“Unhappy is he to whom the memories of childhood bring only fear and sadness.” ~ H. P. Lovecraft
Generally speaking, I would say that I had a fairly happy childhood, but a few key negative
events stand out in my mind that I think had a huge impact on me as an individual and have
shaped the way I am today. Although my recollections are probably not perfect, the resulting feelings
are real. There’s a total of six key events which I will discuss today in chronological
order. So let’s begin.
1. Mickey Monkey and the Gas Chamber: When I was about four or five, perhaps younger,
I had some undisclosed medical condition which I won’t go into here, but it required surgery.
I was told by my parents that I had to go see the doctor to “make everything better”.
On the drive over, I knew something was not quite right as they were acting a little bit
different from normal. We arrived at the hospital and I was put into a small, white treatment
room stinking of disinfectant. I remember sitting on the examination table with a small
simian friend by my side, a soft toy which I called Mickey Monkey. My parents were outside
talking to the doctors, so I immediately knew something was wrong. If everything was okay,
then surely they would be talking in front of me. Eventually, a doctor entered with a
gas mask in hand. He tried to explain to me that I needed to put on the gas mask so that
I could go to sleep, but I wasn’t having any of it. I think I screamed and cried and
the doctor knew that I wasn’t going to give in that easily. As a final act of persuasion,
the doctor placed the mask over Mickey Monkey’s face and sent him to sleep in his arms. My
only thought was that Mickey Monkey was now dead and that if I didn’t fight, I would
suffer the same fate. Eventually, over-powered by a number of hospital staff, I was gassed,
and that was the last memory I have of that incident. Many years later, I remember smelling
Mickey Monkey and still being able to smell that noxious, nauseating gas. It just didn’t
seem to wash out. Perhaps, it was all in my imagination, or I had associated the smell
of the monkey with the smell of the gas chamber. Either way, I have never forgotten that moment.
They may as well have been trying to kill me, because that’s what it felt like. To
this day, I’m hesitant around doctors. I tend to question them a lot, especially when
it comes to matters of anaesthesia. As an example, a few years ago, a dentist recommended
that it would be easiest to work on my two-year-old son’s teeth if he was put under a so-called
GA, a general anaesthetic, but I wasn’t buying it. I had heard a lot about dentists
profiteering from these sorts of treatments and really couldn’t see the need. Not to
mention the possible risks of GA on the developing brain. I politely refused and said I needed
to seek out a second opinion. The next dentist also recommended a GA, so I sought out a third,
and then a fourth opinion. Finally, I came upon a dentist who had young children himself
and recommend against general anaesthesia. He said that my son’s cavities weren’t
that bad and that we could simply monitor them over the next year or so until he was
ready to sit in the dentist’s chair. It worked out well, and now my son’s teeth
are fine. There was absolutely no need for him to undergo general anaesthesia with all
its associated risks, but yet so many dentists tried to convince me otherwise.
2. The Wife of Satan. At the age of about 9, I had moved to a new school, the fourth
school in as many years. It was a Christian school, as my mum was now Christian, and apparently
public school wasn’t cutting it. I remember the teacher well. He was a kind man and treated
me well. But one day, he was sick, and the substitute teacher happened to be the wife
of the then Pastor. I knew of her, but had never previously interacted with her. On that
one fateful day, I remember her asking a question to the class, “Who is the Governor General
of Australia?”. I had no idea, so I hid my eyes from her menacing gaze. Of course,
she chose me to answer the question despite other children having raised their hands.
I simply told her I didn’t know. She then replied, “You don’t know who the Governor
General of Australia is?”, and then she made me stand up. She continued to berate
me. “You are Australian, right? Then surely you should know who the Governor General is?”.
This went on for what felt like an eternity. I started to go red in the face from embarrassment,
but she continued. “I can’t understand how a nine-year-old boy doesn’t know who
the Governor General of Australia is. It beggars belief!”. Finally, I started crying, which
obviously is what she wanted all along. She made me sit down and I remember trembling
in my chair, all the children around me staring at me. From that day, I had fantasies of her
falling into a pit, or being bitten by a poisonous snake. But it never happened. As far as I
know, she’s still alive — hopefully frail enough so that she can’t hurt anybody ever
again. Of course, I’ve had extreme anxiety ever since whenever I’ve been in a classroom
environment, fearful that I won’t know the answer to one of the teacher’s arbitrary
questions and be stood up and openly mocked in front of my peers.
3. The Wailing Witch. As a child, I remember enjoying singing and making music. I would
make recordings with my friends on my Dad’s stereo and play them back. I remember laughing
and having a great time. But then at that same Christian school, the music teacher decided
to destroy any semblance of interest I had in music. The school had a seniors’ choir
for all children in grades five, six, and seven. However, we all had to attend an individual
trial just to make sure that we were suitable. It came to my turn and I stood in front of
the piano as the music teacher played the tune to Jingle Bells. I confidently sang along
thinking I was doing really well. But then all of a sudden, she stopped playing and said
something along the lines of, “No, no, no! That was awful, just awful! You obviously
can’t sing, so I won’t be inviting you to sing in the school choir.” I think only
me and three other kids in the school weren’t invited. There was the obese kid, the nerdy
kid with coke-bottle glasses, a smelly kid who wore dirty clothes, and then of course,
me. We were assigned to a room during choir practice where we had to build Lego. Every
year, we’d do the same stupid trial, and every year I’d be assigned to the Lego room.
I honestly felt like a real failure. No doubt it had untold effects on my mental health.
I remember having fantasies of the music teacher drinking hot tea and burning out her voice
box, or her leaning over too closely to the sewing machine and stitching up her mouth.
But it never happened. As far as I know, she’s still alive — hopefully frail enough so
that she can’t hurt anybody else ever again. Of course, from that day, I’ve had extreme
anxiety whenever I’ve needed to sing. I’ve tried to overcome it, but still have feelings
of dread whenever a microphone is put in front of me. Luckily, I’ve had none of these feelings
when singing to my children. They don’t seem to judge me like that music teacher did,
you know, the one who was supposed to be TEACHING ME MUSIC.
4. The Devil’s Cane. One day, at the same Christian school, I remember it being unseasonably
hot. I was at the bubbler getting a drink when somebody next to me started squirting
me with water. I squirted him back and we spent the next 30 seconds or so having a bit
of a water fight. It was a lot of fun, especially on a hot Summer’s day. But then some prissy
little girls decided to go tell a teacher about our little water fight and as a result,
I was sent to the headmaster’s office. The headmaster told me that the girls had told
him that I had squirted them. I said, “No, I wet the boy next to me after he had wet
me! The girls weren’t even near me!”. The headmaster stood up and said that he didn’t
believe me. He reached over behind his desk and pulled out a long box. Inside the box
was a weaponized cane. He pulled it out and said that obviously I was lying and the punishment
for lying is three strikes of the cane. I started screaming and crying telling him that
I didn’t even wet the girls. Fortunately for me, he put the cane away, but promised
that if I was ever sent to his office again, the outcome would be a very different one.
I ran out crying, angry at the injustice. I remember having fantasies of him being publicly
flogged with his backside exposed in front of the entire school. But it never happened.
As far as I know, he’s still alive — hopefully frail enough so that he can’t hurt anybody
ever again. Of course, from that day, I’ve had extreme anxiety whenever I’ve needed
to deal with people in positions of authority. Actually, only a few years ago (when I was
in my early thirties), I was riding to uni when a police officer stopped me for not-dismounting
when crossing a pedestrian crossing (even though there was absolutely nobody else on
the crossing and no cars to be seen). He gave me a lecture about the reasons we need to
dismount and a stern warning telling me that if ever I got caught doing it again, there’ll
be consequences to pay. I remember riding off crying, I mean, a man in my thirties,
because a police officer got angry at me. The tears came from nowhere. Again, I just
felt complete injustice. Actually, that law no longer exists in Queensland. You can now
legally ride across a zebra crossing as long as you do so in a safe manner. It just goes
to show you how arbitrary these laws really are.
5. The Apathetic Assistant. Again, at the same Christian school (I know, there seems
to be a pattern occurring here), it was sports trials. I was in line for the long jump and
one of the boys behind me decided that I’d be a good target for one of his newly-learnt
karate kicks. He kicked me straight in the kidneys and I fell to the floor. I got up
crying and walked straight up to the assistant teacher who was taking all the long jump
measurements.
I told him what just happened, but his first response was, “Look, I’m busy! Just tell
him not to do it again!”. I remember walking back still whimpering. As I got back in line,
the boy told me that because I had dobbed, he’d have to kick me again. But this time,
I was ready. I put my hands up in front of my face and body to protect myself, so he
kicked me three times in quick succession in the side of the legs. It hurt like hell
and I started bawling. I hobbled up to the assistant teacher with everybody staring at
me as I walked by, but he showed no remorse. He just yelled at me, “I told you before!
I’m busy! Get back in line!”. The boy who kicked me laughed, but luckily for me,
he didn’t kick me again. I guess he thought he had dispensed enough hurt that day. I knew
the boy liked BMXs, so I remember having fantasies of him losing his legs in a bicycle accident.
But it never happened. As far as I know, he became a security guard. I saw him one time
a few years ago at a multistory car park where he was manning the front gate. He seemed friendly
enough towards me and honestly, I don’t hold any grudges against him. Kids do stupid
things. The assistant teacher on the other hand, should have known better. He should
have stepped in and done something. Instead, he was too concerned about getting his precious
long jump measurements. As far as I know, he’s still alive — probably still an active
teacher. Hopefully he’s learnt to, you know, LOOK AFTER CHILDREN.
6. The Merciless Mother. One day at home (I was probably 10 or 11), I thought it would
be interesting to try to flush a plastic bag down the toilet. Unsurprisingly, it got stuck,
and the toilet bowl started to fill up. I ran for the hills hoping that no one would
notice. Suddenly, I heard a scream from my mother. “Who put a plastic bag in the toilet?!”.
She screamed out my name and I had no choice but to come. In her hands, she had the infamous
dog leash — the one that she would use to punish us with. We hadn’t owned a dog for
a number of years, but yet, she hung on to it. I was scared. I didn’t want to be hit,
so when she asked me who put the plastic bag down the toilet, I swore that it wasn’t
me. She wanted to know who did it, so I gave her a name — the name of my intellectually
and physically-impaired older brother. She immediately went to his room and thrashed
him. I remember his cries for help and the extreme feelings of guilt that I had afterwards.
I have since spoken to my mother about this, and she has apologised a number of times for
the ongoing physical abuse. But to be fair to her, it was much more common back then.
Most families I knew believed in smacking their children. Actually, it was odd for a
family NOT to physically punish their children. I remember the lady next door punishing her
grandchildren with an actual whip. She would stand them out in front of the whole family
and publicly whip them. In my family, unfortunately for my brother, he copped the brunt of the
abuse, even when he wasn’t responsible. Yes, I feel bad, but I was put in a situation
as a young child where I was threatened with physical violence. That’s not a good place
to be in as a kid. The only thing I could think of doing to escape the violence was
to blame my disabled brother knowing full well that he couldn’t articulate his innocence.
It was a horrible situation to be put in, and it has affected me throughout my life.
As an aside, I had suffered years of teasing and torment for having a brother who had such
an obvious disability. But luckily, by the age of 16 or 17, I learnt to deal with it
and defended my brother at all costs. I don’t bear any grudges against my mother as she
has apologised a number of times for the torment. I’m not going to live a life where I don’t
forgive people. I suppose she was going through some tough times herself, not that that’s
an excuse, but it does explain a lot. Despite the history, I now regularly see my mother
and she enjoys spending time with my children. She also happens to watch this channel fairly
regularly, so “Hi Mum! No hard feelings!”. One good thing that has come out of all of
this is that I don’t smack my own children or threaten them with violence of any kind.
My son is the first to speak up whenever there’s an injustice, or even a perceived injustice.
And that’s good. That’s exactly what I want him to do. I don’t want him to fall
victim to some sociopath teacher at school.
These events have changed me, whether that be for good or bad. To some extent, they explain
why I am the way I am today. I’m not very social. I’m not very good with people. I
have an innate distrust of those in authority and find it very hard to get on well with
managers, team leaders, and all the rest of them. It’s probably the reason why I hate
full-time work so much. However, as a positive consequence of these experiences, I stand
up against injustice whenever it arises as I’ve suffered a lot of it myself. I’ll
be the first to step in when I see someone being treated unfairly. If that’s all that
I’ve gotten out of all of this, well, I think that’s probably a good thing.
Thanks for listening.