This week at work I had an experience of which I am almost ashamed to say is not uncommon for me. The typical form of the experience I am talking of consists of myself being apprehended by an angry woman for something of which I am either completely unaware of or for something that I do not feel the force of the apprehension justifies. Every single one of the experiences of which I speak of could have been avoided if instead of assuming that I was in the wrong, the person would simply have asked a question to start.
The first memory I have of an incident of this type goes back to second grade during a spelling test. During the test the phonics teacher accused me of cheating and without allowing me to present my case, took my test and ripped it up exclaiming that I would receive a zero percent for a grade on that test. This experience is one that I think about more often then I care to admit and I feel has been a formative experience in my relationship with women as a whole. The word that the teacher was asking us to spell for the test was arithmetic. While teaching us how to spell the word the teacher presented us with our first ever encounter with what educators call mnemonics, a rat in the house might eat the ice cream, and encouraged us to try to think of more mnemonics for other spelling words and the like. This seemed like a very useful tool to me as a child because I was always very keen to pick up new skills for learning so as to spend less of my time studying and more time playing games and hanging out with friends. During the spelling test I was saying the phrase to myself while she was allowing us time to spell the word. She saw me mouthing the phrase to myself and assumed that I was communicating with another student though I had never done anything of the like before and gave her no real indication as to that being my intention. As a child I was frightened by her intensity and overwhelmed by the prospects of receiving my first ever failing grade on a test. This led to me freezing up and being unable to present the reality of what I was doing in order to save myself from the embarrassment and shame of what was happening to me. The day I got the grade back, it had the promised zero on it and during my entire bus ride home I cried and was terrified what my mother might think of her accused cheating son. Thankfully for myself, it was winter out and there was a snow bank in which I could dispose of my test. I never saw it again and felt guilty about it for years. The feeling of helplessness and injustice that I felt followed me throughout the remainder of my encounters with the teacher over the next 6 years. This set in my psyche a default stagnation whenever a woman confronted me aggressively about anything or whenever I saw in her eyes the intensity of this teacher. Over the years there have been several others that have filled the position and even in my adult life I struggle immensely in dealing with the typical angry woman accusing me of a wrong no matter its size or significance. My piano teacher, my sister during her high school years, several of the women I have dated, a roommate I had in college, and now as an adult, my coworker, all fit the same mold and serve the same function as I have previously outlined. I would like to say that I have been of sound enough mind to recognize my sisters growth and have forgiven her for any injustices that I may have though I realize that I myself am still working through the hostilities that I have felt through hers and other peoples unwarranted aggression.
More to come.
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