There's no doubt that when I was fifteen (and probably to this day) I was more outspoken than most. Nevertheless, in retrospect I have to say that I very much doubt that a boy at my school, of equal intellectual ability and enthusiasm, would have been told to clam the hell up in the classroom by all relevant authorities. No. He would probably have been encouraged to be a leader.
I also find the spectacle of Mr. K pooh-poohing meditation and trying to prise the secret out of my mantra out of me most amusing. He exhibits one classic emotional-abuser trait: he couldn't stand it that I was capable of keeping a secret from him.
The most troubling aspect of this entry is the sado-masochistic parent selection fantasy. This mental dilemma (being forced to chose between my parents) bespeaks a tremendous amount of sublimated hostility. It's startling to me how evident it is to me now, and how completely unaware I was of it at the time (although I was well aware that the scenario was perverse).
And it's stunning that I felt I had to choose between Art and Love (which was another subtext of the parental selection scenario, in that ~ at the time ~ I thought my father was the better artist, but that I loved, and liked, my mother more). I couldn't imagine that it was possible to have both ~ although of course that's precisely what my parents were meant to be the prime example of. But somehow I got the message that that was not for me.
Gee, I'm starting to feel that I'm a total paragon of mental health compared to that poor kid! Let me just say: progress has definitely been made.
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