y school days were not the greatest days of my life. I didn't like school, and I thought it didn't like me. I was convinced my teachers saw me as little more than a troubled, defiant kid from a council estate who might at best get a job in Woolworths if she ditched the attitude, vermilion hair dye and Dr Martens. Hardly the most promising child where most of the pupils' fathers were vicars or police officers and their mums wafted in to parent-teacher meetings in a fug of Chanel No 5 and hairspray.
But there were silver linings. We Jews got an extra half hour to finish our homework during assemblies, I never had to sing , which I could hear through the wall, and which gave me the creeps. Better still, the asthma got me out of stinking lacrosse, and although the illustrations in our library copy of Michelangelo had fig-leaves over the rude bits, we found , which perked us all up. And not all of the teachers were Gorgons. Some were excellent, particularly the art, history and English teachers, and I loved those subjects. That’s what I wanted to do when I grew up. But instead I was forced to do science and geography. Horrid. I hated every minute of it, only just scraped through my public exams, got half an hour’s Latin detention for jumping down three steps into the garden, and rebelled. I left in a fury at 16 and went to art school, where I did, at last, spend some of the best days of my life.
Thanks Bro … Yea, school days are the most memorable days of our life, we can never forget the same. I was also very notorious but I really miss those days, those were the most beautiful days of my life …
Though each and everyday of my life is remarkable and memorable for me, but still there are some unforgettable memories which would always be at the back of my head i.e. My school days.
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School days were most definitely not my happiest. Even leaving aside my troubled family life, I pity my teenage self. You couldn’t pay me to relive it. The incessant worry about where I did or did not fit in, the feelings of isolation and the pathological belief that only those who had had sex were actually living are not things I miss particularly.
School days for me were like the rest of my life since, a mixture of the pleasurable and the torturous. The pleasurable parts are easy enough to identify – the commonality of being part of a group (my secondary school had only 400 pupils, my primary even fewer), the simple fun of being young, the imminence (if in fantasy only) of sex, advertised by the precocious girls of the fifth and sixth forms.