My bruising past
The police report lodged by Ms Claudia Kwan after her 3-year-old daughter came back from pre-school with a bruise and swelling on her right ear brought a smile to my face. Not a smile of sadism but of fond remembrance. It brought back memories of an era when coming home from school with bruised ears or knuckles was no big deal, much less worthy of a police report. Those were the days when teachers doubled as Gestapo thugs to dish out dire punishment to disobedient students. Female teachers were particularly vicious - their claw-like nails left many a ear lobe with indelible pinch marks while the more inventive among them transformed wooden rulers into knuckle-dusters to rap (what else?) knuckles.
Not to be outdone, male teachers lined errant students against the wall and machine-gunned them with rapid-fire slaps. For talking in class, I found myself facing such a firing squad one fateful day. There were five of us and the four wimps next to me were already in floods and tears when the first “shot” rang out. From the corner of my eye, I could see their heads jerk from the impact of his slaps. But I told myself I would never let a teardrop fall even if my head rolls. Shocked at my dry-eyed resistance, the embarrassed executioner whipped in two more slaps in a desperate bid to coax some fluid out of my tear glands. Just then, the public address system came to my rescue - not that I needed it. “Will Mr XXX come to the principal’s office! Will Mr XXX come to the principal’s office!” So off he trudged, with his tail between his legs.
When I came home with teacher’s finger marks plastered across face, my parents barely offered me a glance. They had our next meal to worry about. Since my hadn’t gone missing, what’s the big deal? Fast-forward to the present when a child’s bruised ear is enough to trigger Facebook postings, a police report and over-the-top parental hysteria, and you get the distinct feeling that you’re living in a different age. Different yes, but better? You be the judge.