(no subject)
Nov. 4th, 2005 11:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vriad_leemy school was as close to hell as i have ever got. i was raised in a very permissive family by kind, if somewhat neglectful, parents, who seem to believe that the best way to raise children is by setting a good example and leaving them grow free like weeds. i had never been punished or explicitly humiliated by the time i went to school, and i had never been in a kindergarten.
this is probably the most glaring, though not the most important, example of my early school life. we were doing some math exercise in the class. i was distracted by something when i noticed my teacher coming down the aisle. i panicked and, hastily, pretended to be writing in my copy book. she noticed my commotion, paused by my desk and, very calmly, said something to the effect of "oh don't worry now" (о, уже не надо). then she took my copy book and tore it to pieces, which she threw to the floor, and then she made me pick up the pieces.
that was my primary school teacher, and she was supposed to teach us for three years. fortunately enough, a girl from, as it seemed, a very common family (or, rather, her parents) complained about cruel treatment and alexandra ivanovna, the hysterical, manipulating and sadistic 50 year old ukranian woman, who was also a wife to a militiaman, got fired after my 2nd grade.
in the third grade, the last year of the primary school, we had a very kind young teacher who would spend most of the time in the class reading fairy tales aloud. i think half of the young teachers, fresh from pedulish'e (normal school), are quite good (for school №6, at least) and stay good until they burn out. at least, my third grade teacher was ok - i don't remember her name, though.
the funniest part was that we hated anisimova (the complaining girl) for what she did. i remember standing on the school porch, september the 1st, someone saying: 'anis'ka complained about alexandra ivanovna. alexandra ivanovna got fired'.
'anis'ka the bitch'.
she came back in the middle of the third grade, to visit. they cried 'alexandra ivanovna, alexandra ivanovna!' and poured into the hall. i remember sauntering, like in a dream, out. she had hurt me so much i thought she had special concern for me. she was standing in the sunlit hall, leaning on a window-sill, girls flocked around her. i crossed the hall and stood by a window-sill next to hers. she turned to me and said, very gently: 'ah, vitya', with a smile. i thought she thought all the time about me as i thought about her, and knew something about me, which i didn't know. i thought she was some goddess, a revenging goddess constantly watching me, but she said just that, casually, turned to her minions and chattered on
my brother and dad, with a sack of potatos
this is probably the most glaring, though not the most important, example of my early school life. we were doing some math exercise in the class. i was distracted by something when i noticed my teacher coming down the aisle. i panicked and, hastily, pretended to be writing in my copy book. she noticed my commotion, paused by my desk and, very calmly, said something to the effect of "oh don't worry now" (о, уже не надо). then she took my copy book and tore it to pieces, which she threw to the floor, and then she made me pick up the pieces.
that was my primary school teacher, and she was supposed to teach us for three years. fortunately enough, a girl from, as it seemed, a very common family (or, rather, her parents) complained about cruel treatment and alexandra ivanovna, the hysterical, manipulating and sadistic 50 year old ukranian woman, who was also a wife to a militiaman, got fired after my 2nd grade.
in the third grade, the last year of the primary school, we had a very kind young teacher who would spend most of the time in the class reading fairy tales aloud. i think half of the young teachers, fresh from pedulish'e (normal school), are quite good (for school №6, at least) and stay good until they burn out. at least, my third grade teacher was ok - i don't remember her name, though.
the funniest part was that we hated anisimova (the complaining girl) for what she did. i remember standing on the school porch, september the 1st, someone saying: 'anis'ka complained about alexandra ivanovna. alexandra ivanovna got fired'.
'anis'ka the bitch'.
she came back in the middle of the third grade, to visit. they cried 'alexandra ivanovna, alexandra ivanovna!' and poured into the hall. i remember sauntering, like in a dream, out. she had hurt me so much i thought she had special concern for me. she was standing in the sunlit hall, leaning on a window-sill, girls flocked around her. i crossed the hall and stood by a window-sill next to hers. she turned to me and said, very gently: 'ah, vitya', with a smile. i thought she thought all the time about me as i thought about her, and knew something about me, which i didn't know. i thought she was some goddess, a revenging goddess constantly watching me, but she said just that, casually, turned to her minions and chattered on
my brother and dad, with a sack of potatos
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-04 08:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-04 08:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-04 09:07 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-04 09:08 pm (UTC)This isn't as messed up as your teacher ripping your book up, but last year in art class my teacher apparently decided the paper I was using to draw on in class was too small and also that the size in which I was drawing was not satisfying to his needs. He ordered me to start over, so I did, and once again it was too small. So this time I said no, I'm drawing this the way I am and you'll have to deal with it. He did not appreciate that and literally ripped it from my desk and told me I will either do exactly as he says or leave, so I told him to fuck himself and left... I don't appreciate being ordered how to create art, guidance works better than demands.... but anyways..
So I hear Russian's don't have 4th grade, or at least didn't use to? Is that true? In Vladivostok they told me it was because of during the war they wanted people to able to join the military quicker. That's crazy!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-04 09:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-04 10:14 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-04 10:34 pm (UTC)The thing about evil people is that they usually get theirs in the end. I carried my anger for her for a long time. Many other kids did, too. It must get harder to be evil as your students grow up and gain power.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-04 11:01 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-05 03:24 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-05 06:19 am (UTC)with that, and also with having to deal with groups of 30-40 children several hours a day (for a tiny salary, btw). besides, normal schools (at least, here) are pretty awful, with a lot of random people who don't want to teach but aren't smart enough to go elsewhere
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-05 06:19 am (UTC)Bullshit.
And today provides the proof.
This essay was far more engrossing / interesting / entertaining than the sum total of the myriad pictures you have posted since I first began reading your blog some 6+ months ago.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-05 06:19 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-05 06:33 am (UTC)institution green (http://www.lyricscafe.com/v/vega_suzanne/032.htm)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-05 06:39 am (UTC)and strained than (my) pictures
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-05 06:49 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-05 06:52 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-05 07:38 am (UTC)Before education I could see so much more joy in rainbows and dew on the grass. Now the beauty is long gone in those and many other things. My mind is left to find beauty in many other ways.
As an "educated" person, I am not sure that I am better off.
I look over by my bed, and I find a book on logic. I also see my calculator. Was I a happy person before I had these items?
That being said, along with the unknown beauty, there were many ways that people exploit those who don't know better. At this point in my life, I can hold my own. I am much more independent, and I don't worry about survival in the same way I used to.
Am I really better off?
If we lived in a world filled with love and gratitude, then education would probably be much different. The science of war and hate would be the first to go. Institution green would be an unknown concept.
Education is a strange thing. Unlike money, once you have it, you cannot get rid of it, and at the same time we are both getting older one day at a time.
Political games of lies and deceit are horrible.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-05 08:35 am (UTC)and come on, a world filled with love and gratitude? i don't believe in it. at the same time, i think that solving some technical issues would make a great difference. just raising teachers' salaries and making smaller groups (5-10 pupils, maybe) would mean a lot.
anyway, nobody gives a fuck, that's the problem. as soon as they grow up, people just try to forget and avoid school. my nephews go to a different school in balashikha, but still i see all their psychological problems, which in fact are very trivial, though they can completely obscure the sun for them. i don't try to solve their problems because i don't have the time and because, naturally, they would put up a resistance if i tried. i remember that most of all i dreaded my parents interference, which might have been clumsy. i thought the best i could do was to pretend and convince myself everything's ok
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-05 08:55 am (UTC)As to your writing, someone famous was asked once why he always wrote his novels in a foreign language and he said it forced him to think about every word he wrote. It's probably good when the first thing that comes to mind has to be translated.
And as to your writing vs pictures: Composed vs improvised, maybe? (As in music.)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-05 09:24 am (UTC)when i write in english, russian words don't come to mind, somehow. in fact, i have a language-specific writing block - i can't write in russian. i wrote a lot until 20 and then it sort of got too sour. as to formal constraints that could be good for writing - dovlatov, a very good russian writer, invented constraints for himself, like never starting a sentence with the same letter in a story, to improve his writing
(no subject)
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