The education system in Krypton differed from those in the western world. One, it started with Primary 1, not kindergarten. Two, a school year began on January 2 and ended in mid-November. Each year had two semesters, followed by four weeks and six weeks of school vacations respectively. Each semester was further divided into two terms, with a week of school vacation in-between. A student is required to complete a minimum of four years of secondary education in order to graduate with an equivalent of a GED. Failure to receive a passing grade in English and in the aggregate for the remaining subjects would result in a repeat of that year. Secondary 2 was a streaming year. If the student failed that year, he would be placed in a 3-year Normal stream instead the 2-year Express stream. Why did I say "he"? Because I was in an all-boys school from primary through secondary education.
Stigmatizing failure was – and probably still is – a thing. A score below 50% was recorded in red ink; otherwise, it was recorded in blue ink. Despite the ostentatious purpose of helping the student, red-ink scores – like scarlet letters – served to shame. The greater the number of scarlet letters, the greater the shame. Shame in the eyes – and especially from the mouths and countenances – of classmates, schoolteachers, family, relatives and anyone that was informed about it.
1986 was the year when I had the most number of scarlet letters. I was at Secondary 2, and a slacker that did not put in much effort to study or do school projects. I didn't believe the syllabus was tough, but it was overwhelming. My academic load consists of at least eight subjects: English, Math, Science, 2nd Language, Literature, History, Geography, Art and Wood/Metal Craft. During the mid-year exams, I failed English, 2nd Language, Literature and Geography. My Science class had a school project that I did not turn in, but I did well enough in the mid-year to pass the subject on aggregate.
I had private tutoring for 2nd Language since Primary 1. It wasn't my weakest subject back then, but my parents – being conditioned by the "kiasu" culture – didn't want to lose face. They decided – whether I liked it or not – that I was to receive private tutoring for 2nd Language. My first tutor was my paternal Grandma, who I tutored me for a year-and-a-half until she passed away. After that, I had a revolving door of tutors that were motivated by money than by love for student(s). Most of them quitted on me because they no longer want to work with a slacker. At the start of Secondary 2, my 2nd Language tutor was a short, bespectacled, rotund lady with a DD chest.
The last time I failed 2nd Language during the mid-year exams was Primary 4. I failed the subject one more time during Primary 6 year-end exam, but it didn't count as it was merely a preparatory to the Primary School Leaving Examination (PSLE – think elementary school version of a GED) that was held a month later. A student must pass the PSLE – English and combined aggregate of the other subjects - to be promoted to Secondary school. I got a "B" in 2nd Language during PSLE, and firmly believed it was in spite of private tutoring and not because of it.
In Secondary education, the number of subjects increased from five to nine. With two hours of tutoring twice a week in addition to the regular school hours five times a week, there was a lot of homework between them. Thanks to my shoddy mid-year performance in Secondary 2, they decided to add another private tutor for English and Science. Since I failed 2nd Language, Ms. DD had to go. In her place was a younger, much slimmer, barely flat-chested pretty face with a perky voice and Stink Breath. Twice a week of tutoring increased to four times a week. With school taking up half a day, and private tuition taking up half of the remaining half, it left me with barely a quarter of a day on four of the five days plus two weekend days to finish nine subjects' worth of school homework and two sets of private tutoring homework. I hardly had any time to study. When tests and exams came along, I was lucky to be able to squeeze in some time.
Comic books was a budding hobby in Secondary 1 thanks to a classmate. While I did not purchase as much as he had, I loved reading them all the same. I often stopped by a newsstand to get my weekly fix. My favorite superheroes were from comic books. I often daydreamed that I was those heroes day and night. But it didn't stop there. Comic books also provided my favorite/ideal women, whom I fantasized about just as much (if not more). Those fantasies also included attractive schoolteachers as well the tutor Ms. DD. The increase workload from school and tutoring after mid-year of Secondary 2 led to greater dependence on comic books and fantasies as an escape. A great escape that I dare say I did not regret doing, even though it consumed much of my time at the expense of studying. It could have been worse: I could have done narcotics instead. Instead, comic books were the substitute for hard drugs.
There wasn't really anything new about my parents seeing my report card this time around. It was like an "out-of-body" experience. Meaning that I wished I was anywhere else but present in front of them, receiving their looks of disapproval and disappointment. The end-of-year results were especially heartbreaking... for them. I passed English but failed five subjects, and overall aggregate was 49.1%. Dad pointed out that Science was among the failed subjects despite having private tutoring for it. That tutor was let go. However, Ms. Stink Breath stayed even though I failed 2nd Language. As a tutor, she was no better (or worse) than Ms. DD. Tutor or no tutor, it would not have affected my score.
My biggest fear leading up to the day I received the results was how my parents would react. I was disappointed but also knew that it wasn't the end of the world. The fear of being in the Normal stream came and left quickly. Many classmates would be joining me. We would be in the same class so I wasn't alone. Mom’s anger was evident when she scolded me for spending time reading comic books instead of studying. Dad said I should not read comic books anymore until my results improved. That was never followed through. A week later, I purchased a comic book.
Dad decided to go to school and negotiate with the principal to keep me in the Express stream. The last and only other time my parents accompanied me to school was to see me receive a commendation for being top in class for academic achievement. That was in Primary 2 – six years ago. This time around was far from that. It was such a shame. I didn’t want to talk to anybody. When a few of my classmates came up to ask what was going on (why my parents were in school), I wouldn’t look at them. The principal was busy. He told us so when we met him as he came out of his office. So we sat outside the office and waited.
My class teacher saw us while we were waiting. Dad told her a cockamamie excuse that I wasn’t feeling well and thus didn’t do well in the exams. I was sure the teacher didn’t buy it, though she did ask me if I was feeling better and I played along. She told my dad that other teachers had informed her that I was a lazy student. After she left, Dad turned around and scolded me for being lazy. We then saw the principal’s senior assistant, who told us pointblank that I did fail and was rightfully placed in the Normal stream. Yes, Dad did try the same excuse on him. I agreed with the senior assistant's statement but was too much in shame to say anything. Personally, I wanted to believe the school's decision was best for me and the Normal stream would give me the necessary support to succeed.
The principal was still busy by the time school started. So I went to class while my parents continued waiting. I never found out what happened in the meeting between my parents and the principal. When I came home later that evening, they said nothing. I didn't ask, but I knew. They lost. Defeated. Beaten. I didn't realize how badly they took it until a few years later. When friends and relatives mentioned my school in passing, my parents were quick to badmouth the principal and teachers. If it was true, they would have transfer me to another school. I didn’t appreciate those comments. In time, I modeled my attitude and conduct after their illustrious example: when I didn't get what I wanted, blame everyone else but myself.
Dad didn't like to lose or lose face. I didn't realize how much of a sore loser he was. Mom, being his accommodator, deferred to his attitude. They were also prideful and stubborn, which blinded them to the truth. They couldn't accept the fact that I wasn't their dream straight 'A's student. No matter how much slapping, caning, yelling, scolding, criticizing, nitpicking and private tutoring, I could only be as good as I wanted to be. They couldn't accept that my school was right and they were wrong. Instead of trying to better understand the school's decision better – and in the process better understand me – they blamed the school for their own insecurities. It didn't matter to them how I would have fared in the Express stream. I might have failed a year and repeat it, which ultimately led to the same outcome. They wanted me in the Express stream so that they wouldn't lose face. Not only would they appear to be good parents in the eyes of their peers, colleagues and relatives, but they would also retain some bragging rights about their son's "accomplishments", of which there was little to speak of to begin with.
Little did I realize how the experience changed the way my parents and I communicated. Our communication channel gradually ebbed to the point where I was mute to them. Within a year, I didn't speak to them unless spoken to first. I also didn't trust them as much as before, and relied on them less and less over the years. In fact, an event that occurred during my final year of school cemented the great divide between what I wanted and what my parents wanted for me. But that's another story.
The Normal stream was a blessing in disguise. My grades improved significantly. I also experienced growth in spiritual faith. I loved my school. They understood me better than my parents did and provided me the best opportunity for growth.
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