I spent a lot of my childhood being scolded. At least that is how it always felt to me. It wasn’t only my parents who were doing the scolding. Teachers, my older sibling, the housekeepers, friends. I really disliked the feeling. I promised myself that if I were ever in a position of authority, scolding would never be my way of instructing anyone. I don’t know what adult modeled an alternate way of behaving. I am sorry that I can’t give credit to that individual. Perhaps it was a book or series of books that showed possibilities that didn’t include violence.
My childhood began in Costa Rica. At a young age, I became a resident of Brooklyn, New York. While I never chose to live in the U.S. I adapted as children do and made the best of all my circumstances. I believe myself extremely privileged even though I may not have realized it until much later. There were some wonderful benefits that came to me as a result of being an immigrant, no one expected much of me so anything I did that was even remotely competent was a welcome surprise.
Although I was pretty smart, I was not an applied student. I did what I needed to do to get passing (or good) grades but I never signed up for extra credits or additional tasks. I held the teachers at bay, never being comfortable enough to make friends of them before, during or after our structured exposure to one another. I recall being a little envious of one of my friends who was so relaxed about befriending teachers. I remember marveling at the ability she had to separate the teacher from the person. I never could do that. I always felt that the teacher would recall my grades when we were socializing and might bring it up in conversation. It never occurred to me that inherent in a real educator was the ability to also separate the student from the person and not be inclined to mention a bad grade in the middle of a tennis game, for a wild example. Oh the things that run through my memory sometimes. It boggles my mind that I wasted so many opportunities to get close to teachers who might have imparted tremendous wisdom and advice for my future educational endeavors.
I am a successful person. I do, however, long for the days I chose to never give myself: going to daytime college instead of community college at night and working during the day. My family was not in dire straits. Brooklyn College was tuition free when I was accepted. I rebuffed the opportunity because I had no intention of returning to NY after I graduated from high school to come back to Costa Rica for the summer. Costa Rica makes me thrive. It is, after all, my birthplace and the one place no one can tell me to leave (although some hinted years ago they might be better off if I were gone). Being retired with independent children means I get to do what I like these days. I am devoting the rest of my days, (and may they be many, please God) to writing successfully. What does that mean? Hopefully publishing something and perhaps even getting paid. I wish I had gone to college properly so that instead of being afraid to write because I feel I haven’t got the proper tools or degree, I could just have had the opportunity to write, edit, rewrite and been rejected at the college level to know once and for all whether I was good enough. Heck, I read books and essays that I could have written even better, but they beat me to it. There is nothing to do but continue to write, whether the readership increases or not is not really the issue. Although I hate to apply a “boot camp” mentality, I feel that is the only way I am ever going to succeed. By scolding myself into action.
Exploring writing by writing 