As Claire gets older and encounters the world, I find myself thinking that I need an exorcism of my past. That sounds drastic, yes? Claire displays an intensity and sensitivity that I recognize. I observe how she interacts with kids at school, and I feel painful echoes. I want so much not to project my past hurts and memories on to her — she needs me to be confident in her and for her.

Yet I struggle. At the risk of giving TMI, appearing to sound like a victim, or hurting the feelings of certain people, I’ve decided that perhaps by iterating my memories I might cleanse myself. When I think back over my childhood and school experiences, I don’t wax nostalgic. The first memories that come to mind are not happy ones. In a perfect storm combining my personality, family milieu, and the outside world, I entered kindergarten absolutely not ready for school or the world.

I was a timid, docile child, perceptive and agonizingly sensitive. I had older sisters who were in school full-time when I was pre-school age, so I had no experience playing with peers and navigating the conflict that arises from this. My first day of kindergarten I was so scared I refused to eat snack and cried. Throughout elementary school I seemed to attract unkind treatment. By the time I entered middle school, my way of dealing with peers was to bury my nose in a book and remain detached. I didn’t socialize much with people in or out of school.

The atmosphere of home was governed by negative energy: anger, authoritarian discipline, and fear. It was a patriarchal household, and obedience was expected. When my elder sisters hit adolescence and my younger brother was born (simultaneously), the domestic scene exploded. It remained tense and ruled by outbursts of parental rage throughout my own adolescence. My self-confidence measured near zero. I remember being grounded “indefinitely” for a variety of infractions, and or being threatened with disownment (particularly with being sent off to a boarding school) if I did not behave certain way; the trouble was, what brought on ire wasn’t easily determined. I remember that throughout adolescence (age 11 onward) I felt responsible for my parent’s conflicts, especially my father’s outbursts of anger toward my mother.

One evening I talked with Hub about a school memory that still causes tears (and if I get started, I recall others that do too). One morning a boy at school — as we waited for permission to enter — threatened to kill me. This was first grade. I was terrified. I left and walked home. When I got home, I told my mother I didn’t want to go back. She turned me around and walked me back to school. I don’t recall if she asked why I came home, or if she spoke to the teacher about why; maybe she did. All I recall is that I felt betrayed and abandoned.

My husband asked, “What would you have wished your mother do to?” The six-year-old me had a ready answer: help me to feel safe. I grew up feeling alone, vulnerable, unsafe. I can iterate at least 20 events at or near school* through my youth that contributed to this (and there are many family incidents too). Now, I know that many people experienced bullying or hurtful incidents in school. My husband has even described memories. However, he (and others) don’t carry the pain as I do, and don’t project it all onto their child’s life. The pain is not something I nurture; I don’t ruminate anymore over my past injuries. It comes unbidden, rising and engulfing me like a rapid tide whenever I observe my child encountering difficulty (e.g., rejection — whether perceived by her or real).

Observing Claire deal with her hurt feelings brings a mixture of pain on her behalf, irritation that she’s not tougher, and fear for her well-being in the world. I cannot control what she encounters out there when she starts school full-time this fall. However, I can provide a loving, peaceful, supportive home environment; home can be safe haven. But only if I manage to separate my angst-ridden ego from its Herculean attachment to my past.

*For details on my sad sack past…

A smorgasbord of memories:

1. a bully yanking a play necklace off me in kindergarten, watching the beads scatter everywhere (Mark S.);
2. the aforementioned threat to my life in first grade which prompted me to walk home with the desire never to return (Mark S.);
3. not wanting to play kick-ball in second grade, wherein the PE teacher (Mr. McArdle) picked me up by the hair at the back of my neck and lifted me, so that I was half-walking/half-dragged to the field;
4. accidentally tearing a girl’s shirt in second grade and being told she was going to tell her mother and they’d make me pay for a new one (and being afraid of what repercussions that would cause at home);
5. being choked (hands tight around the neck) by a boy in third grade when I would not give him a book that I had brought to school (Tony F.) — fortunately the teacher was nearby and pried his hands from my throat;
6. being mocked for the kind of raincoat I had, and for wearing rubbers to school (K-Third);
7. feeling abject terror walking past a house kitty-corner from elementary school that had a black lab and a German Shepherd with vicious-sounding barks, and who were not reliably restrained.
8. an older child riding his bike around me in ever tighter circles as I walked to piano lessons a few blocks from home, threatening to run into me;
9. being dubbed in fourth grade the nickname of “Petrified Pig” and having that be my name for several years (Martha D. and others);
10. playing at the home of “friends” on a summer afternoon when I was nine, when their older brother called their crazy St. Bernard up from the cellar and said, “Sic her!” resulting in the dog jumping and biting me on the chest. (Donna and Diane B);
11. being tormented throughout fourth and fifth grade by a “friend” who happened to be the local Presbyterian minister’s kid — she hid my belongings, said terrible things to and about me, ganged up with another girl against me (Suzanne H.). I was so relieved when our fifth grade teacher told me she was moving away to Massachusetts that summer;
12. being punched in the stomach by a class bully (a girl no less) in fifth grade (Colleen F.);
13. a 5th grade classmate stole objects out of a diorama I’d made that was on display in the school library; she taunted me that I would never get them back, which led to an altercation in which I bit her hand (and got the items returned) (Martha D.);
14. at a 5th grade holiday party in school, having gotten silly and doing something I wasn’t supposed to, the teacher spanked me on the butt, and I felt humiliated;
15. being exiled from my four friends with whom I shared a table (and locker) in sixth grade — all girls, who are great at emotional bullying;
16. my sixth grade teacher taking an active dislike to me and making no effort to conceal it the entire year, using sarcasm negative criticism routinely;
17. having to carpool to religious ed on Monday evenings with three other kids who acted liked I didn’t exist (Lisa F., Donna & Diane B.);
18. being told by the brother of a senior boy I had a crush on in my freshman year that my idol thought I had a fat ass (which led to obsession about my weight for years thereafter) (Shahan M.);
19. being friendly to the other brother of the senior boy I had a crush on in 10th grade, only to receive a punch in the arm that sent me reeling against the lockers (Vikan M.);
20. being the subject of a rumor started in my junior year that I was having a sexual relationship with my social studies teacher, Mr. P. I had a crush on him, yes, and I idolized him; he recognized potential and intelligence in me, he provided compassionate listening, and he had the good sense to urge me to see the school psychologist when I mentioned I felt like killing myself; even in my yearbook, “friends” wrote comments about this non-existent affair;
21. throughout high school, being labeled as a Jesus Freak and being ridiculed for my religiosity.