The start of school meant more routines. I did not mind the routines, but you could say that my internal time clock was and is extremely precise. Not only did I do things in a certain order, but I instinctively knew just how long I would have for each task without even looking at a clock. Besides, I really could not tell time in kindergarten – it was an internal thing for me. I could gage how much time I had for each priority in my life; whether it was fun or mundane.
One morning, my adoptive mother must have gotten me up late which totally threw me off and put me behind schedule. I had my clothes laid out on my bed and I was standing in my underwear when she came in.
“I thought I told you to get dressed”
“But I…”
“Nonsense, you are going to school in your underwear”
The next thing I knew, I was being drug to the car in almost nothing. At one point, a small blanket was grabbed, so at least I could cover myself in the car.
“You know that we have other kids to pick up”
Oddly enough though, when we arrived at the house of the brother and sister we were picking up, they were not ready either. I just sat there humiliated and tearful. On the trip to school, I had to endure questions about being wrapped in a blanket. Of course, nothing was kept a secret between kids and soon the whole class knew.
Yes, she did actually take me back home to finish dressing but part of me wondered if this whole thing was a purposeful action on her part.
Reflection
Although, she has since passed away, this was a story about her superb parenting skills that she shared all throughout my school years; that is until someone she shared with told her that doing that to me was seen by most as a form of emotional and psychological abuse.
I find it odd that as a college-educated person, who had been an elementary school teacher at one point in her life; that she had no qualms about doing this to any child. The psychological scars alone that she inflicted on that day; much less the reputation that she bestowed upon me with kids I ended up going to school with for several years, still makes my blood boil.
A simple conversation when she got me up late would have at least let me know that the timetable had been shortened. No conversations; only demands and expectations, and never any admission of fault on her part.
Perhaps it was poetic justice that a years later, when she applied for a teaching position at the same school system, despite having her master’s degree; she was turned away. Perhaps the rest of the world didn’t look too kindly upon her child-rearing perspectives. She had damaged her reputation just as much as she had damaged mine. Not only on that day but many others as well.