My oppressive Catholic upbringing led me to a pre-school in the neighboring suburb of Fish Hoek, just east of where my parents had bought their house. At four years old, I felt mortified that my mother would leave me there with strangers, after all her caring and bonding, something that had fortified our relationship together. My father was not there for us much, but when he was, we had excursions to the then unspoiled beach in Noordhoek in his four-wheeled drive truck. He even had a submarine at one point, I loved to play in it, starting the electric engine, and not knowing how to shut it off. I wished he would have taken me along on one of his trips. One of the vivid memories that I have of Pre-School was that we were having a play. The first day was fine and while the parents were watching the play, we were kept busy in the playground. The following day, my mother was scheduled to see the play. I made such a fuss of being with my mother that the teachers had to bring all the students into the building to see the play so that I could be with my mom. How stupid is that, in retrospect?
We had wonderful times; school wasn’t that bad although I always wanted to be with my mom. I was sent to a Catholic convent school called: Star of the Sea. It was good to start with, but after a while, being only six years old, I realized that the nuns at the school were real sadists. They really took joy in beating the students with rulers and other items, our knuckles swollen and sore after a day of school. They especially delighted in slapping our palms with a ruler. At seven years old, I met my school sweetheart, her name was Michaela. I spent the next few weeks romanticizing about marrying her, as odd as that may seem. I had everything arranged, the dress, and the confetti, fashioned with the use of a railway punch that my father had somehow acquired. It was all set for our wedding on the steps of the convent. On my arrival at school, my bag packed with envelopes of confetti, approaching Michaela, she was cold and totally against the idea. My world collapsed around me once again. Following my two years at Star of the Sea, I was sent to yet another Catholic school, this time in a suburb called Rondebosch. I liked it at first, but then I realized that the brothers were just as sadist as the nuns in the convent, but with more of a twist. They used any excuse to punish us. I would be called to the principal’s office, my blazer lifted off my butt and as much as six canings executed on me. Sometimes the welts would bleed, but all I could do would be to try to endure the pain and humiliation. It was something I didn’t understand but in retrospect, I understood that it was a display of power over the young, innocent and mostly misunderstood students. It was a typical Catholic institution that exuded total control over all the students with an iron fist. We just tried to adjust and move on as best we could, and that went for the majority of the student body. My homeroom teacher, Mrs. Marsh was obviously an alcoholic and chronic smoker; I remember she smoked West 85’s. She would routinely rap us across the knuckles with a stick, hard and firm. The pain was bearable, but it really hurt. I remember that one Sports Day, I went to her classroom during a break and hid all her sticks. That worked, hurray, we were so happy, but then she decided one day to do a bit of a spring clean and she found them all and proceeded to rap our knuckles yet again with sheer pleasure. We really hated her, she was unabated evil. That calls to mind, Mrs. Mulligan, a fabulous teacher whose classes I disrupted incessantly. I knew it was wrong, but I so desperately needed attention, and I didn’t care where it came from. I even got sent to remedial treatment. No one really knew what was wrong with me, but I knew, somehow, deep inside, that with the right attention, things would work out. It never came and the misunderstandings prevailed. I knew that there was something wrong with me, I knew that I was highly intelligent, and even though I got bumped up classes... but that happened later, once they realized. I made it through school, although in my desperate attempt at recognition and attention led me into many problems. I used to steal money from my mom’s purse and buy toys that exceeded my wildest imagination. I would stay at the railway station after school, late into the night, wearing the cap of the station master whom I had befriended. My mom would be furious, finding me in these places in the almost dead of night. I never blamed her. She would have been driving around in her Mercedes looking for me. The distance was quite far from our home.
My mom knew that there was something wrong with me very early on and she continued to pursue a solution to the problem. My dad was far too busy with his business ventures to give any attention to his kids. So, there it was… my mom had to deal with it! My mom really loved me a lot. Even though she supported the girls so much in what they did, she really did care for me. It was a different caring. She was concerned for my health and well-being, but she was torn between me and my sisters. I remember so well when I was admitted to a rather dubious hospital in the suburbs, around twenty-five minutes’ drive from our home, for a heart murmur. Actually, it was a third heart beat and I, not knowing what the hell was going on submitted to admittance to the hospital… Did I have a choice at that age? It was a very confusing time for me. I couldn’t understand what I was doing there. I was too young to understand the medical speak, let alone understand why the mother I loved so much would leave me there. I tried to call her once, but when I sneaked into a doctor’s office and lifted the receiver on the phone and heard the operator, I balked and promptly hung up. I went about helping my fellow patients, those with broken legs or otherwise bed bound, removing the vessels in which they urinated and taking them to a room where they could be sanitized. That was the only way to stay focused and attempt to understand why mom was not there. I can recall rather vividly that she said goodbye to me one evening and then assured me that ‘Before you know anything, I will be here with you.” That never happened and I felt so abandoned, it scarred me. That led me to try the phone, but it never worked. My mom would eventually turn up and I would be elated, forgetting all the stress about the longing for her.
I spent many hours with remedial teachers, as my folks believed that there was something wrong with me. I was just suffering from A.D.H.D. (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) and other associated conditions, including depression, but that would surface and be diagnosed later. I was put on medication; one of the favorites of that time was Ritalin. My folks didn’t have a clue as to what was happening to me, nor did I, but I knew I was different. I couldn’t focus on my schoolwork and I got bored really easily. I needed to be engaged, I found the schoolwork so boring and I needed to advance. I was sent for remedial therapy. At that time, I had no idea what was happening and it was a welcome relief from the rigors of school. I welcomed it, but I never understood it. I would lie on the floor with the remedial teacher and push blocks around like I was making snow angels, although I had no idea what those were until later since I was at the Southern tip of Africa and we didn't know what snow was although it did snow on the mountains to the northeast in winter. I excelled in choir, they loved me and my treble voice and I used it as best I could. I could do some manipulation and that formed my teenage years, I realized that I could really turn people around.
I used my personality and manipulation skills to work to my advantage. I was then moved to another private boarding school, this one being on the slopes of the mountain. It was really majestic, exceedingly British. The entire school was overwhelming and intimidating. I thought to myself that this was just another ploy of theirs to get rid of me so that they could get on with their lives without me. As mean as that sounds, it was probably true. How difficult it must have been to have an out-of-control-child? I loved this school, and although I was a day student, I longed to be a border. It happened one night that I had to stay over and I totally identified with the students. The school was of old English design, it had a great hall in which we all congregated for meals and sing along s. It had a big organ with towering pipes and I loved to play it with my limited musical knowledge. It was so therapeutic. I got in trouble… for attention purposes I opened all the gas outlets in the laboratory and thankfully someone closed them before an explosion could occur. I played with mercury, changing it from hand to hand, not knowing anything about it or how dangerous it was. I loved to watch the little silver spheres swirl around on my skin and feel the weight of this strange liquid. I eventually got expelled from the school because of my wanton antics. I felt that I was in limbo again. My parents then discovered a school up country, about three hours drive north east which catered to ‘difficult children.’ I was promptly sent there… The school was really strange. The principal was a real sadist-dictator. He would beat up the students at the drop of a hat and for any reason. I was immersed in schoolwork and pleasure, metered out by the sadist. Some was really good, but he would play games with us, trying to extract those who would be happy to perform manual labor for rewards. One morning I awoke to his dragging me from my bed. It was six in the morning! He dragged me to a bathroom and proceeded to cane me with a rubber cane, over and over again, I had no idea what I had done. I tried my best to remain a man, but I wasn’t that yet, I was fourteen years old. After he was through with the beating I desperately tried to maintain my composure, by this time everyone was awake, I collapsed in the doorway in shock. No one even tried to help me. I was on my own. I dragged myself back to my bed to attempt to recover and to try to prepare for the day ahead.