I don’t know how I got convinced to join and start this, but it happened anyway.
The years had gone by and we were in the fourth grade of primary school. Christopher, Abraham, and I had developed a habit of skipping school. It all started the day we met this new classmate, Nathan, who was older than us.
Fridays were always half days. A new detergent paste advert had just been broadcasted by the national broadcast, and it had touched every kid’s heart. The advert showed large ants washing clothes while singing a song about the detergent paste in a microphone. We longed to have our own large ants so we could cage them up and take care of them.
While exiting the schoolyard, Nathan said he knew a hill in the bush, a few meters away from school, where those large ants resided. He said they always came outside at the exact time we entered class in the morning. For us to hunt them down, we’d just need to skip school for a week or two.
I asked Nathan what we’d tell our parents when we got home. They always inspected our books to see what we had learned.
“I have a plan,” he said. “What if we told our parents that we didn’t learn today, and that we wouldn’t learn the coming week because our teacher is very sick, and we all agreed to the plan the whole week?”
That’s how we skipped school for a week. We went to the hill every day, waiting for the ants to come out, but nothing happened. But we never gave up, because Nathan made us believe.
Then came another week. I tried to convince Mom with the same excuse.
“No,” she said. “I’m joining you. I’d like to have a word with the principal. Can’t he find a substitute to replace your ill teacher?”
My heart skipped a beat. I had to come up with something, because things would turn out very bad for all of us if she found out what we’d been up to. So I said, “My leg is itching. I’m not going to be able to walk today.”
“That’s fine,” she replied, and I felt relieved. I thought I won the race, not knowing I had lost it already.
An hour or two later, my Mom said, “Benjamin? Could you escort me to one of your friend’s house? I want her to help me sort out something.”
Without thinking, the younger me agree, and we headed off on a different road from the one I always used to going to school. To my surprise, Mom and I were at the school entrance within fifteen minutes. I looked at the gate. Then I slowed down. Mom kept walking.
We headed straight for the principal’s office. Mom knocked at the door.
“Come in,” the principal said.
He invited us to sit down on one of the chairs before his desk. Mom explained my absence as well as that of the teacher. I stood there beside her and listened.
There was a pause. The principal looked at me. And he looked at her. “What happened here?” he asked. He asked me to tell him the whole story. I was trapped. I had no other option than to talk. With a soft voice I tried to justify what happened regarding the sick teacher. He kept asking me questions, but I did not know how to answer them.
The room was quite small, and I looked up at my mom. She stared at me and said nothing. It was clear she would not help me out this time.
The moment that changed everything came a few weeks later. It was Thursday and our class teacher stepped into the classroom and said, “Tomorrow we are having an assessment, study for it.”
She didn’t offer any further instructions.
I had no clue how or what to study. But I didn’t want to let my mother down. So I read everything on the first three pages of my science notebook. I whispered the words as I read along just to remember them better. It felt right, but I was more focused on the sound and speed of my voice rather than the meaning of the words. By the time I finished, I was tired and overwhelmed. I fell asleep knowing I had done my part.
However, the next day, something felt off. I read the first question on the desk. I had read those same words the night before, but no matter how often I read the question, I just didn’t understand.
I felt frozen and overwhelmed from all of the pressure I had put on myself. I began counting the wooden beams supporting the ceiling, one by one, then I counted them in groups of three. I had developed this to calm myself down when I felt lost during test.
“Look! He’s counting the beams again,” someone said. I tried to disregard it, but the comment stung more than I expected. Nevertheless, I kept looking up, following the lines of the beams again and again.
I dug my nails into the palms of my hands to keep my cool. There was only the sound of writing in the room. I remained there, hanging, between paper and roof.
I was sure that I had failed the test, but when we got our results a few days later, mine said “Science? 80%” in red ink. I glanced at the paper again. I was not expecting that. That moment stayed with me.
After this, I began to observe the study methods of other students. The ones who always did best didn’t do complete readings like I did. They summarized, condensed larger pieces down to their main ideas. They tested each other with questions.
I began to do the same. I stopped reading complete texts and began to pull out main ideas instead. I rewrote my notes in my own words. I would then cover my notes and try to restate the topic from memory.
Soon, I started to improve. My grades improved, and I began comprehending content rather than memorizing it. That change also showed up in my everyday life.
Little by little, my mom didn’t have to do as much for me.
As I got older, I began seeing my mother differently. I noticed how hard she worked. How she got up early to make sure I had something to eat before I went to school. I noticed the long distances she walked just to attend school meetings.
I started helping around the house to give my mom a little break.
Despite the incident in the principal’s office being in the past, I still remember it vividly. People ask me why I take school seriously, or what made me a changed person in a good way. I tell them the truth, but I leave out the fact that my mom drove me to school that day.
That day changed something in me. I understood responsibility differently. I understood effort differently.
