IN EARLY primary school I had a problem shitting my pants. I had a reputation for it.
My psychologist asked me why I kept putting off going to the toilet. Usually it was because I had something better to do, like playing with toys, or because I was scared of the spiders in the toilet.
We always had huntsmen at my real home. They were monster sized! I used to imagine one day one of them would crawl up the bowl and bite my bum.
My principal was a patronising cow. Every time there was a bad smell in the room she would walk up to me, bend down and whisper loudly so the other students could still hear, “have you pooped your pants again, Chris?”
Dammit! No! It wasn’t always me!
“Are you sure?”
I was glad to see the end of Mrs Jackson. She got a job at another primary school in town. I didn’t think I’d see her again.
Except two years later I did. When I was forced to live in my foster home I was also forced to go to a new school.
Yes. The school of Mrs Jackson.
This could have been my chance to change my personality, to move on from my past.
But she rubbed my background in my face every day. Instead of being treated as a new kid who was assumed to be good until proven otherwise over a period of time, I was treated as a problem child. And when you’re a problem child the school staff act accordingly. From the first week if I didn’t want to do something, or acted poorly, it was blown out of proportion.
Everything is blown out of proportion among the adults when you have the bad reputation.