Growing Up Pains

Growing up was such a pain when I think about it. There were too many challenges, too many hurdles, and too many bullies for my liking. I recall a time when, a tinea corporis infestation had manifested its presence at the center of my head. This rendered null and void any chances one may have had to be suave and debonair, or as sauve and debonair as one can be at 4 years of age. Efforts to disguise this malaise were energetic and included close shave razor shaves to make me skin head, a rigorous application of a patent remedy called shea nut oil and vigorous rubbing with still some rough black stones.

The infection invariably drew unwanted and unwarranted attention to one. It was not a good idea to wander in the boundaries of public places or schools which were lairs for bullies. Misfortune and miscalculation teamed up and directed my feet to this dangerous ground zero.

Hardly had we entered than we confronted a school bully; with arms as strong as an ox and hardened knuckles which he deployed lavishly and with glee. The resident bully came and engaged me in desultory chitchat.

“Where do you think you are going? RB

“Am going there…” Self

Whereupon he quickly switched dialects and the following conversation, a monologue really was concluded:

Gang kwan pe gi cito gi waa

Gan kwan peg gi cito gi long

Gang kwan pe gi gito gi wii obuc

(And as he came to the conclusion of his monologue he rapped my head with his tough- as- nails knuckles) KABOM, was the loud and vibration that drew a stifled cry from my now tormented being. The whole space turned dark and this wanton violation of my tender head, sans cause beli, wounded me.

To render this dialogue accurately, first principles must be applied.

Gang kwan means school, pe gi cito means “you do not go with.” And so the legendary chap was bullying me and adding lyrical prose as a bonus.

You do not go to school with shoes

You do not go to school while donning trousers

You do not go to school with a head with hair patched all over

The second incident happened at what we now know as Holy Rosary Kindergarten. On the first day at school I recall a teacher attempting to teach, not too clever pupils how to write the number 8. Having got it at once, I was perplexed many of my classmates undergoing through torments to match my feat.

Insufferable boredom thus induced me to seek a neat hole in the fence and take my vast talents elsewhere. In the clutches of fate, I was soon lost in an indescribable, maze in the town; totally oblivious of my bearing. This of course was excused on the neglect of not having had any instruction on map reading and reconnaissance. I had not yet undergone the critical training requisite for boy scouts, girl guides and soldiers.

I meandered aimlessly for five hours and the hunger and desperation took their inevitable toll on the poor sod. Tears started streaming from the eyes river and I walked with virtually unseeing eyes. Hunger having taken its toll, the spirit also collapsed and the reluctant adventurer was constrained to attend to his tears by the road side. By this time it was clear, to those who bore me, that I was lost. A search party was mounted and the entire village was tasked to look for a skin head with attendant dress descriptions.

Eventually rescued, I was delivered into the hands of a delightful mom, who without much ado served me a generous helping of rice and beef. I cleaned these with much gusto. The next day I was again delivered to the school; specific instructions were given prohibiting any unwarranted adventures. These terms were acceptable to me.

As soon as my deliverers had vanished, some very strange things began to happen. One of the teachers apparently had got a tongue lashing on account of my previous day adventures. In order to reinforce a matter already settled, in the vein of letting sleeping dogs lie, she came and demanded to see the boy who caused all the trouble yesterday. I saw her coming, foam spewing from the side of the mouth and I immediately knew she was not coming to kiss or massage me. These were bugles of battle.

Recalling the sharp kaboom of the resident bully, I made a tactical withdraw, then a tactical maneuver and then beat a hasty retreat seeking for my saving hole in the fence. The pursuers, in all fairness made good speed, but any soldier can tell you of the endless abilities of a well-motivated human being. The recollection of the resident bully’s knuckle powered my heels and within a few minutes I was out of sight.

I was still going steadily, and speedily, when I felt my legs suspended in air and I could not render account of what was transpiring. How could I wingless as I was begin flying? A closer examination of my circumstances revealed that I was not airlifted not on my own steam by on the energy and might of a protector who after calm and reason had returned asked why I was flying off in the winds. When I finished my tale, it was agreed that may be nursery school was not for me.wpid-20130309_160447.jpg

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