For Want of a Face

By Beryl Hand

This piece concludes my story about the hard times my mother gave me because of my awful ways: the deviated septum I'd been born with giving this parent of mine a plethora of dreadful anger and blame: all directed my way; which left me in serious doubt concerning my true abilities and real value in this world. I should mention additionally that the septum difficulty affecting my ability to translate thoughts into ordinary words; leaving me wondering greatly about my basic self-worth.

With these speech problems affecting my ability to make easy connecting contacts with other students in my classes, I decided to quickly re-invent myself as a very shy person: all to prevent me from making those speech errors that would brand me 'un idiot savant.' Which did work until I took the 11-plus exam in England: assessing me as gifted: leading me toward a career in teaching: though still faced with this mother of mine who'd hated me for my strange ways and looks.

What does one do with a mother like this: other than write it out till common sense safely lands one; Canadian immigration being my escape route exit from this mother: allowing me a chance to seek the minor surgery needed to resolve all my problems:

I can now speak words with the rest of this chatty world. Thanks so much for reading this.

Beryl Hand

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781499079241

Book preview

Mother%20And%20Child.JPG

Hooded Mother & Child

Prose

For Want of a Face

I was the first born at a difficult time in this woman’s life, and others around her as well!

My mother had little time for me, peering hard my way, figuring I wasn’t the child she’d desired: convinced I’d fail to pass for normal; though never quite stating her thoughts this way: simply letting me know, if I were to try harder, I’d look and sound better. From my earliest days, I never heard a kind word coming my way; growing up believing I was ‘too ugly for words;’ therefore, an absolute loser.

At the age of three and a half, I’d watched my baby sister being celebrated as the perfect little newborn, filled with beauty and promise! A born listener, I had grown up learning the meaning of many words, though remained unwilling to share ideas aloud, aware that my septum problems would block any normal speech from leaving my mouth: fast forcing bright kiddy me toward a simple approach that would give me an easier chance to co-exist alongside my schoolmates, forever searching to bring my language skills closer to others around me. Though trying to copy what they did so easily and so well, yet could cause me serious problems: my only real answer in life coming from avoiding any talk, since this birth injury left me wondering how exactly I was going to exist in this world, designed specifically for ordinary people.

I’d learned it was easier to remain silent, rather than waste time making silly mistakes in plain word-speak; my thoughts fast flooding into written form: given that speaking was not high on my activity list! For me and my world, explaining the meaning of a deviated septum was enough to fill me with worried frustration. This amounting in part to feeling forced to face such a useless situation, something that had already ruined far too many of my busy young years.

I did fine at school with my ‘silent’ lifestyle ways; eventually sitting the eleven plus IQ test that ranked me gifted. Having learned a simple trick would make it easier to feign shyness rather than risk those count-down minutes telling curious friends about my mouth breathing habit; aware that I would likely be lining myself up for yet another failure.

My sweet Dad always knew I was a bright kid. These tests resulted in my attending the Wirral Grammar School for Girls; where I learned endless things, including the basics of writing and how, putting words together with careful thought, could create stories. All this effort led me toward further teacher’s college and university studies, after which I wrote papers heading me toward a master’s degree.

I was always aware that my breathing lifestyle made it virtually impossible for me to speak with the ease of other people; invariably forced to face up to this major difference between me and my classmates. Everyone viewing me as ‘strangely different’ was hurtful for me, as I could not face the struggle to explain these things without risking the chance of failing basic communication skills, leaving me with the awful problem of appearing like some incapable idiot who didn’t know the very basics of schooling!

I realised that my mother had messed up my life big time by simply blaming me harshly for my breathing style. Should I keep thanking her for those things she’d failed to give me! Pain runs deep!

Life moved on for me: an un-mothered child. I knew deep down I had started off unwanted, though I had no doubts about this father of mine. How to explain the big difference between these two parents? I always knew my father loved and valued me, showing this in his every word and his happy laughter.

However, this mother of mine continued to treat me as worthless; her attitude showing up in all the reasons she found to cast non-stop blame my way. This changed only as I grew older and stronger, finding those things I could do; and ways in which I could be valued.

I moved on through my grammar school days: preparing for O and A level exams that were as perfect as the hours spent playing lacrosse games on the beautiful fields that bordered our school. I was growing taller and stronger, thanks to the fine school dinners and the extra daily loaves I would buy to quell my starving hunger: always ready for food and growing so quickly!

And now, with school days over, I moved toward making the next big decision.

Was it to be university or college? Such major changes were going to transform my life! I sat down with my father to plan events over the next few years.

Well, if you were to attend college, say teachers’ college, you’d develop the skills and prospects that would lead toward a later job: things sound really good: a promising start! Dad said. I understood this well, having heard him describe the struggles his own family had faced, given that he, the youngest of three boys, was expected to study hard for the work involved in accountancy, reminding him of the early challenges he’d faced; knowing a few details about Dad’s young history helped me sort out my own life. For sure, he was the wisest person in my world. I trusted him so deeply!

So back I went to tell my head mistress of the decision I’d made; accepting this as reasonable, she took a few minutes before suggesting I apply to do my teaching in South London, where Avery Hill College of Education would be the ideal location for me; and so on I moved with my life, coping still with my un-mothered memories, though on my way to young adulthood, learning through practice all those basic skills that could make teaching the most excitingly generous experience either to give or receive.

On the way to begin my teaching studies, I had followed Dad’s advice the day we’d sat down together to consider the suggestion my headmistress had made, which prompted Dad to reflect on his own feelings when he was facing serious challenges as he began his own studies in accountancy. Remembering some of his words helped me as I dealt with my own worries; preparing to begin my studies in teaching.

Now, neatly armed with grammar school reports and O and A results with papers written in Latin, English, French, et al. I was finally on my way to face the world: though sensing I was treading a lonely pathway: comparing myself to ‘a lost shadow’ drifting across the planet; knowing so much, yet feeling somewhat unready to stand up for myself, alone in life: having this weird sense of being caught on an unknown route; a strange path carrying me toward a wherever approach: finding what I’d neither expected nor planned: searching hard for where about this all lay.

Dad was the one parent I deeply trusted and loved: this beloved father always showing how much he truly valued me, listening happily as I struggled to shape my words to form a response; sharing my experiences in ways I’d otherwise never have had the guts to try. He rarely contradicted me or told me I was wrong or couldn’t do certain things.

Whereas my mother was totally different, giving me all her anger and blame for my mouth breathing ways: based simply on my birth injury, causing such long-term struggles. How can a deviated septum cause such mayhem in life? Having been advised nothing could be done till I was fully grown: that is a hell of a long time to wait for the chance to speak like ordinary people do all the time! This experience had truly messed up my life in so many dreadful ways; leaving me always distanced from others. My inability to ‘speak’ transforming me emotionally into a ‘nobody’. Being a bright person, I’d quickly figured that feigning shyness would be the easiest way to avoid feeling obliged to ‘speak’ like the rest of the world: and thus always failing in the eyes of others!

I’d do anything to escape the embarrassment of failing to act like other kids who shared my classes: having to be seen as ‘so different’ was