You Might Want To Avoid This School-Related Post.

[apolla]

I noticed something the other day while I was on the bus home.

The sight of people wearing my old school uniform still makes my heart start thudding ominously, like a cardiac cover version of the Jaws Theme. It doesn't matter if I don't know them (I rarely do know them) or if I'm on a bus and they're walking down the road or coming out of a newsagents as I go by. Just the sight of those bottle green sweatshirts, the white polo shirt collar sticking out from underneath and the black trousers sends me back ten years.

I started that school in September 1993 and left it in June 2000. I have been to Lancaster, California and Sunderland since then. I have friends I'd die for who have kicked me into touch and forced me to get over the things that haunted me then. I should not still be bothered by this.

Imagine my (non-) surprise that I still am bothered enough to react to clothes.

There is ongoing and furious debate in America over the question of school uniform. It's never really been an issue here because its rare to find a school that doesn't require uniform. I didn't have to wear one at the primary school I went to after my catholic school debacle. I loved it there for many reasons, but I suspect uniform and the lack of it had a little something to do with it.

I do believe in a child's need to express themselves, and I do believe their clothes can have something to do with it. I think it matters no matter how old you are. I mean, I bet every single one of you has something that, when you wear it, you feel cool and fabulous and beautiful and like yourself. For me it's my leather trousers or my platform shoes or my purple velvet coat (ask zorb  about that one!). It is not the bloody lilac Ben Sherman shirt I'm wearing right now for work, although my Beatle boots are minimising the feeling of being a drone.

It's at this point that I should accept that I do not see the world like other people do. I do care about being able to wear exactly what I want to wear, be it a grotty old Led Zeppelin t-shirt or that shiny Morrocan-stylee purple hat. I loved being in the Sixth Form and at university because I could wear what I liked.

And you know what, it ceased to matter to people. Even in the Sixth Form, it didn't matter if you weren't dripping in labels or Burberry checks all the time because it was everyday life and I bet even Jennifer Lopez doesn't wear designer clobber every single day.

It mattered when it was made a novelty. Those 'Non Uniform Days' we all loved so much, when it did matter a great deal. I didn't realise, of course, on my first non uniform day that people would give a rats about it. I turned up in unmemorable clothes but a pair of shocking pink Converse baseball boots I loved and still think of fondly. They were practically capable of stopping traffic... and causing an entire school to stop, stare, point and laugh. It is not an exaggeration to say that I never quite lived down the memory of that day and those shoes. I was eleven years old and learned very quickly what it meant to have hundreds of people taking the piss.

It would be erroneous to say I didn't learn anything from this experience. I certainly did- to blend in and be normal, to not rock the boat or do anything that might mark me out as different. So, within only a few months of starting at that place, I created two very different Clares: School Clare and Real Clare. School Clare was silent and moody-looking. School Clare looked the same as everyone else, although eagle-eyed people might've noticed she always wore trousers. She did not say anything to make anyone think twice (usually). She did not say anything at all, really. She put her hand up in class and answered questions when she knew the answers, which was pretty often. She didn't care that people thought she was a 'bof'- because intelligence is so passe darling. She did nothing, said nothing, felt nothing. She turned up in the morning, daydreamed her way through to 15.40 when she did the same on the school bus. She had friends, but, with one exception. she didn't see them outside school except on very rare occasions.

She never came into contact with Real Clare, although elements of her personality most shamefully seeped into Real Clare.

Real Clare took over from around 4pm when the bus got to the end of her road and she left the day behind. She also had control over weekends. She slept a lot, read a lot, watched movies a lot and went to guitar lessons, keyboard lessons and Guides. Real Clare has never been quiet in her life. Real Clare is not only unafraid to rock the boat, she delights in it. She daydreamed like her School self, but rather more actively. She could be shy, but never silent. She was never scared to wear her pink boots, and when she grew out of them, she acquired a pair of lime green ones which, it turns out, glow under UV lights (discovered on Professor Burp's Bubble Works ride at Chessington World of Adventures). She was loud and bossy and probably very annoying. At Guides she became something of a legend when she turned up carrying a psychedelic bag made by a tribe in South America and given to a priest who in turn gave it to her mother who gave it to her. She railed against having to send a different Clare to school, but did it anyway because, yes, she was scared and depressed and unable to find another way out of her situation.

For five and a half years, School Clare took over during the daylight hours of the working week. For five and a half years, she was the decoy to keep Real Clare from lasting harm. During this time there were glimmers of Real Clare at school- in the music room at lunchtimes or doing Ernie's Incredible Illucinations in Year 10. But something always came along to slam Real Clare back into her shell, be it people during Ernie rehearsals taking the piss out of her having Sgt Pepper or the cruelness of the teenage girls surrounding her.

I say five and a half years because of course, simply going into the Sixth Form and being uniformless did not solve the problem immediately. I pinpoint the leaving of a particular other student as the beginning of making things better, because he was a true menace who, it turned out was as mean to other people as he was to me. That was the moment I was able to give up the real fear I'd had of being myself. "To hell with them all!" said I, breaking out the leather trousers and velvet jackets and whatever bloody footwear I felt like wearing. And I had the piss taken, and people were mean.

But by then, I was off in my own world of John Lennon and Jimmy and the rest, and normal teenagers could go to the deepest, darkest, coldest depths of the nine circles as far as I was concerned. This was not the end of School Clare, because she had got used to turning up at school. It was in my last year that the two halves began to meld back together. School Clare still reigned supreme at school, but Real Clare was at least able to make her speak to people, to dance at the closest thing to school dances we had, to show her true colours. I sometimes think that School Clare remained in control there simply because Real Clare couldn't be bothered to show up. I mean, why should she have bothered?

While things did get better, they did not really change. I remained a lonely little outcast at school to the day I left. While all my friends went off somewhere, presumably together, I left school alone, and wandering away from English on my own down a corridor I'd walked for the last seven years, I'd never quite felt lonelier. It would take the next couple of years at university in Lancaster and in California to really change things, and it was entirely down to Natasha beating it out of me in several ways- kindness, friendliness and the old staple of Oprah, tough love.

It's unfair and inaccurate to blame every problem I've ever had on what happened at school. After all, there must be something in my personality that made me a target for people like He Who Shall Not Be Named, something about me that, at least at the time, made me incapable of dealing with it. That said, some of the things about me can be directly blamed on it- I never fell into the sort of depressed funks I still get from time to time before then. I could never be stunned into silence before. I could never be intimidated before, except by grown ups. Before I went to the prison of black and bottle green, I believed in myself utterly, and it has taken a fair amount out of me to regain even a fraction of that. It has taken a great deal for me to return to the confidence I had before. Whenever I would hear people laugh in shopping centres/at school/in the street, I was always paranoid that they were talking about me and it has taken a great deal out of me to get back to a point where that no longer holds true.

I have tried to imagine my life had I been one of the popular kids, and it never quite rings true. I'm perfectly willing to accept the life I've been given thus far, although I do still retain the right to complain from time to time. Without the life I've had, I'd probably never have found Jimmy or Philo. I would've liked the Beatles, cos I always have, but I might've been too distracted to fall in love with them. Without the warnings I've had from all my dark angels, I might not have had the restraint to not get ridiculously drunk and to not take drugs of whatever kind. Without the lessons my boys have taught me, it's entirely plausible, if unlikely, that I'd be dead by now. I no longer mind the life I was given and in some ways I'll be forever grateful for it, but surely I should be allowed to get over it now?

What was all this for, if at the first sight of the uniform in a long time, I practically crawled into a deep hole in my deep shell? Every time I really think I might have this thing licked for good, something like this happens. When I returned home from Lancaster, I had a series of dreams of school featuring my old 'favourites' as if to say "This is what's waiting for you here." Now I'm back, I suppose permanently, and I'm having to go out into the town and stuff, and I see it. Am I never to be free?

So kiddies, what do you imagine a 16 year old, like totally popular Clare would've been like? I'm interested to know.

Comments

[emony.livejournal.com]

I could almost have written that post myself, except there never was and still isn't really a real me. Just school me. And my school uniform was bottle green and black (and yellow) too, and yes, I still duck my eyes and walk by quickly when I see it on the streets in town, although really, things turned for me in middle school, where we didn't really have much of a uniform. I blame my mother though. Yes, I am saving up for therapy ;)

[apolla.livejournal.com]

*hugs*

Dear, dear girl! Aside from the fact your uniform sounds HIDEOUS, I'm of the opinion school has screwed us up good and proper. But we're both above it, we're both better than it, and a little more distance might be all we need. And great careers, fabulous lives and the opportunity to give the finger to all the twats we had to put up with at our respective hell holes.

And in the meantime: fuck em.

[emony.livejournal.com]

There wasn't too much yellow really. Just a stripe on the tie, and our PE shirts were yellow.

It is quite satisfying to know that while those mindless nobodies we were so plagued by will live their lives in a haze of emptiness and pointless nothing, we will think and experience and our lives will mean something. Also, they'll be flipping burgers at McD's and living in council flats for the rest of their lives while we will be rich, famous, and living in large mansions with entourages of adoring fans and loyal friends. Or something.

*hugs* How are things going over there in Welwyn G C? I was looking up some MPs questions in the House today (for a reason that doesn't need exploring at this juncture) and I spotted the MP for Welwyn Hatfield, made me think of you.

[apolla.livejournal.com]

Yeah. Have you seen '13 Going On 30'? BEST moment is where she discovers the guy she had like, the total crush on, totally, is now a cab driver!

WGC is OK, much the same as it has been since we turned up in the mid-80s... I'm still working at the water company and daydreaming. Am applying for a film training scheme if I manage to compose a letter tomorrow.

Dear, darling Melanie the Blair Babe! I must admit her staffer was very helpful when I was writing about the 500,000 new houses planned for the S-E when i was doing work expereince with the WH Times. What were you looking her up for?

[emony.livejournal.com]

I haven't seen it, but maybe I should. Sounds amusing *g*

I can definitely recommend going for a better job if the one you're at doesn't do it, which I can't imagine it does. I'm so much happier at my new job than I was at my old one. Although I am being a bit cranky today about having to share a house with a bunch of inconsiderate people and a washing machine that takes *over two hours* to wash my clothes! Not on! But apart from those sort of details, I definitely recommend the whole going for the job you want, because you never know, and moving out of home thing. What kind of film training? Like making films? That'd be cool.

I wasn't looking her up particularly. I was looking up MPs who'd asked questions about children's health in relation to school meals, and she answered such a question on behalf of the Dept. of Health or something, I think. You'd probably be really good at my job, actually. Sadly there are currently no vacancies, and you might hate organising conferences, but I think you'd be good at it, so if anyone leaves or if we expand, I'll let you know *g*

[apolla.livejournal.com]

It's not the most inspiring job in the world, but the people are really nice and it doesn't require much thought. Hell, that whole post this thread comes from was written at work.

Something better would be cool, if only to get Teh Mam off me back!

Oh, and it's a trainee thing with WORKING TITLE!! I've got to send a recent photo (worried about that) and a letter no longer than 1 side of A4 saying why I'd like to do it.

[emony.livejournal.com]

Sounds just like my old job. It was mostly filing and answering phones - dull beyond dull - but the people were nice, and it paid well. Of course, I decided to kick it in when they cut off my email access ... coincidence? I don't think anyone would believe that *g* It's not something to stick to in the long term though. It gets comfortable, but we weren't built to be stuck in comfortable jobs. We were built to do something that mattered to us and held our interesting. Also, The Mother point is an important one! *g*

Hmm, a photo - they probably just want to make sure you're sufficiently arty looking or something *g* You never know, worth trying for for sure.

[allthatisgold.livejournal.com]

*hugs* I think you probably know better than anyone how I feel about all of this....and I still can't believe that there was a time when you felt you had to hide your real self from others because they were too sutpid to see how great you are. I'm glad you weren't a popular, cliched 16 year old...it's not you at all :).

Also, I was just told that I'm "nuts" from my friend David whom I've known for only a little over a month ;). See, I guess there's really nothing wrong with letting people know how crazy you are :P.

<3