Chapter 2 "Scruel"
Chapter Two
Scruel
This chapter is a tough read. When you write you have to go back and edit and edit some more. I have also let a few friends read it. They responded with a mixture of shock and horror but said "keep writing." I promise the tone of the book will return to sarcastic humor. But this is a story that needs to be told. So pour yourself a stiff one and buckle in. See you at the end of the chapter kiddies, this is gonna get rough.
When I was five and was told I had to go to school it was like "I got to go where? And do what?" Thus began many long years of torture at the hands of teachers and fellow students. I hated it from my first to the last day. My Mom sent me to a private Christian school. She wanted me to be a piano and organ playing preacher. (THAT worked out well!) She also signed me up for piano and organ lessons: an equally painful experience for 11 years. There is nothing more boring than practicing scales on the piano; with the exception of going to church at school on Thursdays, and Sundays at the family church.
Private school is way overrated, especially private Christian school. You don't need a college degree let alone a teaching credential to teach at a private Christian school. These teachers are poorly trained and poorly compensated in comparison to their public school counterparts. Believe me; you get what you pay for. Most of the teachers are female and are either do-gooders or mean old biddies. Most are the latter. They already ran off their own children and are in need of fresh meat to abuse. There were several older children at the school. Some the public schools would no longer accept because of behavioral problems. I don't know what these fools were thinking. Did they think they were doing their Christian duty by helping these children or was it simple greed? If you see a situation that you cannot understand; follow the cash flow. Either way this created a dangerous environment.
When I was in kindergarten there was the meanest woman in the world teaching second grade, Mrs. Johnson. There was also a girl with some form of retardation about 16 years old. She had a blank expression on her face and dark circles under her eyes. I felt sorry for her. She was playing in the sand box and I went over to join her. I tried talking to her, but within 10 seconds she pounced on me. She was much taller and stronger than I was. Her face changed from blank to raging anger. She buried my face in the sand and was trying to suffocate me. I fought as hard as I could to push my face up and scream but she kept pushing my face back in the sand. The fucking bitch was trying to kill me! I managed to rise up a little and screamed for help. There stood Mrs. Johnson, arms folding, watching the whole thing, and doing absolutely nothing about it. I was really feeling that Christian love. She only stopped when the bell rang and she just got up and walked away. I lay there gasping for breath, trying to get the sand out of my eyes, nose and mouth. Mrs. Johnson just stood there arms folded, glaring at me. What the fuck did I do? I tried to complain about it but Mrs. Johnson said she saw nothing. This was not my only run in with Mrs. Johnson.
We had a very large swing set with chain ropes. You could get a big swing going and jump out at the apogee and fly a few feet. It was great. They decided this was unsafe and told us not to do it. So I didn't. A few days later there were some kids on the swing flying like fools. I was playing on the slide. Mrs. Johnson came out and grabbed those four or five kids. Then she came over to the slide and grabbed my arm with an iron grip and dragged me to the office with them. I wasn't on the swings and I told the principal that she was lying. The other kids got one swat each. I got two, one for jumping off the swing, another for lying about it. It was my first and only spanking. I told mom. She took me to the principal's office and ripped here a new one. She made it clear that I was not to be paddled again.
A year later I was in Mrs. Johnson's class. She was a very odd. She would eat the peel and throw away the orange. At lunch she made us keep the paper on the straw as it was more "sanitary." She gave us an assignment that she allowed 30 minutes to finish. She instructed us to come up to her desk when we finished and turn in the work. She said she was a little hard of hearing and we may have to repeat that we were done. I finished in about 5 minutes. I went up to her desk and said "Mrs. Johnson I'm done, Mrs. Johnson?" She hit me in the chest with the heel of her hand. I flew back the 5 feet from her desk and landed in the second row. I immediately ran to the principal's office and demanded she call my mother. She did. I was setting there hoping that this would be the final straw and mom would yank me out of that insane asylum. Mom was in the office with the principal and Mrs. Johnson. Mom was chewing their ass good. She took me home. I thought it was finally over! But no, I was back at school the next damn day.
I got transferred to Mrs. Baldwin's combined 2nd and 3rd grade class. I had just missed the cutoff date for age to start in school, so I was nearly six when I got to kindergarten. I did not skip a grade from second to third. I did 2 years work in one. It was the only way Mrs. Baldwin to get me to shut up and no bug the other kids. As long as I had work I would keep quiet. I could do in 5 minutes what would take your average kid 30 minutes to do.
That year there was a 16 year old, 6 foot tall, had to shave everyday, bastard. He had been kicked out of every public school in Fontana CA for beating up students and teachers. One day he hit me in the back of the head with the basketball. All I knew was all the kids were gone and I was laying on the basketball court with no clue why. On top of it I got in trouble for being late to class. I kept complaining to Mom about a headache. After a couple of days she took me to the hospital and they x-rayed my dome. I had a hairline skull fracture, two cracked cervical vertebrae, a broken clavicle, severe concussion, and absolutely no idea how it happened. The doctor was starting to give my folks the stink eye thinking child abuse. Nothing ever came of it as I didn't know who or how it happened. Ten years later something happened that broke the amnesia. I saw his face in the paper and it all came back to me. He had been beating up on a 12 year old kid. The kid ran home. The bastard chased him in the house and started beating his mother. The kid got his Dad's double barreled shotgun and literally cut that mother fucker in half. The police thanked the kid for saving them the paperwork. Both his brothers were already serving life for murder. Would you want your child in a school like this?
On my 8th birthday I was playing baseball in school. The field had a backstop but the rest was dirt and rocks, mostly rocks. I hit my very first homer. For a little guy I've always been able to grip it and rip it. Folks would not let me play little league though. I was running the bases and when I got to first base my foot landed on a perfectly round rock. My left knee twisted and swelled up to the size of a cantaloupe: torn cartilage. My birthday present was a cast from crotch to ankle. To add insult to injury at the Christmas play I had to go on stage as one of the cripples gimping to Christ. Everyone was saying "Oh my, how wonderful, how inspiring, how CUTE! I could of ripped their fucking throats out. Nothing annoyed me more than people adoring how "cute" I was. I was crippled by their unsafe playground and now I was a prop in their damn Christmas play. It was the most humiliating experience of my young life. Fuck Jesus and the ass he road in on.
Besides these dramatic moments there were your usual weekly if not daily beatings. This was what I took away from my private, so called, "Christian" Scruel. A bum left knee that has been operated on once and in a cast three times; a lifetime of migraines, neck aches, and a little brain damage. It also turned me into a Christian hating, big time, atheist. But wait there's more! I hate cruel evil children and just about everybody else.
The local paper in Redlands, CA ran an article extolling the virtues of private school. I was about 38 at the time. I wrote a letter to the editor telling my story of private school. They printed it. They were bombarded by letters from angry Christians who were either damning me to hell or saying they'd pray for me. I hate Christians.
I don't need to fight, to prove I'm right,
And I don't need to be forgiven.........
Think long and hard before you send your child to a private Christian school. Their teachers aren't as well trained or paid. Why would they work at low paying job when you could get a real teaching job and provide better for their family? Makes you wonder about their motivation, like scoutmasters and priests.
One advantage I gained from the experience we treated the Bible like a textbook. I read it from cover to cover twice. I used to be able to quote chapter and verse with the best. This made me a very dangerous atheist. Most Christians have never read the Bible. They rely on their pastor to tell them what's in there. I could dig up a passage that totally contradicted the point they were trying to make. I don't debate with Christians anymore, online or in person. However, when I finally escaped from Alcatraz in the middle of the 6th grade I found the curriculum much more rigorous in public school. I was ill prepared for the amount of work I got. We spent so much time outside the curriculum learning about Jesus.
The last half of sixth grade was at West Randall in Fontana. The teacher while nice was very tough and loaded us down with homework. I have a high IQ and could finish my homework in class. But this bastard waited till the last second to give the assignment. So I did it at home in about five minutes. The girl the teacher assigned to receive the homework (what was up with that?) threw all my homework out. I had to spend 2 weeks of my summer vacation to finish it all up, or redo sixth grade. I had made fun of her, told her she had a face like a chimpanzee. Well, she did dammit. Oh well, guess an asshole like me deserved it. The teacher was so tough he wouldn't give you a pass to go to the bathroom. I needed to pee badly, he wouldn't let me go. I ended up pissing my pants. Thanks for the humiliation Mr. Teacher. Grow a heart for Christ's sake.
Junior High was almost as big a hell as Christian school. Work was easy, always knocked out my homework in class and got good grades. If I knew it was important I would have actually tried. I could have got a full ride scholarship and made something of myself, who knew? This was back in the day of P.E., dressing out, and showering with the whole class. Did not like that. That also was where I got my worst beatings. They happened almost every day. I was so little I didn't fight back. I just tried to run or protect myself. I also just couldn't bring myself to hit back. That would soon change.
You can't fight just one Mexican, you got to fight them all. If you hit a Mexican all their cousins come running to mug your ass. I call that cowardly. One day in the cafeteria a little Mexican threw his empty milk carton at me and hit the big white guy next to me. He socked me in the arm hard, it hurt. So when I was finished I put my milk cart in my paper sack and whacked him on the head. No damage, no pain, just getting even. Every Mexican in the cafeteria came me after with bad intentions. I ran past the principal and vice-principal with about 100 Mexicans in tow. They blithely stood there and did nothing. I kept running all the way home, about 2 blocks.
The next day I got a pass to go to the principal's office. He was enraged and told me the kid I hit on the head had water on the brain. I could be sued or suspended. I tried to explain and asked him why he did nothing while 100 Mexicans were trying to kill me. He cut me off and sent me back to class.
When I got home mom called the sheriff. The officer calmly took down the information and went to the school. He returned to our house. He informed us he told the principal and VP that if they could not maintain safety and discipline in their school he would post a deputy and report it to the local and state school boards. I imagined what it would be like when that shit hit that fan. When I got back to school I got another summons to the high lord principal's office. When I came in his face was flushed with embarrassment and anger. He said "I...YOU...I...UM... GET THE HELL OUTTA MY OFFICE." At last, a teensy, tiny bit of satisfaction. That was the beginning of my life really going in the shit can.
My mom was really upset. She said the school called her and said I was retarded and they wanted to give me some tests. Poor dear, she only made it to the 4th grade before the family went to California to pick fruit. It was a total "Grapes of Wrath" thing. I'm sure they were just looking for anything they could to get even. School management is a lot like Washington D.C. Everyone has their little position of power and they guard it ferociously.
I received another summons, this time to the nurse's office. I was hip to what was going on. The school psychologist was there. I was cheerful and chatty with tongue planted firmly in my cheek. She gave me an eye test: 20/10. Wish I could see like that now. Not fooling me. Then she made me take a battery of exams. They turned out to be an IQ test. When the results came back everyone, and I do mean everyone, was shocked. My IQ was in the top 2 percent. You know the Mensa stuff. I never joined Mensa. As Groucho said I would never belong to a club that would have someone like me as a member. My IQ was classified. In high school I was a student assistant in chemistry. I had access to the SAT scores. Everyone's IQ was listed but mine. I was at the top above my buddy whose IQ was listed at 151. I don't know and don't want to know my IQ score. Not like it's doing me any good.
Shortly after this I was back in the nurse's office. I was in class and this nimrod in front of me kept turning around and scratching his pencil all over my work. The third time I jabbed him in the arm with my pencil. He got up and drove his pencil deep into my leg. He hit a vein. Blood spurted out like a miniature oil well. I went to the nurse's office. It was closed. So I went to the main office. By this time the blood spot on my pants was bigger than my hand. I asked the secretary where the nurse was. She is only there 2 days a week. She asked me what was wrong. I looked down at my leg and said "Oh it's nothing I'm just getting my first period." I started to walk to the car where my mom was waiting. She always picked me up and dropped me off so I wouldn't get mugged walking or on the bus. She saw my leg and was horrified. She took me home and I poured about a cup of blood out of my boot. My pants, leg and sock were soaked in blood. The bleeding had mostly stopped. I never went back to that school. She got me transferred to another junior high.
Here's where going gets weird and weird turn pro. Mom and Dad were with me in the principal's office and he naturally had all my records and my IQ test. He gave me a piece of paper and asked me to read it. Then he asked me to repeat the first paragraph back to him. I repeated it word for word. The principal said "Mr. and Mrs. Webb your son had total recall. Were going to promote him to 9th grade and if he passes we'll get him a scholarship and send him on to college." I didn't know whether to jump for joy or cringe in the corner. Well spank my nasty ass and call me Doogie Houser.
I tried, I tried very hard. But I just couldn't take all the attention. The girls thought I was "cute" and I fucking hate that. If you could see inside me, you would never call me cute. The boys on the other hand delighted in stuffing me in a trash can and rolling me across the campus till I puked. I begged to go back to 7th grade and just grow up as normal as I could. Fortunately the principal agreed. Boy did I fuck up. If I could have hung on for one lousy year I would have been in college on a full ride and all that would have been behind me.