days.

I hated her. I hated my mother as much as I hated school. I could not understand why I needed to have them in my life. Everytime she yelled at me I yelled harder. Whenever she screamed at me, I screamed louder. She couldn’t make me do things anymore. And as detached as she was, she told me how she would never bother trying to teach me anything again. She told me she did not know what to do with me anymore. She told me that from then on she would pretend I never even existed.

That was the biggest lie I heard.

The following year, because she did not bother me so much, I got better grades. I still had to force myself to go to school, but only because my father said, it was either that or I’d have to work for his company.

She started pushing me again. The next year. it was probably the worst time of my life. I was twelve. My body had become my enemy and my ‘mummy’ was resurrected.

I realized that I hated her for pushing me. I already knew why I needed to finish school but because she was being horrid to me, I refused to give her what she wanted. I was good at a lot of things and I knew I could do more, but I could not let her win. I wanted her to feel my misery.

I was never my mother’s daughter.

I almost did not make it to highschool because of the unbelievable low marks. My remedial class teacher wondered why I was there because I had a perfect understanding of all the lessons. To make them believe I belonged, I failed some quizzes on purpose. I knew I could be all that my mother wanted me to be. But I also knew that I would never give her that.

And so I only did enough to pass. Year after year. And she gave me hell for all of it too.

I hated her for pushing me. I hated her for forcing herself on me. I hated her for pushing me to be just like her.

I am not passing blame that I could have been a better student if she had not forced me so. I am simply saying that I refused to be pushed that way by someone like her.

I was not her daughter. I was merely a tool that she supposed she could use to gain a better spot at Parent-Teacher meetings. She supposed wrong. I did not bring home medals and awards because I couldn’t stand to hear her brag about an achievement that was never hers to begin with.

All my life I kept waiting for her to let me be the one to find myself. I wanted her to set me free. Free from expectations and demands. Free from punishments that I never understood. All I wanted was for her to step back and let me get-up all by myself.

All I needed was to know that no matter what I did she would always be there for me.

She was never there when she did not agree with my choices. She refused to look at me when I made a choice that was different from what she would have picked out for me.

I was always alone because there was always her choice and the bad choice.

I wish she did not force or push me so. I loved learning. I was hungry for it. But I refused to give her what she wanted. And at one point I wished I lived in another country.

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Filed under Childhood, Forcing Kids to Study, Mother, Mother and Daughter Relationship, Parenting and School, School