When I was twelve years-old I was kicked out of school and called The Devils Child.
True story.
It was a Christian School, and, because my bewildered 5 year old face had once been dunked into the sea on a Winter's day by one of Gods representatives, I too was irrelevantly deemed a Christian thing… a good little Christian thing. Like crosses and sandals and the Ten Commandments.
Only…
I wasn’t a good little Christian thing. And, as it turned out, neither was the school - we were both fakes parading as pure, and we would both be unmasked in time.
This school was presided over by a terrifying headmaster; Mr M – a charming but positively tyrannical man with an unmistakable aroma of the Hitleresque about him. In fact, Roald Dahl himself couldn't have invented a WORSE human being to be in charge of the lives of small children.
Let me draw you a quick sketch of Mr M: He had spies in each class who would report to him ALL EVIL AND UNHOLY behaviour committed by the students (like talking, or chewing gum in an EVIL manner). Girls were not allowed to show any skin (including wrists) because girls were all horrible temptresses created by the devil, but wrists especially so. Every morning he would gather the whole school in the assembly hall to blast our sleepy faces with the juiciest, most judgmental and horrific verses of the bible… and if you happened to be caught not looking at him during his preaching he would make you stand up and proceed to humiliate you in front of the whole school until you cried.
Have you ever seen a grown man yell into a 5yr olds terrified face that they were going to hell for their iniquities?
I have - EVERY MORNING.
He once pulled me aside and told me that if I thought my parents were going to protect me from him – I was mistaken. But that is another story for another time, and right now I want to tell you a happy story.
So, under the reign of Mr M the school festered, and grew one of the most damaging traits a school could possibly nurture – favouritism. Children fought each other with ever-increasing displays of groveling and ass-licking, all in the desperate hope to get into Mr M’s good books and thus be rescued from the misery of his hot wrath. If you did manage to get into his good books like a wriggling, pathetic leech - you were rewarded amply; you were pulled from class to go to secret meetings, you were given secret duties, you were given good grades, were praised and fawned over by all the teachers, and above all - you were told that you were CHOSEN BY GOD HIMSELF as special.
In short, you were blessed.
One year all of this ass-licking reached fever-pitch. One child, using all his cunning resourcefulness, found out how to really, thoroughly wedge himself firmly into Mr M’s good books in a way that was actually nothing short of genius.
The student started seeing visions.
That’s right. visions.
And, as if a batch of sandwich bread had been Ergot infected a la Salem, mass delirium spread amongst the students. Other children started claiming to have seen singing angels in the sky above the school, or hovering beside the teachers during class. One particularly clever student claimed to have seen Jesus HIMSELF hovering over the burgeoning head of Mr M...
As you can imagine… Mr M LAPPED this up because he was a man who thought that it was only natural that JESUS WOULD APPEAR ABOVE HIS HEAD.
*sigh*
I sat there quietly and watched the whole disgusting circus act unfold over a few weeks – and I knew, I just knew those kids were faking it, but I also knew it wasn't really their fault… it was Mr M and his vanity's fault. I was his ego, his desire for power and glory. He was a sick, sick man who had somehow slipped under the radar using his charm and gained a position of influence he should NEVER have been allowed. I hated him with my whole tiny being.
Then, one day after a hearty fawning session administered by Mr M towards the latest visionary, I caught the child grinning smugly to himself… and something inside of me snapped. I couldn’t take it anymore: the unfairness of it, the wrongness of it. The wrongness of Mr M. What he was encouraging these students to become.
So – I did it, too.
I’m not sure where the courage came from but one morning during Praise and Worship (yes, praise and worship) I convulsed on the floor feigning a fit delirium that may have even had my mum, who had seen me feign sickness most mornings, convinced. Teachers rushed over, and through my laboured, God infested speech I told them…
“I can see WARRIORS... in... the… SKY”
Yes.
WARRIORS… WITH SWORDS AND SHIELDS AND TRUMPETS AND STUFF.
It was beautiful - I wasn’t even questioned - I was simply and utterly believed. It was hilarious. It appeared for the moment my little grimy foot was thoroughly lodged between the covers of the illustrious good book of Mr M. Nothing short of fame ensued. I was invited to the secret meetings (bible readings, disappointingly), I was fawned over, I was treated differently. I was asked to draw a picture of the warriors and, in a panic - using He-man and an old illustrated children’s bible as my points of reference - I drew some historically convincing yet buff warriors riding through the clouds.
I stood up in front of the whole school holding up that drawing and on the inside, I was laughing.
I was walking proof that this world Mr M had created, it was a sham. Every time Mr M smiled at me and I smiled back – but it was actually me saying “fuck you, and fuck your good books”. I had beaten him at his own horrible game. It was a secret victory that kept me warm and strong in a cold, stifling school. I never told a soul.
A few years later I was kicked out of that school and Mr M’s parting words to me were that I was The Devils Child.
A few years after that Mr M was forced out of the school after parents eventually cottoned on to the fact that he was mentally abusing their children and threatened to mass-sue him.Yay!
He left like a dog with a tail between his legs. I heard a few years later he was starting up a political party. Not so yay!
A few years after that I was driving in the car with my Mum and we drove past that school. It looked peaceful now. Children were milling about on the lawns, smiling, playing tag. It looked like a different school. Then, the image of that drawing flashed into my mind, that ridiculous drawing - and I realised I still hadn’t told anyone that I had made the whole thing up...
So I told Mum.
She paused a moment, and then looked at me.
“You little shit” she said...
Then she burst out laughing.
