They say with some reverence, that the best days of our life,
Were to be found behind the desks of our school,
They say that when we look back we will laugh,
And remember joyously just how cool,
Those days really were,
Well l am looking back upon those ‘Good old days’,
And l have to say with some heart felt honesty,
That l am none too sure if that is the phrase,
I would apply to my schooling odyssey,
And that trying to recall ‘all’ is somewhat of a blur!
I was classed by some of my teachers as a bit of a ‘geek’,
Whilst others enjoyed my bubbling company,
And others still, saw me as a freak,
The remaining percentage saw me as just another somebody,
And is that something l am to remember so very fondly?
School was, it has to be said a bit of a struggle,
With so many pupils, and so much learning to take in,
A mountainous range of classes in which to juggle,
Never mind fighting the quirky tendencies looking to begin,
In a mind that was completely unaware of the darkly,
Shapes and presence’s that were lurking deep inside,
Yet so eager to express themselves to others so profoundly,
Making me squirm and wriggle mentally and just wanting to hide!
Oh yay l remember those times now l am getting older,
Tis a pity l knew not back then, what l know now,
For if l had, then perhaps just maybe, l would have been bolder,
And not shyly retiring and more aware of how,
To fit in like the other so popular personalities,
Who always seemed to know exactly what it was that was meant,
By those entrusted to teaching our inner complexities,
The merits of education and the terrors of discontent?
Certain classes made incredible sense to me,
And filled me with joy and a great deal of pleasure,
Others were not so fulfilling and not my chosen destiny,
And were treated like an abandoned sunken treasure,
For someone else to plunder and exploit to their hearts’ content,
Allowing them to explore the hidden recesses of confusion,
That l saw glinting from within the darkened chest,
A mind-boggling minefield that resembled nuclear fusion!
Mathematics was my biggest nightmare of all time,
Numbers did not spring to life for me like they did for others,
And my teacher cared not for my struggles, not one dime,
To her ‘true beauty’ was found in numbers,
And whilst l managed with ease the perfect six,
This l could see being the most use to me,
She teased me often causing great hurt a neat trick,
With my apparent inability,
To comprehend algebra, logarithms, matrices,
And all manner of other quite useless calculations,
Not content with just the famous four formulas,
Or even a total grasp of fractions and percentages!
With such a strong accent as l did way back then possess,
French was a somewhat confusing aspect,
And because l could not pronounce to impress,
I was again teased by the tutor and made the subject,
Of the classes amusement,
Much to my complete and utter disdain,
Another waste of time seriously misspent,
Causing me further bewilderment and embarrassing pain!
Science was ok, and l managed quite well,
Whereas Biology was more in tune with my understanding,
Music was hopeless for my dulled ears and l did not excel,
And failed miserably at crafting classes like Technical Drawing,
Woodwork and metal work too, for l lacked patience and finesse,
Working with materials or anything quite complex,
Usually ended up in one hell of a mess,
And left teachers galore in anger and often vexed!
Physical education was a bit of a drab as l was not quite sporty,
Although l did have a fondness for quirky leisure’s,
Preferring to not play ‘cricket or football’ but hockey,
Baseball, rounder’s, archery and other such outdoor pleasures!
Apparently l was somewhat unsociable to the idea of team spirit,
Which admittedly caused me something of a head spin,
Making me quite angry and stating that, ‘That was shit!!’
Seeing as l was the hockey captain!
But l was creative, and had an incredibly beautiful mind,
Filled with imaginative thoughts and dreams of colour,
Which were present with me most of the time,
And captured the eyes of certain teachers of which l also did favour,
Visual expression in art was where l could go to relax,
Escaping into the floristry of hundreds of exciting hues,
My MindField easing back and away from the schooling tax,
Firmly set on a course of vibrant cruise,
English literature and language again fired my imagination,
Helped along by a lovely teacher, herself an angelic dream,
She saw me for who l was and allowed my literary creations,
To impress others within my class who struggled in this stream,
For oh how l loved to read and absorb the writers,
Of stories and yarns, and other such richly motivated desires,
Words were my musical tones, my fighters,
My numbers of life, and my craftsmanship of fire!
Seeing as l could so easily get lost going around a corner,
Geography was a complete and utter waste upon my learning,
And l cared not for the locations of either London or Yorkshire,
For it was more important to me to find my way home in Woking!
History be this modern or classical, was more up my street,
Whilst Chemistry was a bit of a boring grind,
Religious Studies never made me complete,
For to understand God l believed was merely for the blind!
I mean, what is it that you would hath me see,
That would fill my life with so much pure joy,
To discriminate against aliens yet believe in this ‘Your’ entity?
And yell at me so when l compared Jesus to Tarzan as a boy?
What good is religion to me l often would ask out aloud,
Only to be hit with a piece of chalk in response,
Because l dared apparently to abuse our Lord,
And was accused often of some kind of devilled nonchalance!
For even way back then in olden school times,
Political correctness was a growing and favoured trend,
Irrelevant in my opinion now that it is mostly tree hugging lies,
And is too easily confused with etiquette and is just a means to an end,
This is wrong, that is not quite right,
You cannot say that neither can you say this,
And to go against the grain will further excite,
All of these quoters of correctness who just take the piss,
Just seems to me even now much older than the boy at school,
Life is way to PC nowadays when perhaps it should be EC,
And more manners and politeness should rule,
Those who govern our mindfields so politically,
Yet here l am so many years on from the ‘good old days’,
Looking back in recollection of what was good,
From my learning phase,
And wondering still if l could have understood,
More of what was being said,
By those whom were so hell bent,
Of awarding information to my complex head,
And whether now they would say my life has been misspent?
When l still see the world through different eyes,
To the teachers of yesterday who said l would amount to nothing,
Looking at me, some with a certain jealous despise,
Saying that l was quite useless at school and bungling,
That l would look back on these days with a longing regret,
But due to my inability’s to comprehend,
No doubt l would end up some kind of illiterate deviant,
That l was unsociable and could not blend,
And now, well now l know that l am Aspergic and l am proud,
That the confusions of yesteryear were present for a reason,
Schooling back then simply did not understand nor allow,
For the presence of theatrical season,
To those whom who have completely different personalities,
To the run of the mill Neurotypicals,
And certain savants who possess a tad more speciality,
Than all those other learners whom are stereotypical,
And with that outspoken,
There is absolutely no need for me to reiterate again,
My MindField is mine, and is not broken,
I am just me, Aspergic, different and proud, but not Rainman!
© Rory Matier 2013