How School Killed My Creativity

I don’t recall ever learning about the genocide and slavery First Nations, Africans, Asians and other ethnic groups had to endure in this great nation of Canada.

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I vividly remember my grade one teacher trying to humiliate me in front of the whole class.

Around that time, some of my classmates and I learned a new skill.

We would stick our index fingers in our mouths as we closed our lips around it, pressing it every so elegantly against our cheeks and with a quick flick of the finger, it would make a loud and annoying (according to the teacher) popping sound.

After the teacher refused to let this evil interrupt her trying to teach us our ABCs, she loudly said, “the next person to do so will have to do it in front of the whole class.”

Me being myself, I decided to push the limits and purposely made another “pop pop.”

Soon after that, I found myself in front of the class, getting to do it in front of everyone, and the whole level just thought it was hilarious, apart from the teacher.

Little did she know that would kick start my career as the class clown.

By grade two, my first crush would sit in front of me.

Her name was Beth.

Great, now another reason not to pay attention in class.

Up until I was about 10-years-old I had a terrible speech impediment.

My grandma said all her kids went through it naturally went away with age.

I recall the grade 2 teacher asking me a question, and she made fun of the way I told the answer.

After that, I would become mute in that class, an arrogant bitch.

They tried the whole speech therapist thing and Hooked on Phonics, etc.; it was all a waste of time, as it was very ineffective.

Just let me go outside and play, where I can utilize my imagination, instead of being confined to a desk in a prison-like four-wall room with a chalkboard and a boring-ass teacher who likes to make fun of a seven-year old’s.