Straight A's To Barely Scraping By

I always prided myself on my intelligence and my grades. Being a mechanical engineer, Dad felt it was necessary to teach me complex math equations before my time, and I was learning calculus when I was 10 years old. I was a straight A student in school, not just in the maths and sciences, but in English and social studies, too. I spent hours studying, I was a bookworm, and researching projects was a hobby of mine.  

Cindy has been speaking for several years

I have even read the encyclopedia from A to E.  I still have the full set of Encyclopedia Britannica published in 1985. Those books were my best friends and I soaked up information like a sponge. The study of religion and history were my particular favorites, and I even did a deep dive study of Joseph Stalin.  

I had my favorite teachers, of course, but I thrived in every class and every subject. I was an avid student, and was set up to graduate with honors and receive scholarships…

until Dad died.

The school we went to was kindergarten to grade 12 and had approximately 250 students in total. It was a tiny school, and the grades I was getting contributed to the curve when it came to provincial statistics. The school needed me… and my grades.  

After Dad died, things became shaky. I wasn’t engaged in class and became sullen. I stopped caring, and I began to shut down intellectually. Nothing grabbed my attention anymore, and all I wanted to do was skip class. I started hanging out with an older guy from another town, who had already graduated.  He smoked weed, had a big truck, and was so cool!  

And then, one day, my science/math/chemistry teacher decided that he needed to have an intimate chat with me. I had gone from having over 98% in his physics class to my grade dropping below 60%.

He asked me to stay after class one day to talk.

This particular teacher had a reputation for preying on vulnerable young female students, and I was ripe for the picking.

I felt cornered and very intimidated. But I wasn’t raised by a sissy, and I stuck up for myself. Despite feeling vulnerable and taken advantage of, I got angry.  I put up a fight, and I ran. I ran straight to the principal's office and threw my textbooks on his desk with a declaration that I quit. I was done with school, and I was no longer interested in participating in the charade.  

But the school needed me, and the principal panicked. Calls were made, and my uncle had to come in to mediate. I sat there, sullenly, with my best glare pasted across my face, stubbornly refusing to engage as they tried to work out a solution. It was obvious that I couldn’t go back to this teacher’s classes, but the problem was, he taught almost 50% of my high school classes.  And he had tenure, so they didn’t fire him.

I was pissed. 

A compromise was finally agreed upon, and it was decided that I would take all of my math and science programs through correspondence at home. I thought this was a grand idea, because it meant I only had to come to school for one class, which I still loved. French class was the only thing that was helping me get through my days, and the teacher made it so much fun.  

I became known for never being at school. I would drop in once a week for French class, and every quarter to write exams. And my grades began to slip even further. I was more focused on my older boyfriend and smoking weed. I had no time for studying or focusing on my schoolwork. When my grades came back halfway through my last semester, I realized I would need to hire a math tutor if I was ever going to graduate.  

Cindy is a Canadian speaker and podcaster

I graduated, barely.

I couldn’t get out of that school fast enough as far as I was concerned.

The only things that helped me through were French class, and the rock band my shop teacher had created, with me as the lead singer. It gave me a focus that helped to move me through two of the hardest and worst years of my life after Dad passed away.  

My desire for knowledge would hover around over the years, with curiosity being peaked once in a while, but the obsession with learning wouldn’t return for years to come.  It was easier to numb myself, and pretend that I didn’t care. It was easier to smoke drugs and drink myself into oblivion, because then I wouldn’t need to feel anything.

It would be another 20 years before my thirst for knowledge came back with a vengeance.

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