I was soooo young when I was held by the hand so VERY tightly by a teacher, as my mother walked away and left me there at the school gate, crying, peeing in my clothes and devastated by the abandonment. This the start of my hate for school. I suppose that is why I never appeared to grow up to the teachers. For I was suffering such stress and I would lay low, play in the corner a lot, look lovingly out of the window at the sky, the trees, the grass, the birds and all the wonderous things beyond the cage of being there. What was the point of my incarceration? Maybe so that my older parents could enjoy their limited time together, for I was a surprise child to them already being grandparents. I grew up as an aunty from the get go. I have some mixed up memories from those early days of playing in the corner in class, but for now all I can recall of the things in the corner were the Fuzzy Felts. Once I was asked to pick a crayon (not a clue as to why, probably some sort of psycho-babble shite for the teacher). All the other kids picked so fast a favourite, but I seem to take an age, as I love all colours of the rainbow. So, being me, I ended up having to pick the one and it was the one that looked like it was green, but drew in what was to me the most beautiful bright yellow. I still love the yellow greens of springtime and the bright wonder of photosynthesis doing the work for almost all the plant eating creatures that roam above ground. Self taught I am now, self successful in my own eyes at least and have fixed quite a few of my fall shorts. I wonder what you remember? Was there a favourite crayon? Did you stare out the window and wish for your freedom?
Over Soil 