thief of time

Thursday, June 10, 2004

Childhood Traumas

The reason I wrote about assertiveness yesterday was because I had a memory of asking someone if I could borrow their notebook once when I was in primary and she said a flat out “no”—no excuses, no nothing. I remember being quite shocked with this answer and strangely enough, I still feel ticked off about it. She sure didn’t need assertiveness training.

I then started to wonder why I had asked her, as I was terribly healthy when I was young, and I’d be surprised if I missed a class, except for the time I had the measles, which was a bit earlier.

That was when I remembered that I had lent my social studies notebook to someone to catch up on some notes he’d missed and he must have lost it because he swore up and down that he’d never borrowed it. I can’t even remember if I told the teacher, but I did let her know that I didn’t have my notebook and her response was that I’d have to recopy the whole kit and kaboodle. Gee, teachers were tough in those days. I was absolutely dumbfounded, as we had vast amounts of information in that little book and since it was the middle of the year, I don’t think my ages’ old memory is playing me false.

It seemed an absolutely mammoth task and I wasted weeks of my recess and lunchtimes trapped in the classroom rewriting all that information, complete with illustrations, all neatly arranged, titles underlined, the works.

I actually did manage to finish recopying the whole book and I suppose I had a certain feeling of accomplishment at the end, but oh how I resented having had to do it. Nowadays, I suppose I’d borrow someone’s book and photocopy it, if they made me do anything at all.

If only I’d exercised a little assertiveness to start with, I wouldn’t have been in that situation in the first place. Still, I’m glad someone was nice enough to lend me their book. It doesn’t seem fair that I can’t remember who it was, because they deserve my eternal gratitude.

I can still remember the girl that said “no”, though, both first and last names. I can still picture her sitting across from me too. Gee, talk about holding onto a grudge. I think 35 plus years is a bit excessive. I’m definitely going to have to learn to let go and forgive. I suppose having forgotten about it for that long actually doesn't count, if I can still dredge up the same feelings. Gee, the memory is a funny thing.

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