Jeff - Fifth Grade
Jeff
Week 1
“What can I do to help you”, he asked. My reply was a typical “nothing”, followed by a sigh that said, “I don’t need your help, how dare you ask the question”. He whispered, “ahhhhhh, Mr. Independent, you’re an island”. Eek, is that me??? An island? As a child, I loved the show “Gilligan’s Island” and always wanted to live there. The trails, the huts, the banana cream pies, the other side of the island…I saw myself in that place. But not trying to get rescued, rather living there happily. It seemed like paradise…peaceful.
Am I an island? Of course I am. I’ve always been independent and have always taken care of myself. Well, not always. As a toddler, my not much older sister thought of me as her doll. She pulled me around in the wagon and entertained me…she also took care of me, protected me. Her caretaking continued until I went into fifth grade. That year, my sister and my older brother went into junior high school. Since I was the only child left in elementary school, my parents decided to move me to a different school…to make things easier. Fifth grade was my first year in school without my sister, my first time on a school bus…lots of firsts. Because of overcrowding, I attended the afternoon session from 12:30PM to 5:30PM.
My parents and siblings left our house early each morning. I didn’t get on the bus until noon, so my mornings were spent watching TV. The atmosphere of the school was grim and I didn’t know anyone. I was not happy and couldn’t understand why my parents made me leave my old school…oh yeah, it was more convenient for them. So basically, I was a kid who didn’t like to be alone all morning, didn’t like his new school and didn’t want to do it. So, the second week of school, I got sick…vomiting was easy.
I would get up for breakfast, eat a little and then throw up. No one cared for it very much. At first, my mother believed that I was sick…I believed I was sick…lots of trips to the doctor, lots of days home alone all day. One time the doctor said my liver was enlarged…I was particularly pleased that day.
I think they realized that this situation was all in my head. But they never addressed it with me directly. Everyone but my mother ignored my situation although my dad would take me to the doctor once in a while. My mother would make stern comments like, “I can’t understand what’s making you so sick” or “children like you should be in school every day” or “your Aunt can’t keep coming to pick you up because you have a little stomachache”. My Aunt was the only one who got it…but I don’t think my mother would listen to her.
Up until that year, I had perfect attendance at school. In fifth grade, I was absent more that 30 days. But I learned a lot that year…how to make my body seem sick when it wasn’t (although I’m not sure how I enlarged my liver), how to manipulate, how to be alone and independent, how to take care of myself and not need “them”. I became an island that year…as I watched episode after episode of Gilligan’s Island.
Jeff Week 2
I felt like my parents, really my mother, didn’t care what I wanted. I single out my mom because my dad really didn’t get involved with us, my siblings and me. Mom never asked me and I guess I didn’t speak up for some reason. But I knew it scared me. I was afraid of all of it…the long bus ride with kids I didn’t know, the smelly school that had been condemned prior to that year, the new teachers…all of it. I was angry and felt like I didn’t matter. At times, my mother lovingly called me “her baby”, which made me feel really special. No one else could be the baby of the family. But I didn’t feel very special when she decided I would change schools…I felt like I was in the way, that I wasn’t worth the trouble to keep me in my current school. And I couldn’t understand why my mother didn’t know how I felt, I shouldn’t have had to tell her. Didn’t she know me? Couldn’t she tell that I didn’t want to go? Maybe she did know but thought I would adjust…but how could she have thought that? I was always such a “mama’s boy” who was afraid to go on sleepovers or be away from home. “Titty baby”, that’s what me dad called me. I don’t think I even understood what that meant, but when he said those words, I became very angry and disliked him even more, if that was possible. He seemed so entertained by my reaction.
I remember that first morning that I got sick. It was like my stomach was in a constant churn. My throat was thick and it was an effort to swallow. I didn’t want to eat but did anyway. I really didn’t know what was going to happen until I threw up all over my plate. Of course I was embarrassed but I was also confused. Was I really sick? Is that why I woke up really early that morning and felt so strange? Was this what the flu felt like? My mom reacted…she got me cleaned up and looked me over. “No fever”, she said, “but you do feel clammy”. She told me to go back to bed and that she would check on me before school. I had gotten her attention.
Eventually, I realized that what I was feeling was nervousness, a nervous stomach, butterflies, big butterflies. But I didn’t tell anyone. I just continued to say that I didn’t feel good. It wasn’t like I planned to vomit. Emotionally, I wasn’t able to cope with all of the changes, so my body took over… my body took care of me. As I understood myself more, I knew the signs of “it”, my illness. Sometimes I didn’t care when it came back but other times I tried to fight it because I truly wanted to get past it. I didn’t want to be a “mama’s boy” or “titty baby” anymore, I wanted to be able to be away from home without the fear. I wanted to be adapt, I wanted to be strong.
I felt like someone should have helped me but no one did. At some point, I think I realized that is was my problem so I let go of my anger and frustration and I got through it on my own. But at the same time, I detached and pulled away…I didn’t want to feel dependent on anyone and certainly didn’t want anyone to think that I needed them. Being alone started to feel good. Earlier in life, I had always been able to entertain myself and play alone but I needed the safety net of knowing that someone else was around. After fifth grade, that was no longer the case. When I was alone, I didn’t care if anyone else was home or nearby. I had established my independence.
Week 1
“What can I do to help you”, he asked. My reply was a typical “nothing”, followed by a sigh that said, “I don’t need your help, how dare you ask the question”. He whispered, “ahhhhhh, Mr. Independent, you’re an island”. Eek, is that me??? An island? As a child, I loved the show “Gilligan’s Island” and always wanted to live there. The trails, the huts, the banana cream pies, the other side of the island…I saw myself in that place. But not trying to get rescued, rather living there happily. It seemed like paradise…peaceful.
Am I an island? Of course I am. I’ve always been independent and have always taken care of myself. Well, not always. As a toddler, my not much older sister thought of me as her doll. She pulled me around in the wagon and entertained me…she also took care of me, protected me. Her caretaking continued until I went into fifth grade. That year, my sister and my older brother went into junior high school. Since I was the only child left in elementary school, my parents decided to move me to a different school…to make things easier. Fifth grade was my first year in school without my sister, my first time on a school bus…lots of firsts. Because of overcrowding, I attended the afternoon session from 12:30PM to 5:30PM.
My parents and siblings left our house early each morning. I didn’t get on the bus until noon, so my mornings were spent watching TV. The atmosphere of the school was grim and I didn’t know anyone. I was not happy and couldn’t understand why my parents made me leave my old school…oh yeah, it was more convenient for them. So basically, I was a kid who didn’t like to be alone all morning, didn’t like his new school and didn’t want to do it. So, the second week of school, I got sick…vomiting was easy.
I would get up for breakfast, eat a little and then throw up. No one cared for it very much. At first, my mother believed that I was sick…I believed I was sick…lots of trips to the doctor, lots of days home alone all day. One time the doctor said my liver was enlarged…I was particularly pleased that day.
I think they realized that this situation was all in my head. But they never addressed it with me directly. Everyone but my mother ignored my situation although my dad would take me to the doctor once in a while. My mother would make stern comments like, “I can’t understand what’s making you so sick” or “children like you should be in school every day” or “your Aunt can’t keep coming to pick you up because you have a little stomachache”. My Aunt was the only one who got it…but I don’t think my mother would listen to her.
Up until that year, I had perfect attendance at school. In fifth grade, I was absent more that 30 days. But I learned a lot that year…how to make my body seem sick when it wasn’t (although I’m not sure how I enlarged my liver), how to manipulate, how to be alone and independent, how to take care of myself and not need “them”. I became an island that year…as I watched episode after episode of Gilligan’s Island.
Jeff Week 2
I felt like my parents, really my mother, didn’t care what I wanted. I single out my mom because my dad really didn’t get involved with us, my siblings and me. Mom never asked me and I guess I didn’t speak up for some reason. But I knew it scared me. I was afraid of all of it…the long bus ride with kids I didn’t know, the smelly school that had been condemned prior to that year, the new teachers…all of it. I was angry and felt like I didn’t matter. At times, my mother lovingly called me “her baby”, which made me feel really special. No one else could be the baby of the family. But I didn’t feel very special when she decided I would change schools…I felt like I was in the way, that I wasn’t worth the trouble to keep me in my current school. And I couldn’t understand why my mother didn’t know how I felt, I shouldn’t have had to tell her. Didn’t she know me? Couldn’t she tell that I didn’t want to go? Maybe she did know but thought I would adjust…but how could she have thought that? I was always such a “mama’s boy” who was afraid to go on sleepovers or be away from home. “Titty baby”, that’s what me dad called me. I don’t think I even understood what that meant, but when he said those words, I became very angry and disliked him even more, if that was possible. He seemed so entertained by my reaction.
I remember that first morning that I got sick. It was like my stomach was in a constant churn. My throat was thick and it was an effort to swallow. I didn’t want to eat but did anyway. I really didn’t know what was going to happen until I threw up all over my plate. Of course I was embarrassed but I was also confused. Was I really sick? Is that why I woke up really early that morning and felt so strange? Was this what the flu felt like? My mom reacted…she got me cleaned up and looked me over. “No fever”, she said, “but you do feel clammy”. She told me to go back to bed and that she would check on me before school. I had gotten her attention.
Eventually, I realized that what I was feeling was nervousness, a nervous stomach, butterflies, big butterflies. But I didn’t tell anyone. I just continued to say that I didn’t feel good. It wasn’t like I planned to vomit. Emotionally, I wasn’t able to cope with all of the changes, so my body took over… my body took care of me. As I understood myself more, I knew the signs of “it”, my illness. Sometimes I didn’t care when it came back but other times I tried to fight it because I truly wanted to get past it. I didn’t want to be a “mama’s boy” or “titty baby” anymore, I wanted to be able to be away from home without the fear. I wanted to be adapt, I wanted to be strong.
I felt like someone should have helped me but no one did. At some point, I think I realized that is was my problem so I let go of my anger and frustration and I got through it on my own. But at the same time, I detached and pulled away…I didn’t want to feel dependent on anyone and certainly didn’t want anyone to think that I needed them. Being alone started to feel good. Earlier in life, I had always been able to entertain myself and play alone but I needed the safety net of knowing that someone else was around. After fifth grade, that was no longer the case. When I was alone, I didn’t care if anyone else was home or nearby. I had established my independence.
posted by LifeWriter at 11:00 PM
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