hour.
The second incident is more vivid. The father of a student in my class knocked on the door and was let in by the teacher. The students rose in a sign of respect as we were taught to do, and the teacher greeted the father, who asked about a black-and-blue mark on his son’s forehead in what, at least in the eyes of the teacher, was a threatening manner. At this point the teacher, a diminutive person not known for his courage, raced out the door and slammed open the door to the classroom next to ours. Out came another teacher, a bulky, burly man, who rescued our teacher from the irate parent. Nothing came of it, but the whole town knew what had happened and that teacher was marked for life as not too brave.
So I got to middle school; remember, I am ten years old, when all the other boys are eleven. Middle school provided two different venues: Media and Avviamento. The kids who expected to go on to high school or liceo attended Scuola Media, while the kids who, because of financial or family reasons, would not go on to high school but would instead look for a job attended Avviamento, which was more like a trade school. There was a lot of class stigma back then, and going to Avviamento was one such stigma. The up-and-coming middle class wanted their children to succeed and this required attending Media. I went to Scuola Media.
Middle school consisted of a three-year program, but unlike elementary school here we were taught by several teachers, and uniforms were mostly out. The classroom system worked like this: the kids remained in the same classroom and the professors came to us, which quite honestly in my mind works better than the system here in the U.S., with kids constantly changing class. I said earlier that I muddled through my middle years and sure enough, that is what happened. I did well my first year; the second year I had to go to summer school to make up a couple of subjects, but eventually I went on to the last year, where I actually failed. I had to go back the following year to attend and pass the last grade of middle school.
Sometimes I wonder how I survived this stage. To say that my parents (really more my mother) were disappointed would be the biggest understatement of the millennium. And of course punishment meant that my mother would try to hit me; fortunately I was a lot faster than her and I could always escape next door to my grandmother, who would protect me! What happened to that brilliant student who blazed thru elementary school? Lack of focus, not working hard enough because I had always learned so quickly, girls and soccer; in other words, normal growing pains. Plus, I happened to be in the last class to be required to learn Latin. I hated Latin as much then as I am grateful now for having been exposed to it!
I still vividly recall events from my middle school.
The professor of Italian was a stocky woman, local from our town, who was a real terror: I mean, nobody would breathe inside that classroom when she was teaching. As I mentioned earlier, we were tested in both written and oral form. One of my classmates was at the teacher’s desk, standing on the platform upon which the teacher’s desk was also positioned. He had a book open to the Iliad in front of him and was answering a question about Achilles. Except he got it all wrong. The next thing I know, he is lying on the ground. The teacher had hit him so hard with a slap to his face for not knowing the correct answer that he had fallen off the platform to the ground! Talk about intimidation.
I hated drawing class, primarily because I cannot draw anything. The professor was a knowledgeable fellow, intelligent but also very fiery. He always railed on the same topic: teachers were not paid enough and the custodians were paid more than teachers. He must have had a lot of mercy on me, because while he failed me the first time I had him, he was a lot kinder the second time around and somehow gave me the minimum grade I needed to go on.
Once in a while we had substitute teachers and we were never kind to them! Now, looking back, I say we were so cruel that we should have been put in jail. Especially revolting was one day when our substitute was a fellow who suffered from crossed eyes. Being the heartless and mindless kids we were, and him being too kind of a person, we abused him to a degree I have never forgotten and for which I now am ashamed. Using the tube of our pens we would launch wet pieces of paper to fly like bullets around the room, and I am sure they hit him on several occasions, although he never said anything. Terrible.
Anyway, I made it out of middle school and decided to go on to study Ragioneria, accounting.Why? Easy; it was the only program that did not require a drawing class! I swear, that was the basis of my decision.
High school in Sicily is composed of a five- year program. I needed to travel daily to Siracusa by bus, about 20 kilometers away, because our town did not have any high schools at that time.
The first two years were very tough ones for me, for the same reasons I did not do well in middle school: lack of focus, not working very hard, diversions with girls and sports. A break-up with my girl was tough on me and I tried to get more involved in sports, even tried shot put: I stunk. I managed to get promoted to the second grade of high school, but unfortunately it all caught up with me the second year and I was bocciato, failed: I had to repeat that grade the following year. In 1966 I started my second time in the second year; finally I guess I had matured enough and I did much better at school from then on.
In Italy we have a saying: non tutto il male viene per nuocere, similar to the English, “Every cloud has a silver lining.” Certainly, being left back taught me valuable lessons. Of course I had to explain to my parents why I wasn’t progressing as I should, and that was not easy. My father tended to be away working so I saw little of him, but my mother was another story, tough and unforgiving. However, as I said earlier, several things happened in ‘66 that turned my schooling around: I was placed in a classroom with what would turn out to be some of my best friends, and I started attending school in the afternoon sessions, as there were not enough classes to house all students in the morning. Fact is that from October 1966 to August 1970 when I graduated, I was one of the more accomplished students with nary a single problem or hiccup.
I believe we had about 25 to 30 kids in the classroom, and unlike the U.S., this core group of kids remained together for the next fours years, which allowed us to bond in so many ways. They were the brothers and sisters I never had! I will never forget the words of one of our professors, who told us then that the friendships formed at school are so much stronger than any others simply because this bond is based on true friendship and no other selfish interest. Absolutely correct!
The school I attended, Istituto Tecnico A. Rizza of Siracusa, was effectively a regional high school with kids attending from any number of towns in the province of Siracusa. I was the only one from my hometown, and quite honestly I liked that I did not have anyone to report back about me, good or bad. I usually took the bus at 1 pm, arrived in Siracusa by 1:45, started school at 2:15 pm and finished between 6:30 and 7:30 pm. I often bought dinner at a tavola calda, fast food Italian style, or a panino at a local salumeria(deli) then caught the 8 pm bus, which got me back in town by 8:45 pm. I went home, changed, and went out to the bar to meet my friends. I stayed there most nights until 11 pm or midnight, when I would walk back home. The next day I would sleep late, get up, study and get ready to start all over again, six days a week, eight months a year.
School was tough! There was lots of homework and tough exams, both written and oral. The oral exam could happen at any time, usually when I was least prepared! We students played kind of a guessing game with the teacher as to when we might be called next in that particular subject. Actually, we did pretty well in guessing, as every teacher had a system they used and which, sooner or later, we would learn.
The relationship with my classmates evolved into a mutual support society, and not only for school. In the classroom it was understood that those of us who had the ability to solve problems faster or better were responsible for “sharing” that information with those mates who were not as capable. I and three classmates were acknowledged as a smart group that could help people in need. We sat in the last row and used all kinds of tricks to communicate information to our classmates when necessary, usually when we took written
