In response to the A-Z challenge
I do not have any specific theme, and this is the first year I’m doing this.
Here goes nothing.
Day 1: A.
I watched her, my eyes narrowed and my cheeks blown up. My pudgy little face scowling as my fingers grasped the building blocks, stacking one yellow box over the other. The woman was familiar, every part of me wanted to crawl over to her, instinctively wanting to hide under the folds of her saari.
I rubbed my eyes, she was holding a stick, enunciating each word carefully as she pointed at a chart with random pictures drawn on in.
She said “A for Apple, B for ball..” And the idiots around me repeated it like clockwork.
I frowned, focussing on the building blocks.
From the corner of my eye I noticed the woman had caught my disinterest, but I ignored her, stubbornly sitting on the mat, lost in my old world of bric-a-brics.
I felt her walk up beside me, she crouched down so that she was my level. Her weathered hand held my wrist firmly, repeating “A for Apple, B for ball,” nodding her head encouragingly for me to say it.
I looked stubbornly at her, blurting “But Ma you already taught me three letter words at home!”
She shook her head firmly, ruffling my hair as she reminded me in a conspiratorial tone “Remember, I told you I’m your teacher here, not your mom? Call me Miss okay?”
With that she was gone, helping a boy with a ribbon of snot hanging from his nose tie his shoe laces.
I sulked stubbornly, nothing made sense. Why would I call my mother miss? And why was my mother helping other children. She was my mother.
Vexed, I began to cry. The headmistress’s office was across the hall.
Next day, my class was shifted to a fat lazy teacher.
My mother was given another class in a floor above mine, where she was out of my sight.
That happened fifteen years ago.
I had written a shopping list for my mother yesterday, and as I handed it over to her, she frowned; “You still dont know letter formation correctly; that teacher was an idiot.”