My Mother's #1 Rule.
I would not say that I hated school, it was more like I didn’t like school. School for me would be mandatory while I lived under my mother’s roof. My mother had three rules and all three were carved in stone.
Rule #1, I had to graduate high school and get my SSGD diploma.
Rule #2, no motorcycles whatsoever.
It would be the same old story every single time. Every one of my teachers with the exception of my gym teachers since my mother never cared or talked with my gym teachers. Each teacher would explain how Michael was capable of so much more and how Michael never applied himself. How Michael should be doing better, so much better and how Michael never lived up to his potential and he never delivered.
Blah Blah Blah.
I would now be grounded again; sometimes it would be for weeks. This exact same cycle would be repeated all through my six high school years. Fast forward to June 1978 and while I was still living under my mother’s roof rule #1 no longer applied to me. I had graduated high school and I earned my diploma.
At first, my diploma really was not that important as I entered the real world and full-time employment. A series of low paying jobs mostly in the retail sector would carry me through my first three years post high school. I was now earning my own money and I was spending every cent I earned. I was also happily paying my mother her weekly room and board. I never bought a motorcycle, although I had ridden on one a couple times. I never told my mother since I had disappointed her enough already with my report cards.
All three of my mother’s carved in stone rules, I had obeyed. Life was pretty good for me back then. As I entered my early twenties, my life began to change in a very big way. I was now engaged, soon to be married and would soon be living in my own apartment. My weekly room and board expense would now be replaced with a much higher monthly rent expense. I was now a young adult with adult obligations and I needed an adult income if I had any hope of succeeding in my new adult world.
It was a hot summer August afternoon back in 1981 as I walked out of the Canada Packers head office on St. Clair Avenue. I was very optimistic for what the future would hold. I had just been hired as a driver salesman with the York Ice Cream division. My new job was a Teamsters union job with a pension and full benefits. I had never had either of those perks before. Even better, I would potentially be earning on average close to a thousand bucks a week if I met all my targets. That was well over four times what I was earning when I left Collegiate Sports.
As I drove home that day, I had the large brown envelope sitting right beside me. Inside the envelope was my high school diploma I had brought for my job interview. I needed to show proof that I had earned all 27 credits and that I had graduated. It was mandatory back in 1981 that all new employees hired at Canada Packers graduate high school.
I don’t ever remember thanking my mother for her insistence that I stay in high school, graduate and get my diploma.
Maybe I should have.
Afterall who knows, had I quit high school I might have never escaped the Jungle. I might have been a Jungle bunny for life.
Rule #1, I had to graduate high school and get my SSGD diploma.
Rule #2, no motorcycles whatsoever.
Rule #3, once I started working full-time, I would be paying room and board weekly.
If I chose not to obey any of those three rules, she would have me move out. I knew there was absolutely no doubt I would have to find another place to live. There were so many more rules and commandments, but most of those would revolve around her religious beliefs and that would be another story altogether.
I absolutely had no issue paying my mother room and board once I started working. Afterall, it was only fair I help her out financially. I watched her struggle for many years trying to make ends meet. I will forever be grateful; she always provided me with the necessities. All the while my deadbeat father continually flipped the bird at both his financial and parental obligations. My mother would need my help and I never complained about helping her financially.
I wanted to help her out.
The no motorcycles was never an issue with me either, I could care less about ever owning or riding a motorcycle. I simply had no interest. My mother for some reason was terrified at the thought of having one of her sons killed in a motorcycle accident. Her way of making sure it would never happen was to issue the all out ban on motorcycles while I was living under her roof.
Staying in high school until I graduated, now that was a different story. I could never understand how she vehemently insisted I finish high school. I would’ve quit in a heartbeat, got a job and started helping her out financially years sooner instead of waiting till I graduated. It was a win-win situation for both of us, or so I thought. She would have my room and board money much earlier and I would have a full-time job earning my own money.
I had watched many school chums in the Jungle quit high school early. They would begin working full-time at a Mcdonald's or at some factory, eventually knocking up their girlfriend. Most of them ended up just repeating the vicious cycle of wearing the 'white trash', welfare case Jungle bunny moniker. For them it would become so much more difficult to ever escape the Jungle.
Rinse and repeat over and over.
Maybe my mother was right; maybe finishing high school was the better way.
I guess time would tell.
There would be five occasions during the school year that I truly dreaded. First, were the three report cards; each one would have to be returned with a parent’s signature, proof that it had been viewed. Many kids I knew wouldn’t even show their report cards to a parent and would just forge their signature. There were many parents in the Jungle who could care less how their kids were doing in school.
Those were the kids that would usually quit and ended up working at McDonald's.
However, my mother always knew exactly when report cards would be sent out since she would often phone the school. She would be waiting, eagerly anticipating a much better report card than my previous one. I would like a lying politician give her reason for hope. I would always promise after each semester things were going to get better and my grades would be higher. She was going to be proud of my next report card.
It never happened and there was no doubt I was sure to be grounded since I had once again disappointed my mother.
“I am not mad, I am not angry, I am just disappointed” was her favorite phrase at report card time.
I guess I would be considered a good solid C+ student, maybe a B-. I skipped many classes every semester, but by year end I always seemed to earn all my required credits. I had no doubt that by the time I finished grade twelve, I would have the 27 credits I needed to graduate. I always did just enough to get by and nothing more.
As much as I dreaded bringing home my three report cards, it was the two nights of parent teacher interviews that I feared the most. I would pray the interviews would fall on a Thursday evening when my mother had one of her Kingdom Hall meetings. My mother would never miss her JW meetings. I knew her attendance to discuss her firstborn's scholastic lack of progress with teachers would always take a back seat over her attendance at the Kingdom Hall.
Every time my prayers fell on deaf ears.
If I chose not to obey any of those three rules, she would have me move out. I knew there was absolutely no doubt I would have to find another place to live. There were so many more rules and commandments, but most of those would revolve around her religious beliefs and that would be another story altogether.
I absolutely had no issue paying my mother room and board once I started working. Afterall, it was only fair I help her out financially. I watched her struggle for many years trying to make ends meet. I will forever be grateful; she always provided me with the necessities. All the while my deadbeat father continually flipped the bird at both his financial and parental obligations. My mother would need my help and I never complained about helping her financially.
I wanted to help her out.
The no motorcycles was never an issue with me either, I could care less about ever owning or riding a motorcycle. I simply had no interest. My mother for some reason was terrified at the thought of having one of her sons killed in a motorcycle accident. Her way of making sure it would never happen was to issue the all out ban on motorcycles while I was living under her roof.
Staying in high school until I graduated, now that was a different story. I could never understand how she vehemently insisted I finish high school. I would’ve quit in a heartbeat, got a job and started helping her out financially years sooner instead of waiting till I graduated. It was a win-win situation for both of us, or so I thought. She would have my room and board money much earlier and I would have a full-time job earning my own money.
I had watched many school chums in the Jungle quit high school early. They would begin working full-time at a Mcdonald's or at some factory, eventually knocking up their girlfriend. Most of them ended up just repeating the vicious cycle of wearing the 'white trash', welfare case Jungle bunny moniker. For them it would become so much more difficult to ever escape the Jungle.
Rinse and repeat over and over.
Maybe my mother was right; maybe finishing high school was the better way.
I guess time would tell.
There would be five occasions during the school year that I truly dreaded. First, were the three report cards; each one would have to be returned with a parent’s signature, proof that it had been viewed. Many kids I knew wouldn’t even show their report cards to a parent and would just forge their signature. There were many parents in the Jungle who could care less how their kids were doing in school.
Those were the kids that would usually quit and ended up working at McDonald's.
However, my mother always knew exactly when report cards would be sent out since she would often phone the school. She would be waiting, eagerly anticipating a much better report card than my previous one. I would like a lying politician give her reason for hope. I would always promise after each semester things were going to get better and my grades would be higher. She was going to be proud of my next report card.
It never happened and there was no doubt I was sure to be grounded since I had once again disappointed my mother.
“I am not mad, I am not angry, I am just disappointed” was her favorite phrase at report card time.
I guess I would be considered a good solid C+ student, maybe a B-. I skipped many classes every semester, but by year end I always seemed to earn all my required credits. I had no doubt that by the time I finished grade twelve, I would have the 27 credits I needed to graduate. I always did just enough to get by and nothing more.
As much as I dreaded bringing home my three report cards, it was the two nights of parent teacher interviews that I feared the most. I would pray the interviews would fall on a Thursday evening when my mother had one of her Kingdom Hall meetings. My mother would never miss her JW meetings. I knew her attendance to discuss her firstborn's scholastic lack of progress with teachers would always take a back seat over her attendance at the Kingdom Hall.
Every time my prayers fell on deaf ears.
My mother would walk over to my school and meet face to face with those same teachers who had given me the lousy marks on my report card. She needed answers, she demanded answers, afterall I had promised her so much more. She would always be gone for a couple hours minimum and when she returned shit would always hit the fan.
It would be the same old story every single time. Every one of my teachers with the exception of my gym teachers since my mother never cared or talked with my gym teachers. Each teacher would explain how Michael was capable of so much more and how Michael never applied himself. How Michael should be doing better, so much better and how Michael never lived up to his potential and he never delivered.
Blah Blah Blah.
I would now be grounded again; sometimes it would be for weeks. This exact same cycle would be repeated all through my six high school years. Fast forward to June 1978 and while I was still living under my mother’s roof rule #1 no longer applied to me. I had graduated high school and I earned my diploma.
At first, my diploma really was not that important as I entered the real world and full-time employment. A series of low paying jobs mostly in the retail sector would carry me through my first three years post high school. I was now earning my own money and I was spending every cent I earned. I was also happily paying my mother her weekly room and board. I never bought a motorcycle, although I had ridden on one a couple times. I never told my mother since I had disappointed her enough already with my report cards.
All three of my mother’s carved in stone rules, I had obeyed. Life was pretty good for me back then. As I entered my early twenties, my life began to change in a very big way. I was now engaged, soon to be married and would soon be living in my own apartment. My weekly room and board expense would now be replaced with a much higher monthly rent expense. I was now a young adult with adult obligations and I needed an adult income if I had any hope of succeeding in my new adult world.
It was a hot summer August afternoon back in 1981 as I walked out of the Canada Packers head office on St. Clair Avenue. I was very optimistic for what the future would hold. I had just been hired as a driver salesman with the York Ice Cream division. My new job was a Teamsters union job with a pension and full benefits. I had never had either of those perks before. Even better, I would potentially be earning on average close to a thousand bucks a week if I met all my targets. That was well over four times what I was earning when I left Collegiate Sports.
As I drove home that day, I had the large brown envelope sitting right beside me. Inside the envelope was my high school diploma I had brought for my job interview. I needed to show proof that I had earned all 27 credits and that I had graduated. It was mandatory back in 1981 that all new employees hired at Canada Packers graduate high school.
I don’t ever remember thanking my mother for her insistence that I stay in high school, graduate and get my diploma.
Maybe I should have.
Afterall who knows, had I quit high school I might have never escaped the Jungle. I might have been a Jungle bunny for life.
Thank you, mother.
