the girl called stupid (pt 2)


All throughout elementary school, the sis had gotten straight As on her report cards.  She had never gotten one single B.  Not even a B+.

I remembered how often the mom would have to hurriedly get dressed after work because she needed to go attend another ceremony, because the sis was gonna get another award in something again.

At home, we’ve got tons of photos of the sis, the mom, and the sis’ different class/grade teachers.  All were beaming, as the sis was holding a shiny, crisp award paper in her hands, while standing in between the proud adults.

Never in my life had I seen any one of my teachers ever smile for me like that before, like all of the teachers in the sis’ award photos did for her.

But that was probably because I had never won an award for anything.




I actually did get one A, though.  Yeah, just one…single…measly…long-awaited-for-but-wouldn’t-see-again-for-years-to-come A.

But it wasn’t even an A for an actual legit edjumacated school class, though.  My lone A was for an Art Class.

So yeah.  I couldn’t count.  Couldn’t spell, either.  But I could color like no one’s bidness, I guess.




Since First Grade, the mom would give to me $1.25, which was the exact amount that my elementary school charged the kids for lunch.  One dollar bill and one quarter, she’d usually hand to me.

But if she had given to me the 25 cents in dimes or nickles, I woulda not known how to count it, and would not realize that I was short any change, had I lost a dime or nickle on my way to the cafeteria.  That’s how poor I was at counting money.




Not only was counting a sheer unachievable challenge for me while I was in the First Grade, but the dagnabbit Alphabet was also my nemesis.

For the life of me, I was totally confused as to what the heck came after the letter P.  So I would continually sing and re-sing that Alphabet Song over and over again in my head.  But all the more confused I got, and all I could do, was to just wish to goodness that I could somehow zoom myself into the Twilight Zone, where I might possibly reach the much-sought-after letter Z immediately.

Yup, such a nonsensical thought.  But for a kid who was constantly confused, all I could do was daydream, and wish my school subjects, books, and confusion away.




Around Third Grade, I finally had that over-my-head Alphabet down.  So now, I could finally read.

The school’s library was my favorite place to go (not that I was ever allowed to go anywhere).  I so loved the books that I took home and deeply took in the colorful pictures held within their pages.

But because I was such a very, very, very poor student, having reading books of any kind was clearly and repeatedly told to me as being contraband for me.  I was only allowed to have my actual school subject books in my bag.  No reading books were allowed in my possession.  Ever.

The parents did not always check my school bag to see if I might have a library book hidden in there or not.  It was the sis who would sneak into my bag in search for any contraband items, and would then go rat on me to the parents.

What happened to me when the parents saw that I had a fully-known-as-being-strictly-forbidden library book in my school bag?  Whether it was one parent present, or the both of them there, my head would get bashed with that book.

Bam-bam-bam!, I would get clobbered with that book, over and over again.  How many times do we have to tell you?!  How many times?!  STOP reading these stupid books!  Study your school books!  Study!  Do your homework!  Get better grades!  You need to study!  STOP reading these books!

There was one time, when I had gotten hit so hard with a book, that I had peed right there on the livingroom floor.  My entire head had hurt so bad from the clobbering, that my legs just about couldn’t stay standing anymore.

In my previous post (part 1 of this story), I had shared with y’all about how I had gotten spanked continually because I kept doing my potty business all over the house when I was 3 years old.

Now, here I was, in the 3rd Grade, and still getting spanked – to the point of pee-ing on the floor again.

Therefore, school learning was obviously hard for me.

But even more so, was home learning and parents-obeying.

When would I ever learn?  Sigh…


To be continued.



artist: John Atkinson Grimshaw





9 thoughts on “the girl called stupid (pt 2)

  1. I dislike your parents…immensely. If my kids/grandchild/tutoring students are reading..I don’t care what it is. Reading is how you learn. When I was teaching in public school (reading to kids who had issues with it) I had a 2nd grader who couldn’t read at all. I asked his main teacher to let me take him to the kindergarten class to ‘help me’ While there, and “helping me” , he learned his sounds, to read long and short vowel words and to write fairly well. There are always ways to teach children. Your teachers should have figured that out too.
    You have become an amazing adult for someone who had such a difficult (to put it mildly) childhood.

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