Someone will do it

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Víctor Guiu Aguilar

There must be someone. Surely. You might not be entirely sure, but there is always someone. It started in my earliest childhood, when I would follow my parents, fiddling with what life presented to me, engaging in the games that seemed appropriate, with the innocent belief that someone was always there behind me. This continued through my primary education, when we went out as a family and discovered the utility of mobile phones and electronic devices. It was never an issue during dinners or outings with friends. It felt like a much-needed break from the hard work, an intermittent disconnection opened to the world.

At school, things went well enough. They even brought me my sandwich when I forgot it. I would quietly hide my phone in my bag. My parents would say, “just in case”. Nothing ever happened, I believe. I remember a few occasions when my teachers got a reprimand. What could they possibly know that my parents did not? It wasn’t too bad; they were put in their place. It was clear they had it in for me. I also remember some class projects—cardboard, cork balls painted to resemble planets… They seemed trivial, but we weren’t going to hand in a shoddy piece of work. Besides, many of my classmates had theirs done at home. I wasn’t going to be any different. As for my grades, I’ve mentioned it, they clearly had it for me.

At the Student Support Services, they were driving me up the wall. My mother always said that the major issue was that they did not truly know their children. They began searching for some disorder, something that might be affecting me. They claimed I was exceptionally intelligent. Perhaps it was the teachers who had the disorder. Mum would tell her friends how they had inconvenienced me, that they didn’t know how to handle me, that my academic performance was suffering, that what a rubbish job they did and that they didn’t deserve their pay with so many months of vacation.

The transition to secondary school was no better, I didn’t really catch much of it. My parents received notifications and absences, and I had to learn how to skive off. I was no longer a child; I had to learn from that. I soon realised that it wasn’t necessary to do much—just get a telling off occasionally and make some false moves to keep my phone. Nothing more. Forgetfulness was quite sudden; it’s easy to find someone to blame. The form tutor called home frequently until she stopped. My mother wasn’t keen on answering the calls. My father didn’t have a clue about anything. I often heard “what do they think they are?” They even threatened to expel me several times. My mother must have put them in their place; she told them she would drop me off at the door and see what they would do, that it was always the same, and that something similar had happened with my brother. They don’t motivate us, they don’t know how to do their job, always making us learn useless things. All these trivialities are useless to me as I fundamentally want to do nothing.

The meetings with the school psychologists were a joke. They insisted on assigning me tasks and having my mother assign me tasks as well. I had to make my bed, basic duties at home, homework, stick to a schedule… and they were obsessed with keeping me away from my phone and video games. They claimed I slept too little. And as for reading, that’s almost laughable: I already know how to read! My parents aren’t bad people. When I was taken my phone away at school, they went there a few hours later to get it back. I don’t know how they dare take something that is not theirs.

It was like being in prison; they are always monitoring you. The same thing happened with my cousins. Any of my friends will tell you, it’s always the same here. Then there’s the paperwork. Fill out this, fill out that. I think my parents are fed up. I haven’t filled out any of those forms. What difference does it make? There will always be someone. When I enrolled in college courses, it was the same—calls from the school to ensure I didn’t miss the deadline. Then my mother went and they had to do it for me. They must think anyone can fill out a form online. As if this were discovering tricks to progress in a video game. Thus, I spend a lot of time watching my favourite YouTubers to get the hang of all the tricks.

Yes, a lot of paperwork, but my parents say if anything happens to me, they’re in for it.

We always face deadlines, paperwork, entries, and payments the same way. My cousin is at university, and someone does it for him as well. He’s not going to do it himself. It’s my right and his. The other day he told me he went with his parents to put a teacher in line. Who does he think he is? Seriously, why should I worry about all that? I have better things to do. And my idiot form tutor telling me it’ll all be over sooner or later and that one day I’ll have to do it myself when I’ve never done it. The other day I overheard a bit. My mother was telling the form tutor that she didn’t know what to do with me. It doesn’t matter; they will do it for me, that’s what they are paid for.

Source: educational EVIDENCE

Rights: Creative Commons