A Story About A Little Boy Who Didn’t “School” Well

Once upon a time there was a little boy. He lived on an island and like the rest of the world he wasn’t able to attend school for two years as a result of a global pandemic. During the time that he was at home, he was introduced to online school where he was able to see his teacher and his classmates and follow through with schoolwork as life had to go on. It was a challenging time for him as he wasn’t able to meet and play with his peers as he would like. Some days it made him very sad.

Now the online work given by his teacher consisted mainly of her going through the topics at hand, showing a YouTube video and then leaving the work projected on the tablet screen for the little boy to write in his book. Each day was the same, each subject was the same, writing was the main priority. “All my boys must know how to write and write quickly and neatly”, his teacher continually remarked. Now while he sparkled in all the other skills that little boys his age would learn, the pace of his writing was his weakest area as he often paused to imagine, stopped to remark and complained of how tiring it was. His mother tried her best to help him, giving him writing games, coaxing him along, bribing him with snacks and even downright threatening him on the days when she felt short of patience. Some days she really lapsed as she was also a teacher and had to conduct online classes of her own. Eventually she had to return to work and leave him at home because while her students were back out, the little ones were not. His grandmother had to take over the tutoring and while some days she was able, it was clear there were days she was not, and this weighed heavily on the mind of the little boy’s mother. It was really a difficult time for them and particularly for the little boy because getting him “ready for primary school” while he was very comfortably at home was quite a strange thing.

Eventually the pandemic eased, and the little boy was finally able to physically go to school. He was very excited, masked up and smart in his little uniform he was off. He returned home the first couple of days deep into the “first day jitters”, crying and anxious because naturally he was extremely sensitive to the change in environment but thankfully, he eventually settled and seemed happy. His mother breathed a sigh of relief as just getting him into a normal school rhythm after the pandemic was the very thing she had hoped and prayed for. She noted however that from jump, it was business as usual at the school. Her son had work to do from his various subjects, he had notes to write in class and most days he got homework. “Damn,” she told herself. “they’re not even going to give the little ones some grace to socialize and get accustomed to each other and whatnot, especially after a pandemic?”.  She asked the question but was made to understand that Miss had “a syllabus to finish as so much time was lost”. This didn’t sit well with her, but she continued, sending the little boy to school who eventually had less and less to say in the afternoons, sometimes he just repeated things that he thought his mother would have liked to hear.

One day an incident arose where the little boy could not be found when it was pick up time. After a frenzy he was eventually found after what was termed as a ‘mix up’. His father, angered, demanded he could have slipped by unseen. His mother distressed, queried the school’s afternoon protocols. The principal apologized. The teacher claimed that he does not listen and everything went downhill from there.

Every single matter at the school pertaining to the little boy, the mother was called by his teacher. He kept losing pencils, he was not writing, he was crying, he was too loud, he was running, he was not listening, he was not doing his work, he was too rowdy, he was shouting at the other boys, he was not writing, he was not writing, he was not writing, he was not writing…………The little boy’s mother wondered if her son was an absolute monster in the classroom causing major upheaval which would leave his teacher with no choice but to not deal with him as a student in her class but then Miss caught the virus and had to be out of school for a quarantine period.

The little boy’s mother became very nervous and expected the substitute teacher to call her in the same rhythm that his teacher did. Days passed and no call came so she took it upon herself to go to meet her. She eventually did and asked the substitute how he was going in class to which she replied, “ok, nothing much to say, he’s going ok, just the writing a lil slow but that’s about it”.

Weird.

The little boy’s teacher returned and so did the “touching base”. She called meetings and kept up the mantra “he’s not listening, he’s not writing, he shouts at me, he has no behaviour…”. At this point the little boy tells his mother the other boys have started telling him the same thing, “you writing too slow!”, “you’re not a baby, stop crying!”, “hurry up and do your work!”, “you don’t have any behaviour!”, “you better write fast or you’re not moving up to the next level!”. A little boy who sits behind him whispered things to him and teased him causing him to get angry. He was even tapped with a pencil and he told his teacher who just told the other boy to behave, which wasn’t much of a deterrent to him as he continued. The little boy now had everybody bothering and harassing him about the same thing every day. He really became sensitive to it and lashes out so now his mother understood why there was such a stark difference between how he behaved at home and how he behaved at school.

Summer came and went.

When the term opened in September, the little boy’s mother was nervous as she understood the position that her son was in where the school is concerned. He did not “conform” to what his teacher expected of him, she was not changing to meet him, nor was she encouraging towards him. She had her syllabus to teach she did not have time to coddle. Again, he was having a challenge with the pace of his writing. In his books she scrawled “Did not do his work!” and “No work done!” with time stamps in red pen and sent them home. The little boy’s mother was tired of the calls and the passive aggressive WhatsApp responses and decided not to stress over things and people she could not control. She comforted her little son, told him what to do if he felt bullied, gave him strategies to write faster and affirmed him every morning so that he knew he was loved no matter what. He was not coping well again and said that he felt sad and alone. His teacher starts keeping him in during recess because he was not writing fast enough, and he threw tantrums in the classroom because he didn’t understand why he kept being punished by not being allowed to play with his friends. His teacher called his mother again and said she wants another meeting, this time with the Guidance Counsellor. Both parents attended and expressed their concerns for him and what was expected of him in the classroom and what they think should and should not happen. The teacher seemed resigned to the case, the Guidance Counsellor offered suggestions.

The next morning the little boy’s mother was teaching her class and received a call from the teacher who said that the little boy is not listening, made a disturbance and threw the mother of all tantrums. The mother immediately flew into a rage herself as her own frustration peaked. She could not understand why his teacher was so hell-bent on recognizing the outcome and not the genesis of the little boy’s frustration in the classroom. She couldn’t even hold back the tears (she cries when she is mad) and as much as she tried to hide it, her own students noticed and were worried. She called her husband and her mother, she felt she was not in a level-headed place to retrieve the little boy from school as she felt she woulda cuss ‘way somebody. His grandmother went for him and observed the little boy so distraught as he was kept in for break yet again while another boy, also a slow writer was sent out to play while he remained isolated. She said her heart broke as she felt his teacher had no heart or concern for him. He was just an unruly child and his teacher was doing what she felt was the correct thing to do so that he would write faster.

That was the last day he went to school.

His grandmother continued with her own version of home-schooling. The little boy’s mother felt it was so fucking unfair. She kept looking at little uniformed boys all over chatting, laughing and playing and felt wronged for her son, that after a pandemic it still wasn’t a “normal” school life for him because he didn’t “conform”. She reached out to friends who were psychologists, teaching colleagues and even DM’ed mothers and professionals in an Instagram community just so she could get an idea of where she went wrong or if she was crazy. She went to school to get his books. She told both the teacher and the Principal that the little boy now hates school, hates to put on his uniform, hates the boys in his class and hates his teacher. The Principal said she is shocked that he used such a strong word as ‘hate’ and that his parents should pray for him……….

The mother officially withdrew him from the school and indicated to the Principal that she communicated with the higher-up who advised her on this course of action. The Principal then proffered that the mother return to see her once the little boy “matured” and “showed progress” with his work. “By that time he would have a different class and a different teacher”, she said. The little boy’s mother however did not require further discussion on the matter, she collected the remainder of his books and left.

Now although the little boy writes slowly, he is an excellent reader, sometimes surprising his parents with the words he is able to recognize. He is a math whiz, can talk his mother into a corner when it comes to science and can create worlds with his hands. It is sad that these strengths were never identified in a tangible way to help his weaknesses while at the school. He was just told to write. How was he educated then? Largely at home! He was nurtured to discover things, think critically, ask questions unabashedly, use his hands to play and learn and of course, write what he needed to according to a child at his level since the days in pre-school. The little boy just didn’t “conform” to the traditional rote of the primary educational system through his terrible experience at that particular school.

It’s ok though, after careful deliberation his parents found a school that recognized his potential and would educate him as he deserves. He will be all set for January and his mother could finally exhale and trust that everything would be alright for her little boy.

Crick crack….

TMIDM

N.B. Characters, events and incidents are the products of the author’s mind and the rampant overthinking that occurs within. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental or whatever.

I Don’t Feel Like Blogging Anymore

…sometimes…

If the Twitterverse is any measure, this is a chorus that is getting louder so permit me to join in before it becomes a total cacophony (I sing alto).

I have been a blogger since 2014. That year I pinched my nose and dived into expressing myself publicly mainly because it was a gnawing idea and I was encouraged to share my unique perspective (that as far as I’ve seen) had never been done before. Blogging was a wonderful outlet which allowed me to reveal myself and my thoughts to take up a little space in the world.

Even though my blog posts could stand to be a little more frequent (I have only written 135 of them), I’m proud to be part of the blogosphere and that I’ve put my writing out there and I’m especially happy for the connections I’ve made and all the people who have taken the time to click and read.

These days however, sometimes I feel like powering down.

Why?

Life Gets in the Way

As the name of my blog suggests, my life is such that I’m in the middle of every damn thing. I have a 16 year old, 13 year old and 6 year old and my plate is filled trying to navigate the three of them with some sense of normalcy. In any given work week I (try to) teach a foreign language to over 100 of the nation’s teenagers who learn at different levels therefore I manage the challenges that come with that. I am also a wife trying to keep a marriage alive and prioritizing the associated duties of family life, trying to stay healthy and sane, being social, maintaining good skin, drinking water and minding my business. There are many topics jotted on paper and filed in my brain, from both considered perspectives and lightbulb moments but lawdddd, the time to sit and express it adequately…Wordpress remains ignored.

Writing into a Void

I’ve never been one to write for an audience, the truth is I don’t even think I have ‘a niche audience’ pinned down. Many of you are WordPress bloggers new to a Trinidadian perspective while some of you have been sent here via connection through my social media which has been good in terms of raising my profile. I welcome all of you who read, peruse, ‘like’ and engage with what I’ve written. The feedback doesn’t happen all the time especially from a wider Trinbagonian audience, the visits and views can be abysmal and I would be lying if I said that this hasn’t caused me to ponder the worth of it all. Although this isn’t the sole purpose of writing, it can be very demotivating. This feeling doesn’t last too long with me but it is still a feeling to recognize and validate.

The “Extras”

In 2014 I had no clue about the extra stuff in terms of getting my blog posts to be ‘seen’. If you are a blogger now, not only is what you write important but how you write it, keeping the extra stuff at the forefront of your mind. So monitoring your SEO (search rankings), managing posting times, creating links and backlinks, cleaning up your previous links, optimizing your photos, maximizing your stats, tying in and keeping up with your linked social media, engaging and maintaining your follower count….all of this for your work to ‘matter’. Trust me I understand the ‘why’ behind it all but lemme just write nah…

…it would be a thing of glory.

One More Thing

We live in a time where visuals have higher precedence than words. One only has to look at the battle of the top giants Instagram and Tik Tok with the world of doom-scrolling, content creators and influencers while Twitter hosts bloggers who battle ‘writer’s lifts’ and ‘pin for pins’ to rack up followers and readers. There has even been some discussion on how to tie in the visual platforms to our writing to get views our way. Honestly, I find this to be a lot (read: too much) to deal with.

These are just my immediate thoughts on why (sometimes!) I don’t feel like blogging anymore. It doesn’t mean that I am ready to follow through and fold up but I felt it important to acknowledge and maybe identify reasons as to why you may have noticed that I haven’t posted in a while. I’m sure some of you who are bloggers have felt the same way at one point or another. Please feel free to express in the comment section below, I would really like to hear your views on the matter even if they diverge. Feel free to also follow me via joining my email list, like and share this post as well to fellow bloggers!

Blessings

TMIDM

It Takes a Village

Let me tell you a thing about motherhood. While it comes about as a tango by two (in any iteration), it is an experience that can make you feel very much alone. Motherhood can be a very lonely thing. Why do you think so many moms form clubs, have meetings and create online communities commiserating with each other over the common crazy and wine? There is an ‘if you know, you know’ sentiment where shared experiences help to make the entire journey easier once you know that others are going through the same.

Moms hold in their hearts the worry that comes with pregnancy, the pangs and the pain, the trauma of childbirth and breastfeeding, the pervasive thoughts about their non-biological children, the self-doubt, the mom-guilt, the societal expectations and the obsession over doing it right by these children all from year 0 to year 18 and beyond.

Now in light of this. all mothers are not perfect. Some may not get it right and others don’t deserve the title beyond the biological process. So where can they get support for the sake of the babies? Enter the village.

In our nine-day news cycle in Trinidad and Tobago, one particular tragic circumstance is front and centre. read about it here and come back.

I purposefully activated the turbo in my scrolling finger mainly because Trinis can get very stupid in a social media comments section and sometimes my brain doesn’t cope well with that. In reading the story however I stood with those who wondered why the neighbour would have seen the child in the road and not raise an immediate alarm…in the road….. I stand on that opinion despite her viral video explanation re not being able to catch the child as well as the blame being placed squarely on the mother who should have kept an eye on the child.

A village provides extra cover for a mother who has failings, check all the societal traditions over the course of history to see how this plays out as fact. I have run out of fingers and toes trying to count the amount of times I have done absolute mess as a mother. My own mom (who is my village leader) reminded me of this recently:

Ting tuh cry for……

A strong sense of community is a critical element in the mental, emotional and psychological state of those on parenting journey. Some have no one to rely on to ask for help or to teach them how to do this parenting thing properly at a time or in a manner that would benefit of the child. This is why some are run ragged to the point where no ‘self-care Sunday’ would suffice. Community is a tradition that seems to be missing very much in Trinidad society (except of course in a negative way).

If you are close to a mother in any sense, don’t shy away from being a part of her village even in the age of “drink water and mind yuh business”. There is a way to do it without being ‘fass and outta place’*

Are you a mother? Can you identify who is in your village or do you feel alone and helpless? If you’re not a mother, are you an active part of a village?

I’d love to read your thoughts in the comments!

Blessings

TMIDM

*nosy and unbearable