Stress... I can taste it on my tongue.
As the countdown to the final exams begins, tensions rise. Everywhere.
It starts with within the house, and we are engulfed in an "I've-decided-that-I'm-not-doing anything-for-anyone-and-I'm-not-kidding-this-time" Mother, who somehow, through all her perceived anger, manages to carry out a perfectly normal and even jubilant conversation over the phone, discussing the apparent hilarity that is passover, and loudly. Meanwhile, I'm trying to get on with a geography essay in the room next door.
But it doesn't end there, oh no. In fact you can choose from any of the following Mums. Whether it be the "i-told-the-bank-not-to-give-you-loans-because-you're-irresponsible" Mother, or the "No-you-can't-have-any-protein-shakes-because-you-are-not-putting-chemicals-into-your-body-and-if-I-find-it-I-will-bin-it" one. I could go on, but for the sake of saving everyone an unnecessary headache, I won't.
Nor will I make you endure reading about the countless hours spent helping my lovely but seemingly technologically illiterate Grandfather, who has yet to work out a mobile phone text cannot be answered by ear, and accusing the phone of being a "bloody thing" will not help either.
I'm also not going to tell you about how my start to the easter holidays has, for once, been productive workwise. And despite years and years of being yelled at "to get down to it early," my apparent new and improved work ethic has only resulted in one thing: a messy room. And as my Mum can tell you: "if it is'nt tidied up by the time I get home from work the computer is getting unplugged and I am taking the screen away." And these are the days we are supposed to miss when we are older?
It doesn't end there. A brief background to my life outside of the house would encompass only three things: the gym, school and my part-time job as a kid-carer. The gym is there to blow off steam. The school is there to raise bad cholesterol levels early, and the third one is to add to the last, just in case my Autonomic Nervous System isn't already keeping itself busy.
School is there to feed my parents less-than-average reports which say that "I have potential," or that "I could do more" or, on a really bad day: "James only does the bare minimum." So in order to combat this, I take it upon myself to do homework properly, set out a revision timetable (even honour it, for now) and make sure i am home in time to get ready for work and be straight out again to look after the kids, who surprisingly, have left over bouts of energy from colouring in and eating sugary treats. Once that's done, home for dinner, maybe even a shower. God forbid i turn the television on. It won't even be then that i get shunned for it. No, weeks later my dad will announce, at a public event, such as a family gathering, or a friends dinner party, that he "hasn't come home one time this month to see me doing my schoolwork." This results in an awkward silence among the guests. What can i do? Laugh it off? No, schools a joke to me then is'nt it? The only other option is to sit there and persuade my Dad otherwise, along with the rest of the people sitting at that table. Either way, I'm the fool. This will happen maybe once a month. Think menstrual pains are bad ladies? Try out this infradian rhythm: a psychological paternal beat-down.
So, to conclude.
Doing badly at school = got to do better
Doing well at school = got to clean room
Doing well at school + a clean room = no free time.
Doing well at school + a clean room + no free time = the product of the Public School System that every parent consciously says they want, but subconsciously realises it's for the worst.
Thanks a bunch Mum and Dad.
As the countdown to the final exams begins, tensions rise. Everywhere.
It starts with within the house, and we are engulfed in an "I've-decided-that-I'm-not-doing anything-for-anyone-and-I'm-not-kidding-this-time" Mother, who somehow, through all her perceived anger, manages to carry out a perfectly normal and even jubilant conversation over the phone, discussing the apparent hilarity that is passover, and loudly. Meanwhile, I'm trying to get on with a geography essay in the room next door.
But it doesn't end there, oh no. In fact you can choose from any of the following Mums. Whether it be the "i-told-the-bank-not-to-give-you-loans-because-you're-irresponsible" Mother, or the "No-you-can't-have-any-protein-shakes-because-you-are-not-putting-chemicals-into-your-body-and-if-I-find-it-I-will-bin-it" one. I could go on, but for the sake of saving everyone an unnecessary headache, I won't.
Nor will I make you endure reading about the countless hours spent helping my lovely but seemingly technologically illiterate Grandfather, who has yet to work out a mobile phone text cannot be answered by ear, and accusing the phone of being a "bloody thing" will not help either.
I'm also not going to tell you about how my start to the easter holidays has, for once, been productive workwise. And despite years and years of being yelled at "to get down to it early," my apparent new and improved work ethic has only resulted in one thing: a messy room. And as my Mum can tell you: "if it is'nt tidied up by the time I get home from work the computer is getting unplugged and I am taking the screen away." And these are the days we are supposed to miss when we are older?
It doesn't end there. A brief background to my life outside of the house would encompass only three things: the gym, school and my part-time job as a kid-carer. The gym is there to blow off steam. The school is there to raise bad cholesterol levels early, and the third one is to add to the last, just in case my Autonomic Nervous System isn't already keeping itself busy.
School is there to feed my parents less-than-average reports which say that "I have potential," or that "I could do more" or, on a really bad day: "James only does the bare minimum." So in order to combat this, I take it upon myself to do homework properly, set out a revision timetable (even honour it, for now) and make sure i am home in time to get ready for work and be straight out again to look after the kids, who surprisingly, have left over bouts of energy from colouring in and eating sugary treats. Once that's done, home for dinner, maybe even a shower. God forbid i turn the television on. It won't even be then that i get shunned for it. No, weeks later my dad will announce, at a public event, such as a family gathering, or a friends dinner party, that he "hasn't come home one time this month to see me doing my schoolwork." This results in an awkward silence among the guests. What can i do? Laugh it off? No, schools a joke to me then is'nt it? The only other option is to sit there and persuade my Dad otherwise, along with the rest of the people sitting at that table. Either way, I'm the fool. This will happen maybe once a month. Think menstrual pains are bad ladies? Try out this infradian rhythm: a psychological paternal beat-down.
So, to conclude.
Doing badly at school = got to do better
Doing well at school = got to clean room
Doing well at school + a clean room = no free time.
Doing well at school + a clean room + no free time = the product of the Public School System that every parent consciously says they want, but subconsciously realises it's for the worst.
Thanks a bunch Mum and Dad.
