Grey College’s class of ’89 and me

Right now I am reading Garth King’s book on Hansie Cronje, and it is proving to be a painful trip down memory lane. Hansie was one of my favorite head boys. So was his brother Frans. I also have fond memories of Mr Volsteedt, the current principal, but when I was in high school he only stood in (as Vice Principal) when Doctor Heyns went on leave or had to attend to some or other engagement.

I saw Mr Volsteedt not long ago (October 2006 I think). I taught for 6 months at Brebner High School (where my mother had been Head Girl once upon a time), and he was invited to talk and motivate the matrics ahead of their exams. He and Mr Cassar spoke memorably. On his way out of the hall Volsteedt glanced at me, and I at him, there was a small nod between us, and I felt that sting again.

My high school years at Grey are amongst the most awful of my life. I’m not sure whether there is any point in blaming anyone; I certainly can’t see how this extraordinary school and the extraordinary opportunities could be blamed for my personal malaise. On the other hand, it didn’t help. Perhaps I was beyond help. That said, my first 7 years at Grey are some of my happiest memories, and I still believe today that in those years I achieved the greatest levels of balance I have ever achieved: academically, physically, socially, spiritually, personally and all the rest.

So what happened in high school? As an adult it is not easy to drift back to those days. I find when I read King’s book some memories are reluctantly dislodged, like sandsharks off the sandy decks of a long forgotten shipwreck. But Grey, and Bloemfontein, and the Free State, run deep in my bones and in my blood. I try to think back to those years when Hansie was head boy, and Frans, and uncharacteristically I can remember almost nothing. Many friends have commented on my ability to remember the slightest and most intricate details, not only in shared experiences but also from movies and music.

The thing is my memories of Grey are mostly bad, and as I say, I remember Hansie and Frans being part of the good memories. Unfortunately bad memories (in my mind anyway) have a habit of wiping out collateral memories, which is why when I’ve broken up with someone it has always been such an incredible loss to me – because as a result of the effort to put the painful residues behind me they take with them all my memories of that period, of that chapter of my life, good and bad. And so in a real sense it is like having part of one’s life erased. This is painful, and leads one first to mourn lost and wasted time, and then to fear losing even more – neither of which helps one to initially enjoy and move into new experiences.

If I have to go back, I suppose I can see how it may have been difficult for any youngster to have to go through what I was fated to go through. For starters, I had an external brace fitted immediately after I started high school, which effectively changed me from an outgoing, happy, extroverted youngster into virtually the opposite. I did not withdraw by choice, in fact I fought against the ‘geeky kid with a brace’ mockery and discrimination. It was also a stereotype that didn’t quite fit, since I was one of fastest athletes in the class, and definitely the fastest swimmer. I was strong and sporty and talented. But of course they persisted with the stereotype and I think it was in Std 8 that I realized the extent to which I had allowed just the ‘gagging’ of the braces to defeat me. I began to notice that entire days would go by without me saying a single word, and this part is interesting, without me even being required to say anything. It was during this period that I turned to writing. I had a lot to say, and the jeering crowd didn’t seem quite the right audience at the time.

So there was the external brace and the mouthplate, which I wore for 5 years, and often 23 hours a day with – it turns out – not that great a result. 18 years later and I still have dreams that I have misplaced my braces, or should be wearing them. Earlier this week I visited the dentist and he confirmed that I presented one of the most difficult cases (deep overbite, small mouth cavity) he’d ever seen. He suggested I use a mouthplate. It was easy, as an adult, to say to him: “I’m prepared to err on the side of negligence after wearing one of those things for 7 years. I’m done, and I’m prepared to enjoy living with the consequences.”

I agonized for a long time that I didn’t, as a teenager, stand up to my parents and the orthodontist after a certain minimal period – perhaps 2 years, and say, enough is enough. Because it seemed, at the time, like an endurance contest. That once they came off I could get my life back, going to dances, being seen as a ‘man’ amongst young men…except of course that didn’t happen, not for a long time.

So the braces were a big part of it. I think another big part of it was the disintegration of the family, which gathered speed as soon as I started High School. It was the same year that my brother was sent away to Saint Andrews Grahamstown, and my other best friend, Francois Muller, stayed behind a year (he was a year younger than everyone else, but then again, so was I). I think this double blow was harder to handle especially because my appearance had been altered. So it was a lonely and scary start to High School. I was still a popular boy initially. I remember being voted class captain early on. And in that year I went to Menlo Park for a big athletics meet, and won many of my swimming races. I was the number one swimmer in the Free State at that stage.

Today when I read about the Cronje’s achievements in sport it reminds me not so much of what I achieved, but what I didn’t achieve. In primary school I earned provincial colors in three sports. In high school, zero. Half colors in swimming, big whoop. I made up for it to some extent during university, by taking on triathlon, and making it to 6th in South Africa in my age group. I still have a strong need to prove something – in cycling (provincial colors would be good), triathlon (again) and Ironman (World Champs) and then I might be able to retire with a good conscience.

I played mostly 3rd team hockey in High School, competed in InterHigh Athletics and Swimming, dabbled a bit in 2nd team hockey for a bit, but that also meant playing with classmates that hated me and made fun of me, and did I really want to be passing them the ball and being in the team with them? The class of ’89 were quite a special class. Our teachers said we were an unusually smart bunch. As it turned out, I don’t believe we were that smart at all. Somehow the ethos of the class was to be as spiteful as possible, to sabotage one another, to fingerpoint and outwit one another but not always in a very nice way. It wasn’t collaborative or supportive or loyal. It was an arrogant show of who was best, and an especially energetic daily routine of attacking one another with jibes, insults, threats and all the rest. Obviously, being in the position I was in, I experienced the full force of this. But even today, very few guys in our class choose to go back to reunions because very few of us care to have anything to do with what turned out to be a bunch of smart alecks and assholes. I have mixed emotions when someone offers me the Grey handshake, because I remember the prolonged nastiness that culminated in the class of ’89. And in that sense, the English class of ’89 was special. I heard that the kids older and younger weren’t the same, it was just us who targeted each other in order to boost individual egos. I think a large number of these kids came out of divorced homes and so had a lot of anger and spite and aggression to vent, which they did. I think they managed to get it all out of their system during High School. I’m unaware that anyone has achieved much since though.

The class of ’89 did produce Naka Drodske – I had Geography class with him. One year behind was Nicky Boje (a good buddy of my once stalwart buddy, Francois Muller), and a bit further back was Ryk. One and two and three years ahead were the likes of Hansie, Ruben Kruger, Pieter Muller, and then as registered teachers we had Helgaard Muller and the current coach of Free State cricket, Corrie van Zyl – what a great guy.

I think the biggest mistake I made was to take a break from swimming during my first year in High School. Swimming had given my life structure, and discipline and not a little glory, and my decision to take a break at such a crucial time, created the opposite: uncertainty, boredom, chaos and exposure to a lot of unhappiness that I might have otherwise avoided. It was not as though I just hung up my towel and started playing tennis. I continued to swim, but not at the super-octane level that led to my win the previous year. I wanted to try something new, and any other time, it might have been a good choice, right then it was the worst choice. Two years later when I made my comeback, I was unlucky to start that comeback with tick-bite fever, unknowingly,and that really broke my spirit – you know, one’s personal, private battle. And ultimately, I never reached the same level in swimming again.

Then there are two other characteristics that made it difficult. One, I matured very very late. Even though I started school at age 5 and was a year younger than almost everyone else, I was still a long way behind in terms of adolescence, which made my exposure to my crotch scratching peers (who had nothing more illuminating to talk about than wanking and fucking) quite horrible. Even more horrible was the fact that I was a really sensitive artistic child. I think of the character Simon in the Lord of the Flies. He comes to a horrible end, when he runs through the twilight on the beach to warn his mates about something, and in their fear, they assegai him to death. But it was Simon who perceived a lot of things his peers didn’t, and that was me. I paid a heavy price for my perceptions, and still do. So at that time I turned inward, to writing, and counted down the days until the horror of high school was over.

I remember when Flash Venter rang the clock, which was a way for the matrics to say goodbye to Grey, I remember that moment clearly. I remember the class of ’89, almost all of ‘em crying. There was a handful who didn’t. I was one of them. I wanted to punch the sky. I wanted to guffaw with gladness. But I suppose I had reason to cry too. Despite the end of my long incarceration in high school, despite my readiness to celebrate my freedom…in the few days before my final matric exams my mother – after a long unhappy struggle with depression herself – committed suicide. I remember having an odd sense that those around me (teachers and pupils) suddenly felt they understood what I was going through. They suddenly understood, because my mother had died, and how she’d died, they realized maybe I wasn’t having such a cool time behind the scenes. This belated compassion – whatever you want to call it, and maybe I only imagined it after all – made me really angry, and made me want to get as far away from Grey, and Bloemfontein as I could. Because it made me think, if it takes the death of someone for others to realize to treat someone better, to value them, then there is very little original value in those people to start off with.

So that was my experience of Grey. Maybe it isn’t a school’s business or job to look after an individual student. When I taught at Brebner I noticed that it was obvious why some children were struggling. I also noticed that a teacher can win points from popular students, and the popular vote, by not taking a contrarian view, and by subtly endorsing some of their shenanigans, some of their bullying. I have no doubt that some of my teachers were voyeurs in my miserable slide. I also have no doubt that I was to some extent my own worst enemy. If someone does something and it bothers you, it’s often better not to reward that behaviour by showing that it bothers you. And I was never very good at that. Probably because prior to that I was a very happy child, and so didn’t need to pretend to be otherwise.

In any case, I learned a great deal during high school, about myself, about counterintuitive cruelty. If you wonder why I have a dark view of the world, and not much hope of our prospects, it’s because I’ve lived through it in one of the best environments, where it didn’t cost anyone to be nice to someone else, but the choice was made to do what was easiest and most convenient. Not only in Grey, also in the Air Force, and beyond…going into the world. The cross section of humanity unfortunately leaves a lot to be desired. We measure how civilized we are as a society by the extent to which we take care of the weak, and the poor. In other words, we aren’t yet civilized by a significant margin. I am a great deal stronger now – in terms of my understanding of how everything fits together (and my place in the puzzle), and in that, I draw hope and strength, not so much for others, but for me.