Lessons

I expect there are long boring stretches in everyone's life no matter who you are or what you do or what your age is. 

I think having grown up on a farm taught me to endure. Boredom I mean. Right now I feel a bit bored, because a scheduled appointment with the second MAiD assessor fell apart and had to be rescheduled. No biggy, but I had been looking forward to it and then it didn't happen, so I feel a bit at loose ends.

I'm going to self-indulge, by writing, because writing is my self-therapy, my hobby, my boredom cleanser. 

School was often boring. I daydreamed a lot just to stop myself from worrying about it. I like to think I learned more in school than just abstract stuff and being tested on retention thereof. 

Here are a few lessons I like to think I learned. 

1. Every day after lunch the teacher would read a chapter in some book and we would all, as a group, quietly pay attention together. Eight grades, 13 or 14 kids in the room, in desks, facing forward.  And those of us girls in lower grades, mostly grade 3 and 4, would quietly, very quietly, very respectfully, trade desks and sit behind each other and comb each others hair. It felt wonderful and not at all boring. A welcome break in the boredom. I mean, the stories must not have been interesting, because I can't recall any of them, and all I do remember is how good the hair combing felt. And the teacher did not stop us. She was good that way. I like to think I learned the pleasures of socially acceptable human primate social grooming at that time. 

2. There was a big kid in grade 7, who one day, out in the school yard, killed a gopher. OK, he basically tortured it to death by beating on it. Someone (not me) ran inside and told the teacher and she came running out and I am not kidding, put her hand under the little dying beast to hold it as it lay dying and cried openly until it gasped, then finally did. Then, she marched the kid who did it inside, pushed him into his desk and proceeded to beat him with a yardstick (we weren't metric yet). She beat him many times. I did not count, but there were lots of blows. And we all stood watching. Little witnesses. I like to think that from this I learned that gratuitous violence is unacceptable. 

3. A new kid, introduced by the superintendent, entered Grade 1.  She was eastern European, could not speak English. She wasn't in our school very long, maybe just a few weeks or months. She was a mystery. Her family never moved into the area. They must have been in transit to somewhere else. I like to think that from this I learned that stretches of boredom can be easily broken by novel input with a hint of mystery. 

4. For a few years there was this big kid, 15 years old, who sat in Grade 5, just putting in time until he could legally quit when he turned 16. He was Black, which was for sure novel in our little Euro-genetic farming district, but nothing was ever made of it. What was more impressive about him was his hydrocephaly. Huge head. Must have got away on him before shunt surgery could be obtained. Nothing was ever made about that, either. He was tall and strong. He always got picked first for softball teams. He usually hit homers. He never inserted himself into any social interaction, but if you asked him to push you high up on the swing, he was always ready to help. The teacher did her best, would sit with him one-on-one for long periods of time to explain stuff, but he would just look sad and defeated. I like to think that I learned to appreciate and not be afraid of people who looked different. 

5. In the basement was a cistern. The farmers nearby took turns assuming the responsibility of hauling water in to fill it up as necessary. One year, during the summer, my mother and a neighbour took on the task of cleaning the schoolroom for September and the start of school. My mother brought me, and the neighbour brought her son, and we hung out while they cleaned. This kid was a lot older than me, already in grade 4 while I was just starting, so of course he knew way more about the world. He told me that there were trolls in the cistern. He was very elaborate about how dangerous they were. I was terrified of the school basement for a long time, or going anywhere near the cistern if we were all down there playing games. Graded exposure helped over the years. Eventually I grew up and became school janitor in Grade 7 with a couple other girls in my grade, (then by myself as school districts evolved and boundaries changed, until the school closed for good in 1968.) I was old enough to conquer my (implanted by this guy) fear of trolls, toss DustBane on the floor all around the cistern cover, and sweep it up. Alone. In the entire building. By myself. I like to think I was learning how to build courage to get a scary thing approached, then done. Conquer fear. I like to think I succeeded in learning to not believe everything that comes out of the mouths of guys, singly or as a huge, half the entire population cohort. Become discerning, more anti-manipulable.