Printed from WriteWords -


by  giovannivencato

Posted: Thursday, September 7, 2006
Word Count: 456

I sat in my chair yesterday, with the fond warm memory of my eldest son's first day at his new senior school, three years ago: My youngest son, having just arrived at the same establishment, to start his final journey into education, as a child turning into a young man:
A lovely, beautiful, lively, intelligent soul. One is proud to contribute such a karmic soul into this sorry world:

One reflects on their days at school in bygone synchronicity: I am afraid mine was not a happy story to tell:
The advocates of a good old "Thrashing". or a "Clip around ones ear". Knows nothing of the pain and suffering that can be left, to a sensitive soul who meant no harm to anyone, other than the fact, that some misguided out of control pedant, was unable to deduce between fact or fantasy:
I was cained, or Beaten With A Stick. To this day I always maintained I did no wrong! 30 years ago, I allowed an out of control, glorified Civil Servant, to bend me over his chair, grabbing the wooden arms of that peice of furniture: The man then beat me with a stick on numerous occasions on my rectum: My trousers were so thin, because I came from a poor family, that no protection was afforded to my body: 6 years earlier, Doctors had removed skin from my behind, to cover 33 percent burns on my body, when I nearly lost my life!
My beating by this so called educator of people, left me scarred, cut and bruised. He showed no remorse to what he did to me: 14 years ago to this day, I was married to my lovely wife: My fellow school friend, who got me into trouble on that horrendous day, came to my wedding. He reminded me of those events. I loved him like a brother, I never had and always will:He always appeared troubled by what happened on that disgraceful day, but I always assured him, that my feelings for him, were greater than that moment in time,that occured! Some three years ago my pal died in his early 40s. Never a day goes by when I do not think of him: I sit in the same house, in the same room, where we played guitar together, at the age of 11 years old, on a similar sofa, sitting on one of its side arms: I know he is there,looking at me and laughing some times:
The moral of this tome' to which there is no morality. Is this, society must never allow people,humans, young children to be attacked like this ever again: It is degrading,demeaning and acheives nothing other than satisfying bloodlust attitudes, of the borgois classes!