Memories and Primary School

Duffy and Primary School

Hey y’all. Our literature class recently finished the play No Exit and we are moving on to poetry by Carol Ann Duffy. One recurring theme in Duffy’s literature is the universal experience of progressing through childhood. After reading the poems “In Mrs Tilscher’s Class” and “Originally”, we began discussing memories from our childhood. As I searched through my memories of primary school a few memories stood out to me. One of which was when I was a Second grader in California. Our class was given a short assignment to draw a picture of what we wanted to work as when we grew older. I decided I wanted to run a factory, so I drew a building with a chimney, a few windows, and just to be a little imaginative I added the sounds coming out of the factory. Unfortunately, little Amir wasn’t entirely sure of how to spell the onomatopoeic sounds of a factory. I had seen the word “bomb” before and felt intelligent for knowing that the last ‘b’ was silent. Therefore, it must make the sound boom. That wasn’t so. As one would expect, my teacher became deeply concerned that, post 9/11, the only Muslim child wanted to work at a factory to produce bombs. Consequently, my parents were brought in for a meeting where I sat confused as to why misspelling “boom” was such a big deal. After reflecting on primary school, I realized how fragmented my memories have become. I can’t remember the majority of my mundane life, but I can recall a select few memories vividly. For the most part, my sense perception in my memory seems to blend together forming a cluster of vague scenes. It is as if I am watching over my past self from a blurred lens. Perhaps that is why memories are such a common theme in literature, which reminds me of an excerpt from one of my favourite books that I read this year Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami.

“We’re so caught up in our everyday lives that events of the past are no longer in orbit around our minds. There are just too many things we have to think about every day, too many new things we have to learn. But still, no matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim, there are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away. They remain with us forever, like a touchstone.”

Also, here is my version of Duffy’s poem “In Mrs Tilscher’s Class”:

In Mr.Elliot’s Class

Every morning, you would race past the students stumbling into the classroom.

Everyone rearing to grab a whiteboard.

While a young prince juggles, jubilantly whistling.

A childish smirk creases the corner of his mouth,

And so begins chemistry class.

You struggle to follow like a raft in a raging river

“Pop em up” he exclaims

You stare into his deep blue eyes

Comforted that all you don’t understand is but an explanation away.