New Identity - High School Student

Some of the biggest turning points in my life were about to unfold. High school! Wow! I was going to be a new me….no more insecurities. I was now working all summer and every Saturday and earning my own money! What I was about to learn scholastically would change my life! Of this I was certain. Sooooo very certain….I merrily sailed along on a high, oblivious to any stumbling blocks!

The first of the stumbling blocks was my selected course of studies. Grade eight teachers, high school counselors, every one talked to my parents to enroll me in the academic strain with thoughts of further education after high school. My parents could not see their way clear to endorse this avenue financially. Scholarships were very limited then and financially they saw no future for me in academic studies. . So commercial course it was; this would allow me to procure a valued position. Gone were my aspirations of becoming a lawyer or archaeologist, but that was all right too!

I knew from the get-go that artist was out and never approached but once. After all artists lived, heavens knew where in California, went barefoot and rattled tambourines on street corners while begging! Weren’t they called ‘beatnicks’? Such was the view of producing artists. Art; actually ‘painting’ was for little old ladies once they became grandmothers!

I could hardly contain myself and was so anxious to go shopping with my earned money. The day came when mom and I went shopping for my new high school wardrobe. It took some convincing but she finally agreed to allow me to wear the new straight style skirts with a ‘kick pleat’ at the back….and the new ‘bat wing’ style tops. The sleeves really did look like bat wings , the fabric cut like a kite. Looking back, they were truly ugly but oh so fashionable.And shopping for school supplies! How exciting. Buying papers, rulers, pens, inks….and a bright red, real crocodile leather binder. Zippered round with pockets inside. I was ready! Couldn’t wait!

I still had to wear my regular laced oxford shoes. The new ‘wedge shaped heels were definitely out. But that was fine; it really was a long walk to school….more like a quick run at half an hour.

My friend’s father drove us to school the first morning of our exciting journey. So many students in one school; we were overwhelmed and somewhat intimidated by so many new faces. We found our home room and sat with joy and trepidation waiting for teacher and first assembly. And, discovered much to our chagrin….school was still school with rules of conduct and decorum diligently imposed. A bit of a knock to the wind in our sails; but alright, nothing we couldn’t live with.

Teachers still stood outside home rooms at first bell and between classroom changes; conducting hallway traffic. Orderly, single file, down right hand side of hallways; no walking in centre of halls. We discovered gender segregation ….. very much to our disappointment. Commercial courses were strictly female….technical were strictly male…..and never the twain should meet. Commercial hall…..was at this end…..tech hall……way, way, way down at the other end of the school. Academic studies were in the middle and were mixed gender. Doesn’t something sound out of whack here?

Finally we met our principal and vice-principal in first year school assembly. One definitely did not want to meet either personally. We were informed of more ‘rules’. For instance any ‘boy’ (because girls were not expected to do this) caught smoking…..across the road from the school; INSIDE the pharmacy soda bar would be expelled from school, no questions asked, for a week. Any girl caught lolling about the pharmacy would be up on reproach and parents would be called in. Lateness to any class would result in detention….and on it went.

Still we were undaunted. It was the beginning of the first day of the rest of our lives! We were still star struck!

Blog about this painting can be found:-Copper Daze

SCHOOL DAYS, SCHOOL DAYS

The only alienation in the population seemed to have a religious under current; especially with students from different schools. We had and Italian Catholic School, a French Catholic School, a good old, regular Canadian public school.. The bickering between children focused only around the school one attended; and fights often broke out…by fights I mean fisticuffs or name calling; or perhaps comparison of lessons; but these were short lived as we joined in our games. The town had but one high school which was a wonderful melting pot. Children from all the public schools attended the same high school and soon learned to appreciate and laugh at the differences at the public school level.

School rules were much different to what they are today. The schools had two playgrounds at opposite ends of the building…a boys’ and a girls’ playground. They had separate entrances…one for boys and one for girls. Like ‘never the twain should meet’! A bell would sound and you lined up in single file in front of the teacher of your class; and proceeded in a straight line to your classroom. No talking, no chewing gum, no laughing, no pushing or shoving! Straight to the principal’s office to explain any of these infractions.

Grades 7 and 8 for the public school children was designed on a senior level, with class rotations; as in high school and with a multitude of disciplines being explored. Many children of the time really didn’t have a hope of attending a higher level of education after high school and this 7/8 programme afforded a wide range of knowledge before leaving school. Many, many children left school at 16 or younger to join the work force, usually employed in the town’s mines.

Entrance to your high school programmes had to be approved by your parents. Commercial….this course concentrated primarily on skills required in office positions and was attended by all girls; Technical….focused on technical skills required in the work force and was attended by all boys. The General Academic was gender mixed! These were students who aspired to higher education after high school.

My teachers begged, I begged…..but Commercial course it was for me. Consequently bored; I played hooky (skipped classes) every Wednesday and Friday afternoons for two years before finaling being ‘caught’. That story tomorrow.

This is linked to my other blog post:-Pinnacles and Potholes

Turning Points and Identities

This blog is about me!  About life, love and passions; the whys and wherefores of life!  The remnants!  That's right, I'm having an identity crisis!
     Identity: - differnce of character that defines an individual.
     Crisis: - a crucial or decisive point; a turning point
     Remants: - as an adjective - still remaiing; as a noun - a usually small part,  member or trace remaining.

Recent musings about my art leave me wondering who I am, what I am, why I am and where I am going.  Definitely an identity crisis; where do I fit in?  The problem is this crisis is a bit late in life!

Let me introduce myself, the person I am today.  I left seventeen years of age behind me a long, long time ago and have reached my three score and ten!  That's it folks I am 70 having a teenage crisis!  But then I have always been a late bloomer!

I've raised three children, have a lovely daughter-in-law, a fine son-in-law and two perfect grandchildren; have seven siblings and a mother who is now 92.  I've retired several times in last five years from the same career, same firm and am now pursuing my life's passion of painting.

Yet that is merely a summary, a picture frame with no picture!  I feel I am merely a remnant of some colossal tapestry!  Somewhere in this tapestry of colour and design there is a me.....a heart or spirit whatever you call it ... the core of my being.   Really, right now I don't know who that being is. 

I know that I am probably embarking on the last turning point of my life; the final filling threads, the "woof" of the cloth and in so doing I hope to identify the colours and design I left behind me in the lenghtwise "warp" that has been my road through life.

It may be a long exploration, there have been many roads and twists and turns but in so doing I hope to top this crisis with an identity that is me. 

I intend to begin at the beginning.  I write this blog for me.  If you wish to share then I would be honoured.  Tomorrow is the beginning!


     Moody Blue is the title of the artwork accompanying this blog.  A painting of a nor'easter storm on the
Atlantic shore of Nova Scota in November.  It was a mighty storm with waves cresting at the point I was on the beach over four feet high.  The sky was dark, the wind whipping, the mood was blue. 

   This painting best identifies how I currently feel.  A turbulence of activity with no identity!