I think I’m most right when i say we all learn something each day, no matter how insignificant it may be. At first thought you may disagree, but stop…think…ask yourself what new thing did i learn yesterday? It i might be difficulty at first to recall if you suffer from short-term memory or perhaps super tired when you get home. I usually set aside time when i get home and lying down in bed to reflect on what happen in the day, what never when the way replay images in my head the way i wanted it to go. It’s a sort of reinforcement of a high-level of consciousness.
The WordPress Daily Challenge today ask:
Share one thing that you learned recently.
Bonus: Share one thing you wish you learned recently (Ninja skills, teleportation, etc.).
For today’s blog entry i want to focus on FAILURE, something that we all aren’t strangers to but yet fear. It’s the one simple word, next to someone breaking up with you (I’m told), that can incapacitate the most powerful among us. If you don’t believe me, listen Oprah or any successful person who’ve made it from crayons to perfume.
The lessons one can learn from failure are insurmountable, and of course depends on how you look at it. The movie In The Pursuit of Happyness is perhaps the best known movie example I can think of at the moment that deals with this issue of failure starring Will Smith, Thandie Newton and Jaden Smith. Will Smith plays the role of a struggling salesman whose world is crumbling before and around him. His wife leaves him, he loses his house, his bank account, and credit cards and is forced to live out in the streets with his son. The movies unfolds with Will Smith desperately seeking a steady job, which takes him along the paths of a stockbroker, but before he can receive pay, he needs to go through 6 months of training….it’s a tough world.
None of us likes failing anything, whether its a regular class, a final exam (good God, I know this feeling) or a job interview; but really is failing all that bad? I’ve been through some rough patches, and I’m certain other persons ave gone through similar and even worse patches. However the attitude that one approaches failure is what determines if a lesson is learn or you will make the said mistake or worse again. I won’t tell you I don’t sulk, get upset, say “that’s it I’m giving up” and all sorts of madness when I fail. I think, like all humans my first reaction is to blame myself or find a reason to cast blame on; it just seem like it will make things better. But then it does and in a flash I have to take responsibilities.
However, I’ve reach a point in life now (please remember I’m still a youth and under 30), where I step away or just seclude myself from persons who will blame me for what when wrong and dissect the situation for myself. Asking myself, “what could I have done better”, “why didn’t i see this option instead” and other questions. Some may say its self-torture, but its a process where see things for what they are and take the steps to remedy them and motivate oneself to succeed.
Before I going I want to leave you all with the quote: “Failure is an option in a controlled way”, so it really doesn’t matter how much time you fail, it could be 100 times the one time you success will feel great.
I’m going to leave you with one of my favourite Youtube video that looks at the mishaps of Honda racers, designers and engineers and how they have drawn from their failure to motivate them to succeed. From poor color choices to blown race engines, these risk-taking individuals provide an honest look at what most people fear most. Watch the film and discover the upside of failure.
I however wish I had the skill of playing the violin, I find it very peaceful and believe it would fulfill me.
“Have you ever lied about your age? Why? Bonus: Do you think they believed you?” Is the question from WordPress Post A Day Challenge.
What are these people trying to do? I have an halo WordPress! So, No I’ve never lied about my age for three reasons, firstly I usually get it wrong because I genuinely can’t remember majority of the times, especially since I stop keeping track of my age on my 14th birthday way back in the annals of history. The other reason is because most people seem to think I’m younger than I really am, so why mess with perfection? Finally, I don’t have to remember nothing, after all I getting old. Pun intended.
Of course, I’ve lied about my age, both to sound younger and older, if fact I been doing it since thirteen (13) years old; well…ahm…I can explain, please hear me out.
The first time I lied about my age, It Wasn’t Me; Shaggy and RikRoc didn’t put me up this I swear. One of my eight grade teacher made me do it. Yes she made me do it! …don’t tell me I agreed to it so I did it too, my mind was impressionable and she took advantage of that, I was 13 years old (I feel so abused, The Cries of Men). The name of the teacher was Mrs. Brown and she was my Home Economics teacher, and one of the Advisor in the 4-H Club.
It was coming on the annual 4-H Parish Achievement Day, which is a day of competition various activities such as cooking, sewing, animal husbandry, research-base etc, all apart of the objective of development and empowerment of youth as leaders for positive change, as well give back to their local communities. Now because I had aced my 7th grade High School class in Home Economics in both practical and theory I was ask and entered in the 4-H Apron Making Competition and was place 3rd at the Parish level. While I was happy to have been placed 3rd I was disappointed not to have won, it never seem the right placing for my efforts preparing it, even though I got JMD$5000 at the time.
With my experience the Apron Making when the following year came I was asked to enter the competition, basically I was told because it was a statement. Then after being told my teacher asked my age and I said 13 years old, she told me I never looked it and even though the competition was for up to 12 years old they were going to enter me and I was to maintain I was going to be 12 the December instead of 14 years old.
No one questioned my age, for my application was completed by the Advisors and unlike the year before I won the 4-H Apron Making Competition for my parish. As winner of my parish I had to represent at the 4-H National Achievement Day in Denbigh and was place 3rd, which I was elated about; on my return to school I was commended at a general devotion for all grades.
Later that year on my 14th birthday I decided that I was tired of keeping up with this age thing, chiefly because my mother and I was planning a mega celebration and we couldn’t get to because she was sick and away from home. That year I lost all interest in birthdays and eventually Christmas because on my birthday I got news my mother was admitted to hospital and five days later on Christmas I visited her in the hospital. After being admitted to the hospital I knew our Christmas like my birthday plans would be derailed.
Back to the question.
Since my 14th birthday I often would forget the 19th of December and would just agree that I was older than the year before. I said nothing about my birthday to friends and classmates and was often lucky that school would often be on Christmas-Break before my birthday and became the perfect way to avoid friends, classmate etc re the day.
I went on ignoring my birthday, until if I was asked what age I was I would say, “I don’t know”, “let me check and tell you”, “I’m still young” OR “I’m underage”. I vividly recalled while in first year I went to the bank and the attendant told me I had to chance my update my account because I had exceed the age on the saving account I had, I protested and told her that was impossible gave her a age which was, I believe a year or two less than what she was telling me. She even showed me via a calculator that I had in fact pass that age.
I was slightly embarrassed but that wasn’t enough to shake me and I sit refused to know my age up to now.
I don’t know if this counts, but during high school when I was still underage age for certain sites I often lied about my age by mathematically modifying the year I was born to ensure my legality. I therefore created a online identity for myself to satisfy my curiosity at the time.
These days I usually refrain from telling my exact age and since most people are polite, they wear a look of shock on their faces and tell me they don’t believe. When I celebrated my birthday the first time in a long while last December and said I was 19th, a friend asked me if I never said I was 19th the year before. My response, “a man or woman is as young as he or she thinks he or she is”.
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This should have been posted yesterday, but I delayed it because I wanted to know what my Twitter followers were thinking and tweeted it. As expected I got some good conversation just by asking the above question. Majority of the persons opined that they would take super-intelligence over super-beauty, as a matter of fact only one person choose the latter.
I just had a conversation with a friend about this said topic and the question to me was, ‘people still ask those questions’?
I’m afraid they do.
For me it doesn’t takes any amount of brain work to say I’ll take super intelligence over being super beautiful. My answer is grounded in several reasons, chiefly by the adage, “a brain is a terrible thing to waste.” Additionally, beauty fades and as we were taught at school the education we gain through being intelligent “will never decay”. With intelligence you can be concur, do and be whatever you want. Fourthly, I believe brain trumps beauty. I’m drawn to intelligence/brains, I find it sexy. Its like those with intelligence just pulls you in, which is the total opposite of the airheads and often times boring folks considered “beautiful”.
Come to think of it what can you do if you’re extremely beautiful/good looking? Perhaps, sit and look good? Or file my nails and do all sort of beauty treatments?
BONUS -If Could Have Both
Is this where reasoning is test, like in a Maths exam? On a serious not, the bonus part of the challenge makes the question much more interesting to look at.
A blend of both isn’t bad, in fact, that’s what I truly want because beauty without substance personify a lack of true beauty in my eyes. While on the other hand intelligence without a bit of beauty often gets ignored for something superficial, like some beauty competition. A clear example of this, I honestly believe, is seen in the plethora of beauty pageants being developed here in Jamaica for every and any possible thing. From my own experience the problem of being just intelligent could easily become a prison for one.
But if its a compulsory thing and we have to choose one and then the other as part of my daily life. I believe I would have to be super intelligent during the day and transform to be super beautiful in the night, where I’ll be the socialite of the town.
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Have you ever stop to think what’s your favourite word or what is it that one word or couple words that you’re known for? Got you thinking, right? That’s exactly what WordPress Daily Challenge scored when the day’s was asked: “What is your favourite word? Why?”
Ask if that wasn’t enough another dimension was added to the challenge in that of ‘Bonuses’ asking: “What is your least favourite word? What word are you entirely neutral about? For all your word choices, is it how they sound, or what they mean that defines your opinion of them?”
I delay this post and I’m gonna back date it too, all because I wanted to be accurate of the word I was known to use a lot. I started asking some of my friends, the results were hilarious; no jokes. The responses I got me “OMGing”, “serious”, “oh no”, laughing and hand over mouth.
Before we get to my favourite words, let’s talk about my least favourite. Some of my friends, and perhaps you would agree with them, but its whatever for me. I’ve always dislike hearing the word “no”, frankly I’m not sure if its a dislike or the fact that it was inculcate in me by parents. I vividly remember one Christmas when the family, included a few Uncles, Aunt, and cousins, were over for dinner and I declared (that’s a strong word, so I hope you understand what I mean) that I wanted the leg of this huge Chicken that was raise and killed for the big day. My mother refuse to give me the leg and instead put some other part of the chicken in my plate while at the table. In protest I refused to eat and sat looking at everyone at the table. I was on a strike.
I still can hear the voice of my mother commanding me to eat and still recall how blank I looked at her, especially when she was attempting to raise her voice; I think I would have been 7 years old at the time. My father who had excused himself from the table returned at that moment and enquired what was the problem. I pleaded my case to my father: “Daddy, I wanted the big chicken leg and Mom don’t want to give me.” My Father then turn to my Mother and told her “give ma son what him want, him want the Chicken Leg give it to him.” Of course I smiled in victory, and like in a court of law that was to be the preceding for everything with either my mother or father. While I never got everything I asked for, once I really wanted it I would get it; and often times, once my father was there I would play him to get what I want. I say this to show why “no” is my least favourite word.
I can’t really thing of a neutral word for me, because its either yes or no. I really can’t deal with the chafes from riding the fence. In essence all my word choices all have to do with the meaning and/or opinion I attach to them.
With all that said let’s get into my top ten favourite words:
1. The word “Positive” was said to be a common choice for me, I’m always proclaiming to embrace the good and majority of the time being constructive and sure, rather than skeptical.
2. For some strange reason I love the word “Bitch”, but only restrict it to friends who know I don’t mean nothing offensive using it. I still can remember an embarrassing moment I had during Fashion Nights Out and Corve DaCosta laughed at me and I vowed to severely censor the use of this one, can’t say how successful I’ve been.
3. I love laughing, and general a happy lad. Whenever I’m being told a joke always give out “me love it, me love it”.
4. “Bed” I have a deep love for my bed, I speak about my bed like its my lover.
5. After ‘bed’ if you know me you know I’m going to “Sleep”, after all the older you get the less you sleep so I might as well take capitalise on it from now, right? I know you would agree.
6. “Damn”, I like to use it for straight face, sarcastic comments and a few other things.
7. “Fuck Off”, I’m hiding my face, I really don’t thing I use this word, do you? I think this is the choice words for me to tell you ‘don’t provoke ma peace’.
8. “Yiee”, according to Jhanell “when joke sweet you”.
9. “Fuck” I’m told I say this a lot, don’t really recall using the word much.
10. “Food” or “I’m hungry” is a popular word/phrase for me, yes Yanique Townsend despite the fact that at home and sometimes y’all have to cuss me saying “you need to eat Leethan.”
Something tells me that Corve, Alyssa, Jamila and Christine going to ask me while I never include “Carib“ or “I’m going to the Movies.😀
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The latest challenge from WordPress have me thinking to “Describe your dream vacation.” With a, “Bonus: describe your last vacation. (extra-bonus, is to compare your dream vacation to your last one).”
Just being over the twenty mark in my life and not from the family who would often jet off to what would be called a “vacation” I can’t say I ever enjoyed one. One thing for sure, I’ve had some pretty darn good Summer and other holidays, I would get when school was out. Summer in the tropics, especially the Caribbean and more so Jamaica, are absolutely heaven sent; its would US and other HipHop and R&B Singer yearn for in their songs. Before I offend my readers currently experiencing Winter let’s get to my dream vacation.
I’ve always been drawn to Europe and the East, especially the East. Just talking about it brings a sort of soothing to my spirit. I would often sit and listen stories of persons who had the opportunities of visiting either. At a dinner in honour of recipients of the Prime Minister’s Youth Award for Excellence, which I got for Journalism, with then PM, P. J. Patterson, I had the pleasure of talking and questioning then Education & Youth Minister Maxine Henry-Wilson about her studies in Europe and loved it. I felt the love she had for her experience and wanted to experience said. At that moment I bragged that I wanted to be like one of her Academics awardee at the dinner Sabrena McDonald, who I developed close ties with, to be the first Male, Second Jamaican and Caribbean first to gain a Msc. in Criminology & Criminology Justice from Oxford University and use the time to explore Europe like the then Minister.
While I’ve change my mind somewhat of the Masters programme I want to do, the exploration side have not changed one bit. In fact I have been lucky enough to find a Masters programme in my interest area that spans three countries in three different continent that I’m aiming to get in.
My perfect vacation will be two years, with me spending three months each on ALL 8 continents. Yeah I know it sounds much, but I wanna experience the world and what better way to do it than dedicating three months each to explore the gems of each continent. There are however a few places that are a must see/go especially Europe, the Middle East, Asia, South and Central America. In Europe I want to travel to France, Spain, Italy, Croatia, Switzerland, Germany, Hungary, Austria, Denmark, Holland and Belgium.
While in Italy I want to fulfil a 2004 Christmas Wish I have of wanting to spend the jolly season in Portofino at Hotel Splendido; in Spain I want to visit and have dinner overlooking the Muelle de las Carabelas (Harbour of the Caravels), which is a waterfront exhibition with life-size replicas built for the 500th anniversary celebrations in 1992 with Columbus’s three ships: the Niña, the Pinta and the Santa María. Of course being a student of history I would want to enjoy a trip to the museum around the Muelle de las Carabelas that is armed with details of Columbus’s life etc and have coffee at the nearby café.
In Africa I would visit Egypt for observe all there, including the pyramids. It would be good to stop in for a meet and greet with Nelson Mandela, see Johannesburg, South Africa, Ghana, Zimbabwe. I would also like to visit Dakar, Senegal chat up and spend time with my Twitter friend Yasmine (@spyasamy). Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, India, China, Japan, Pakistan, and Belize are all interesting places I would have to visit. Spring Break in Mexico with all ’em hot college and University babes is a definitely, not to mention experience the beauties of Brazil in carnival, with the paint-on carnival costumes.
Of course I’ll ended my two-year vacation in the Caribbean Island hopping.
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Here’s today’s topic, brought to you by Plinky.com:
What’s something you never believed until you experienced it?
Bonus: What is something you believed in, until an experience changed your mind?
Confession, this post took a long time to write and I’m not exaggerating. One moment I thought I had it then another I never did. I definitely have the bonus on point, but the actual challenge…let’s just leave it at, even now writing I’m not sure what I’m gonna be writing.
Its surprising the things we believe in when we’re children, either because of what we see on TV, via cartoons or movies, or because adults who are set above tell us these things. As a youngster I was beguile into the idea that magic existed in that of fairy. I had no doubt at first not to believe and so I believe; well that was until I decided to prove it for myself.
As a youngster I had a serious case of curiosity, and it has followed me throughout my childhood and into my more youthful age, but that’s another story for another time. I remember reading a story or watching a cartoon once about the tooth fairy, I’m not sure which it was because my most young childhood memories are somewhat flurry. Coincidentally this happen around a time when I was changing teeth, so I would have been around six or seven years of age, and was queried if I would get money from the tooth fairy if I put the teeth under my pillow.
My dad told me I had to throw my teeth on top of the house and recited “ratta, ratta give me new teeth”, this was a Jamaican tradition, which I’m not sure where either of it origin nor the meaning. What I can tell you is it was said if I never did that your tooth or teeth, depending on how much you lost, would not grow back. Now I did as I was instructed, believing it of course. A few days passed by and because our house top was slab (concrete) and I could climb to its top. I searched a little and found my extracted tooth that I had toss to the roof after reciting what my dad asked me. I assumed the tooth fairy lady was perhaps overwork and had not gotten to my location. I went back up on the roof after, never found the extracted tooth but it did grow back.
The real test came when I went to the dentist for an extraction and ask for the tooth and the dentist told me I never need to do that for my teeth to grow back. I threw a tantrum which never help me, eventually my tooth grew back and I stop believing what my daddy told me.
I never though enough balls and guts to maintain the interest of a girl beyond school work and other school related activities. I still don’t. I’m a shy boy, shy once I’m not consciously looking to court the person or “be with the person” like what we Jamaicans like to say.
In the latter part of my fifth form years at Tacky High, reasoning with some of my male classmates and close friends, who were what we Jamaicans dubbed “girls man”, we agreed that I needed to “bruk lose”. It was agree that I wasn’t the average boy and was just too polish and needed to be more like them. I was an exemplary student and “brukking lose” or becoming the average boy who hunts after girls for sex was idle talks for me. I was given an alias “Dexter” and welcome to a family call “D-Unit”, all the members had names start with “D”.
Hook-up sex was the first test to prove my transition, after a few times members from D-Unit tried hooking up a polish young man like me fail. It was thought that they should start things in baby steps, because it was discovered I never knew how to talk with girls to be taken serious. So I was schooled after school and all I did was laugh; it was all hilarious to me until D’bo saw me one day blushing at this Grade Nine girl, Ingrid (can’t remember her last name at the moment). During a meeting with D-Unit it was mention and my emotions were uncontrollable, I was instantly being pressured to make a move. I told them she had a boyfriend and they told it was my excuse to run away. I was asked how I felt about Ingrid and I told them, at that moment I couldn’t back out.
One day I was in the library, Ingrid came in and we were having casual talk and in walked D’bo and Dice (two of my bigger D-Unit brothers). D’bo said something about ‘love-birds’ when he walked in and walked back out. Shortly after I left. The following morning I was talking with one of the Assistant Librarian who happen to be my cousin and Ingrid walked in, followed shortly by D’bo…she wanted to talk to me. It was no biggy, we always talked. She asked me if I had anything I wanted to tell her I said no, she said yes you do, I said I was clueless. Ingrid asked me how I felt about her and I wasn’t to lie. The few seconds I stared at her were long. She reach across the table and touch my hands, your friend told me…I looked at her hands on mine in defeat and look at her confess and surprisingly pull off a good conversation that developed into my first relationship.
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Here’s today’s topic, brought to you by Plinky.com: Describe the worst teacher you ever had.”
The challenge today is certainly an amusing one! Everyone has had that one bad teacher, however for some its way too much and itself is a challenge picking the worst of them all.
“…Someone told me that their is always an extra seat in the class for her ego”, was the comment yesterday from a colleague of mine regarding a lecturer we had last semester, to which I agree and said there are two chairs for her ego, any poll could prove. With such sentiments its difficult to imagine why some people get into the career of teaching career in the first place if absent from their nature are patience to endure students.
My worse teacher had to be my Five Grade teacher, a Miss Palmer, she was slim, dark skin and had jerried hair and had only recently completed Teacher’s College when she got a gig at my school because my then teacher was on leave. We often nicknamed her “Annie Palmer“, “Annie Palmer the Witch” or “the Witch”, the name was given because we felt she was the replica of ‘the White Witch of Rose Hall‘ a popular book and cultural remnant of Jamaica.
I wasn’t a fan of Miss Palmer and I never hide it, I’m getting ahead of myself. I can’t recall exactly how Miss Palmer assume duties for my class, but I believe school had already start for that term. From the get go I was fond of her, but that had nothing to do with me dubbing her the worse teacher. She wasn’t new to the school and so I knew of her from an Assistant Teacher position she played while she was doing teaching practise the year/term before.
She had a particular annoying voice, shouted (one of my biggest pet peeved), a liar (another pet peeved), loud and seem to take a particular pleasure in beating students. To be frank I often thought she became a teacher because that was the only thing left for her to do. She seem to have been one of those “new teachers” who were doing things because she was told by the authority, rightfully so because we were located just outside a passage way to our principal’s office and staff room. Apparently someone told her “keep them (the students) quite, your job depends on it”.
My first reason for not liking Ms. Palmer was relating to an incident that happen at the end of school term outing/trip that we would regularly go on. While some parents had accompanied their child/children, I was alone like most others. I had grown accustomed to going on schools by myself with only supervision from the teachers present and perhaps parents who were present. Returning from the trip I was told and expected to travel when I reach the final stop when we got back to school with another bus driver and family friend who had took another class. I disembarked the bus that had took my class at the final stop and boarded the family friend bus driver, who still had persons in it that the driver would stop and leave while he was passing their residence.
The reason my parents had instructed me to boarded that bus was because the driver would have pass my house before reaching his, they were sure of my safety and the said driver had pick me up that morning and left me at school so I could have boarded my bus to the trip. However, when I boarded the family friend bus driver’s bus, Ms. Palmer who was left in charge of that bus mentioned that she never knew me and I explain why I was on the bus. She proceeded to talk to me in a loud tone that the bus wasn’t going where I had indicated I was, all without consultation with the driver. The one Ms. Palmer preceded to instruct me to get off the bus and eventually led me off the bus. I watch as the bus drove off in the night and I was left in the cold of that Wednesday night; a child of nine and a half, with bags of clothes from the fun I had that day and other items brought back from the trip. It couldn’t have been later than 9:30pm and I sat on my bag under the front of a closed shop, snacking away at food items I had with me at the time, mainly KFC chicken.
I sat there for what would have been almost an hour, hoping that my family would realise soonest that I had missed the family friend when the bus drove past our house and would come in search of me.
By intuition my mother had began had just thought that it was too late and I wasn’t home yet and that’s when dad came in search of me. Driving he saw the family friend and ask if I was with him, he check and there was no Leethan. Miss Palmer who was on that bus, I was later inform by my dad and the family friend noted that I had gotten off the bus in the square of the town. Now this “witch” didn’t explain that she had told me to get off the bus, but twisted the words to make it look like I willingly got off. Shortly after my dad’s encounter when both he came and fetch me.
Driving home we ran into the family friend, who was driving back to the town square, he said, to ensure that my dad had found me. Coincidentally, we all met right after the family friend had drop “the witch” home and had turn the bus around. My dad explain to the family friend what I had said and the “the witch” eavesdrop. After talking with the family friend, my dad stop and exchange words with the Miss Palmer she asking her what kind of teacher she was to have left a student of not ten on the street like that without care for how he would get home. Frankly I never thought my dad dealt with the case well, I wanted him to give her a proper tongue-lashing, but he never did.
The following day the woman had the audacity to come in my classroom to ask me why I told a lie on her. Right there and then I got feisty with her and told her she was rude to have been talking with me the way she approach me. I gave her all of the bitterness I had because I was left in the cold and some of what both my parents had quarrel about re the incident. I did refresh her memory as to what she did and told her next time she must ask proper questions before she act. I remember she trying to reprimand me and me telling her she was the one in need of it. I gave her everything my mother wanted to give her and the anger and embarrassment I felt because of how she chase me off the bus.
So when she became my teacher I had a severe distaste for her, which I wasn’t going to release. I did the work she gave, and refuse to communicate with her if I never understood anything. Thank heavens I was a quick child, and when I never understood what was thought I asked my Principal who was in charge of extra lessons.
My relationship with Miss Palmer further disintegrated when we were given a short story assignment for class. I went home and like usual my mother ask me what about my homework and I told her what it was. I was instructed to complete it and showed it to her, which I did, my mother wasn’t satisfied and told me to do it over. Instead of doing my English assignment I did other assignments and was refusing to do it. When my mother asked for it again and I brought the said thing, she beat me and told me that wasn’t a story. Shortly after she sent me to the shop to get something to purchase. This upset me more because it was raining, I had to walk pass this dark corner, where it was often said duppy existed. On my way back from the shop I notice what appeared to be moving shadows. Given the stories of duppies, nearby graves to the corner, the dark corner and it was raining, I panic said it was duppy and attempted to run. Sooner I started running I knock my toe and felt a burning sensation; it was bleeding.
I got home without any Duppy doing me anything and my big toe gushing with blood. My mother treated the toe and joked, “this is some story”. I precede to document what happen and added a extra ending that I had stumbled over the near by gully and crabs had finish snapping off my toe. My mother applauded my efforts and told me I had done well.
When the Miss Palmer she had read the story, she marked and indicated her comments in red ink “Plagiarism, this is not your idea.” I went to talk with her after and she refuse to hear me out, saying I had copied it. Right there and then I vowed that I hated the woman name Miss Palmer and that I was through with English as a subject and writing short stories. I was that serious that all my exams papers for the remaining of my five and six grade having anything to do with stories were deliberately omitted unless I could have a choice and did one. I however did one other good story in six grade base on a picture for another teacher’s class all because a girl I liked had done an impressive piece that was read in class. Outside of that I hate writing until my quest for journalism took the most of me in high school.
Have you have seen this challenge has brought back to me repressed memories. Wish I could see that Miss Palmer now, think I owe her couple punches to the face, perhaps if it wasn’t for those mean things she said I would have been a better writer all those years ago. I guess she though I should have produce mediocrity work because that was what she was use to producing.
There you have it the story about “The Witch” aka Annie Palmer, the worst teacher EVER!