My Grade 1 teacher was the only adult who was nice to me at St Thomas Mores, my second primary school which I spent half of prep and half of grade 1 at. Her name was Mrs Warner. I was always late as my family only had one car which my dad took to work so my mum would have to walk me and the pram containing my baby sister up the hill to school each morning. It was a real struggle but Mrs Warner was always glad to see us and told the school that I was a good kid when they were all demonising me as a child of Satan. After I left St Thomas Mores I wrote Mrs Warner letters but that eventually fizzled out. I wish I could talk to her again. Tell her how my life has turned out and perhaps connect the dots of my past. I know 6-year-old me still lives on inside me, would like to see her again and continues to search for a kind figure like her amidst all the abuse, scapegoating, social exile and hate. She doesn’t know it is 2024 now and that the world has moved on. Continue reading “Reflecting on primary school” →