“I still suffer twinges of September One Syndrome. The relentless countdown to the termination of summer vacation and the dreaded start of another school year: The end of fun and freedom, the beginning of misery.” ……….  

I hated school. School wasn`t so crazy about me either. Years after I finished the primary grades, my mother bumped into one of those volunteer mothers who tried valiantly to control a couple of hundred

Hyper-active children in the school cafeteria. Apparently I had left a lasting impression. Pityingly, she asked my mother :” So how did that boy of yours turn out? “

 

I did not exactly distinguish myself scholastically, or behaviourally.

Right from the beginning , I gave notice that I was going to be trouble. On the first day of nursery, my mom handed me over to the school bus driver. I wrenched free and raced down the street, with the two adults in hot pursuit. They carried me kicking and screaming into the bus; I kicked and screamed all through the school-day and all the way back home. It was many days before I surrendered.

My kindergarten – teacher was named Mrs. Tink. She didn`t like me, probably because I always called her Mrs. Stink. From that , the school system should have recognized I had a way with words. But alas,

My early genius was never appreciated.

I had the same classmates throughout the next seven years and soon established myself as class president among the Back Row Idiots. We were three or four among the twenty very bright students and the hope my parents had to cling to was that I appeared to have unfulfilled potential. Three times a year for seven years, at every parents –teacher meeting , my mom and dad heard the same recording from every teacher who tried to tap into me: “ He`s lazy, disruptive, bored, aimless, inattentive, unresponsive; he doesn`t do his homework and he`s in danger of failing but he`s not stupid , actually. “

I didn`t exactly look forward to report – card time … The fatherly lectures, the motherly guilt trips , the punishment of no T.V , no allowance, no bicycle.

I came to think that maybe if I didn`t hand over my report card, my parents wouldn`t think of asking for it. But my two younger sisters, model student both, never failed to present their glowing reports. One time, I changed all the F`s (Fail) on my report card to E`s (Excellent). Well, I thought I could fool my parents. The fuss they made . Only due to their benevolence, was I not sent to jail. ( Again, the system failed me. I should have been lauded for initiative and creativity.

From early in grade six, I spent the bulk of my learning hours carefully calculating exactly how many days, hours, minutes and seconds were left until I could be finished with school forever .

Each morning I reconfigured the formula anew and on my first day I was near tears as I watched the clock consume the final moments of my misery. I never starteded off on the right foot. Teachers must have told about me. On the first day, the first thing was ask us for our names. As each student did so, he smiled – until he heard: “ Shmaryahu Orbaum.”

“You`re Orbaum? Get out. “

kicked out of class on the first day. For saying my name. I swore to my parents that I didn`t do anything wrong. Frankly, why should they have believed me? They didn`t.

Suddenly, I woke up. I awoke because I had to.

In grade 12, I finished top of the class in math- the very subject that caused me to fail grade 10. I graduated high-school and went on to college. Since then I haven`t been inside a school.

Well, not until recently.

My children were at school, and one day I went to… a parent-teacher meeting. I was a parent now of three little students, and to quote Van-Gogh, I was able to “revenge myself upon society for my earlier humiliations.

When I got home , I made a phone call . “Hello, Mom? You`ll never guess where I`ve just been.

Me, a parent at a parent-teacher meeting. She howled with laughter.

We agreed that – regardless of how that boy of hers turned out – my children would be best off inheriting their smarts from my wife.”…

  This page was edited by Ahuva Dotan and Rachel Rakovsky