School Days. The sad truth is, I was NOT in school more that I WAS. As young as second grade, I was ditching school. I lived on the first floor of a six-story apartment building and the small space under the stairs became my hideaway. What makes a second grader ditch school? For me, it was anything and everything. I remember in fifth or sixth grade my Science teacher made a comment "Oh, look, Robin is joining us today. So, your fingernail didn't hurt this morning?" Of course, this comment was made in front of my entire class and they laughed, which made me only want to run out of the building and never return. Sometimes adults are clueless!
I was terrified of being picked on for my dirty clothes, for my dirty skin, and hair. I have only a few memories of bathing as a child. Our apartment was cockroach infested, which didn't make for a very pleasant bathing experience. We lived on the first floor, right above the basement, which meant that we also had water bugs. If you've never seen a water bug up close (consider yourself lucky!) they are like gigantic cockroaches. They are terrifying. And, they FLY. One of my few memories of bathing in that apartment includes a HUGE water bug climbing out of the waterspout as I played in the tub. I still get chills thinking about it. So, yeah, the bathroom wasn't my favorite place to be.
We didn't have a nighttime routine like normal kids did. So, waking up for school filthy caused me a bit of stress. Add on top of that the clothes situation. My bedroom floor was covered with piles and piles of dirty clothes, toys, garbage, and just junk. I would wake up and be told to "find clothes" to wear to school. I would stand in the middle of my room paralyzed. Everything was filthy. Some things didn't fit. It was pure chaos. It didn't help that when I would rummage through the piles cockroaches would scurry out from underneath. When I did finally find something, I would have to shake it out vigorously trying to get out any hiders. Then came shoes. Water bugs love hiding inside shoes. Too many occasions I would put my shoe on and feel a lump or crunch, shake it out and a water bug would fall out and run off. This is how I started my day every morning. Just waking up caused me stress and anxiety as a child. I would be "sick" every single morning, my stomach in knots, begging my mom to let me stay home.
Aside from my morning routine, there was also the knowledge that I hadn't done any of my homework from the night before. The teachers would constantly pick on me for not having my homework done and the thought of the teacher ridiculing me in front of the whole class was unbearable. Being dirty, poor, and without your homework in elementary school was pretty unusual. So, what happened? I got noticed. When I got noticed, I was made fun of. I lived in constant fear of being seen. I was as quiet as I could be, always. I never spoke in class, I never, ever raised my hand. I hid. I hid from teachers, I hid from other students. I hid from myself. I don't remember the first time I ditched school, but I do remember feeling like it was easier to hide alone, under the stairs than in plain sight in a classroom.
Ditching school at such a young age set the tone for the rest of my school career. In sixth grade, when I was taken away by Child Protective Services, I returned home just in time for Junior High. I am sure by now you can imagine that a huge change like that was terrifying for me. Miraculously, I was placed in the "Smart" class, one of the top classes in the grade. Apparently, I had tested well. This miracle should have set me on a course for success going forward. A new chance, a new school, new classmates. But, life at home hadn't changed. The new school and new classmates only made me feel more isolated. I was consumed with self doubt. Why was I here with these smart, normal kids. I was convinced they were looking down on me. The word must have gotten to them that I was just a dirty, poor, stupid little girl and I did not belong here. I tried really hard to fit in, I teased my hair, I experimented with makeup, I even started washing my own clothes in the bathroom tub or sink (usually with dish soap that my Aunt had donated to us, or a bar of Ivory soap), I wanted badly to fit in. But, deep down the damage was already done. I was faking it. Some days I actually did feel like I fit in, but they were few and far between. I always set myself apart. Funny thing is, I don't remember any of my classmates treating me any different, it was all in my head. I had taught myself to feel inferior. I somehow managed to make friends, but I was quite awkward. I even went on my first real date that year. By the end of that year I was starting to feel like maybe I could play this "Normal" game. As long as I was there. But, old habits die hard and at any sign of discomfort I skipped school. Test that day? Nope, won't see me there! Project due? You better believe it wasn't completed, so, see ya later. I sabotaged myself. I didn't allow myself to reach my full potential-- I was frozen by fear and lack of self esteem.
The summer going into eighth grade is the summer my Father died. Any amount of optimism I had about school died with him. My already chaotic life was turned upside down. My eight grade year was pointless. I don't remember any of it, I don't remember attending one single day of school that year. By this time my mother, who didn't do much by way of making me go to school to begin with, had completely thrown her hands up. I didn't even hide any more. I just stopped waking up for school. Once in a while a truancy officer would show up and scold me and my Mother. I would see how much it hurt and tormented her. I saw how she felt like a failure because of it. I would go to school for a week to get them off our backs until I graduated.
Then, High School happened. Yes, it just happened. I didn't care one way or another. I dreaded it. My friends from the apartments were all applying to specialty schools and other public high schools in better areas. I remember them getting excited about the opportunity, while I just accepted that I would go to my zoned school and left it at that. I never got excited, it was just something I knew I would have to "deal with" for the next four years. What I didn't realize was my zoned school was SCARY!
Franklin K Lane, in East New York, Brooklyn. A enormously intimidating building, that to me, looked like a prison! No wonder all my friends were applying any and everywhere else! The one friend who did go to my school was in the honors classes. Not me. I soon found out that I was in the SOAR program. A special program for truants and troubled kids. It was like two different schools within one building. The honor students were upstairs, hidden away-- or more like protected--while the rest of the school was downstairs. The SOAR program, if I remember correctly, had much of it's classes in the basement, or as far down as you could go. The majority of the school were kids from East New York, Brooklyn. It was a culture shock, even for me. Being in with the troubled and truant kids just made it worse. This was a whole new world of anxiety and dread. I was not close enough to walk to school, so I would have to take the J train which runs along Jamaica Avenue. It was terrifying for me. It was adding new and more dreadful layers of anxiety on an already mile high mound.
I remember that one of my very first days of school, as I was walking up the scary stairs, someone slapped my ass. HARD! WHACK! I almost jumped out of my skin! I looked back bashfully to see a gang of guys. They were saying things like "Look at the fine, white girl. You know you want more, baby?"
I had boys start to pay attention to me in ways I was still trying to understand at this point. But, this, this wasn't that. This was scary.
It was much harder to skip school here. I had to find the cracks in the system, They were also much more aggressive with the house calls, which meant my Mom became more stern about me going to school. I found my ways. I learned that as long as I was in homeroom and marked present, I could sneak out undetected. Of course, that doesn't last long. Teachers talk and they were soon on to me. The teachers had good intentions, they loved me. Every one of them would pull me aside, usually frantically, not knowing if I was going to return the next day, to tell me about the potential they saw in me. Every one of them told me I didn't belong there. That I was destined for more. That I was too good for this. Too smart. Part of me believed them, but who had time? I was too busy surviving to worry about test scores and school work.
One of my classes, one of the few that were ABOVE ground, had a wall of windows facing a cemetery. I can't even remember what class it was, I was too distracted by those windows. It wasn't just any cemetery, it was the cemetery that my Dad was buried in just a few months before. To make it worse, it faced the very hill I remember going up, that my Dad was buried. It became unbearable. My heart would beat out of my chest as I sat in that classroom. I was consumed by feelings of loss and guilt. I couldn't get away from my life, no matter where I went. There was no hiding from my pain. I felt like I was being punished. I had to leave, I couldn't be here any more. Someone, please, get me out of this place before I drown.
so well written. I swear I couldn't hug you hard enough. ever. can't wait until the next chapter!! (as per usual)
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