The Cheese

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Mr. Ricard was my Kindergarten teacher at Las Lomas Elementary. His smile was big and warm, and stretched out it fits perfectly inside of his neatly groomed facial hair. He had a perfectly round shaped,  and shiny bald head and he always wore corduroy pants with plaid flannel button down shirts.  I loved him immediately.  He felt familiar, and safe, just like my worn out Paddington bear. I just couldn’t stand the way he would sometimes look at me with so much pity and concern. It always made me feel guilty, or even ashamed that I couldn’t ever just make him feel happy. I know he was only trying to help me cope with being bullied at school but I also wondered if the extra attention he’s giving me is only making things worse.

I can remember when all of the name calling and the bullying started, but even when i tried to put myself in their shoes I could never understand any of it. How can you make fun of somebody for something they have no control over? And, Why? I was only five years old when I learned from these bullies that my family was poor.  It made me so lonely, afraid and confused.  How could children be so cruel?

I dreaded everything about school, but I always feared recess the most.  When lunch was over I would push my way to the front of the gate so that I could be the first kid out on that playground. As soon as the gate swung open I ran as fast I could  towards a large flesh-colored round plastic structure with small holes cut out that all of the kids had nicknamed The Cheese. They named it for its shape, and I have to agree.  It sort of resembles one of those big hunks of swiss from The Tom & Jerry show.  If I ran fast enough after that gate opened I could make it to The Cheese before anyone would see me.  On those days I always felt the most happy while at school. I thought being ignored and left alone was always better than being bullied.  I feel like i could spend an eternity here. On the bad days I would lay here on this cold wet sand, in the center of The Cheese,  curled up in the ball with my eyes closed shut.   On those days Mr. Ricard would have to come find me.  The silence of The Cheese muffled the laughter of playing children.  This cold wet sand felt like home, and it soothed me.  I missed my Mom.

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3 thoughts on “The Cheese

  1. Dear Monica, are you writing about me as a little lost girl, I can so relate to what you are sharing, I can feel your pain, I will leave a link for you about my childhood.

    Childhood – http://freedomborn.wordpress.com/2011/09/27/the-early-years-a-little-lost-girl/

    I’m sure I’m not the only one that can identify with you Monica, hurt people hurt people and many have been wounded and unless they are healed they go on and hurt others. I remember going to school with patches on my dress and old shoes, my Dad had died and there was very little money, when I was Adopted I had nice clothes but than being Adopted meant I was second class and not as good as others especially to my new Brother and Sisters. I’m also Dyslectic and I’m still made fun of because of it but I know just like you are, I’m a person of great worth and today I walk in that assurance, not because of what I have done but what has been done for me and is being done in me.

    Blessings – Anne

    Liked by 1 person

  2. My own Mother had a similar upbringing only she suffered a lot more abuse than I ever did. I always admired my Mother for having such a positive outlook on life. Mom always taught me how not to let what happened to me change who I am. I am struggling with that more now as an adult than I ever had as a child.
    I just read your post “the early years a little lost girl”. I have so many other stories I hope to share with you soon! Thank you! 🙂

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    1. I will look forward Monica to reading your life Stories, I’m so pleased you had a Loving Mum and how wonderful her advice to you, we are all people of worth regardless of what others say and do that is hurtful, it just shows their lack not ours.

      Take Care dear Monica and remember your beauty is within not outward, that fades with time, the other never does.

      Blessings – Anne

      Liked by 1 person

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