School Can Be Hard For Abused Kids
When I was in my teens, and attending high school, my mother used to follow me into my room after dinner and abuse me physically and emotionally right around the time I needed to be doing my homework. It would delay my homework and tire me out. I know it had an effect on my education. Fortunately for me, I am a bright person (high IQ) and I am sure that helped me a lot.
Also, I sensed that besides hurting me physically and emotionally, she wanted me to flunk out of school. I didn't know why she would want that at the time, just thought she was some kind of crazy. Now I do know why she wanted me to flunk out of high school, but it's a story in itself so I'll skip it here. That's a whole other post.
One of her favorite ways of physically abusing me was to grab me by the arm and swing me around the room in circles, like an evil spinning carnival ride, scolding me and screaming the whole time. I would hit the furniture and sometimes a wall as I spun, getting dizzier all the time. Eventually, as I got totally dizzy and disoriented, she'd suddenly let go and I'd stagger around and fall down onto the floor as she stood over me screaming out the last of her tirade. Then she'd leave the room, sometimes returning right after I pulled myself together and had managed to stop crying and she'd start a fresh tirade. (She knew exactly when I calmed down because she had a secret surveillance camera in my room--really!) If I was lucky she'd leave me crying and not come back for more. Then I would pull myself together, stop crying, and sit at my desk and do my homework and studying. This was very hard for me, but I took a certain amount of pride in keeping up with my schoolwork in spite of my painful emotions. I made a solemn promise to myself that in spite of the Wicked Witch of West Hollywood I would, somehow, graduate from my high school with honors. And, in June of 1963, I did. My mother was the only parent at the graduation ceremony who wasn't smiling. My father was there and he congratulated me. Likewise, my mother's husband, my stepfather, was very happy and hugged me and gave me a present. My English teacher was happier than all 3 of my parents put together. Even when they read my name from the Honor Roll, my mother looked miserable; she didn't even make an effort to fake it. Faking it was something she was normally pretty good at. Most people who didn't know her well saw her as kind and charming. She should've gotten a special Academy Award for best actor in a real life situation.
If a kid is having trouble handing in homework assignments, doesn't seem to be studying, consider that whatever is going on in their home may have something to do with it. Most kids in these situations don't feel they can talk about this kind of things and tend to agree with their teachers that they are just being irresponsible or rebellious. Maybe it's worth checking out instead of just assuming the worst of the kid.
The main thing that kept me going in my schoolwork was a twice a week phone call from my father who would talk to me about school and education in such a way that I would feel encouraged to do my best. That must've made the difference. I tried to pass this on to my students when I became a teacher.
Also, I sensed that besides hurting me physically and emotionally, she wanted me to flunk out of school. I didn't know why she would want that at the time, just thought she was some kind of crazy. Now I do know why she wanted me to flunk out of high school, but it's a story in itself so I'll skip it here. That's a whole other post.
One of her favorite ways of physically abusing me was to grab me by the arm and swing me around the room in circles, like an evil spinning carnival ride, scolding me and screaming the whole time. I would hit the furniture and sometimes a wall as I spun, getting dizzier all the time. Eventually, as I got totally dizzy and disoriented, she'd suddenly let go and I'd stagger around and fall down onto the floor as she stood over me screaming out the last of her tirade. Then she'd leave the room, sometimes returning right after I pulled myself together and had managed to stop crying and she'd start a fresh tirade. (She knew exactly when I calmed down because she had a secret surveillance camera in my room--really!) If I was lucky she'd leave me crying and not come back for more. Then I would pull myself together, stop crying, and sit at my desk and do my homework and studying. This was very hard for me, but I took a certain amount of pride in keeping up with my schoolwork in spite of my painful emotions. I made a solemn promise to myself that in spite of the Wicked Witch of West Hollywood I would, somehow, graduate from my high school with honors. And, in June of 1963, I did. My mother was the only parent at the graduation ceremony who wasn't smiling. My father was there and he congratulated me. Likewise, my mother's husband, my stepfather, was very happy and hugged me and gave me a present. My English teacher was happier than all 3 of my parents put together. Even when they read my name from the Honor Roll, my mother looked miserable; she didn't even make an effort to fake it. Faking it was something she was normally pretty good at. Most people who didn't know her well saw her as kind and charming. She should've gotten a special Academy Award for best actor in a real life situation.
If a kid is having trouble handing in homework assignments, doesn't seem to be studying, consider that whatever is going on in their home may have something to do with it. Most kids in these situations don't feel they can talk about this kind of things and tend to agree with their teachers that they are just being irresponsible or rebellious. Maybe it's worth checking out instead of just assuming the worst of the kid.
The main thing that kept me going in my schoolwork was a twice a week phone call from my father who would talk to me about school and education in such a way that I would feel encouraged to do my best. That must've made the difference. I tried to pass this on to my students when I became a teacher.
70-79, F
