Pot Noodle, Nans, and Zebras; A Tale of Childhood Isolation
Make of this what you will.
I was listening to one of my favourite podcasts where one the potential (oh so middle class) concerns of this Corona Virus ‘lockdown’ will be a generation of children terribly damaged, or lazy, or some other such dull, intellectual and pessimistic conjecture. I personally cannot wait to see what this strange karma will produce - I love kids and adults and watching them transition from one to the other; their legacy is not really my business. I mean I’d rather your kid doesn’t turn out to be he next evil dictator, narcissist, burglar or Daily Mail reader, but I have to be honest - I never rule it out. Sorry about it. I’m sure Polpot’s Mum and Dad were lovely and he was a cute baby.
I think that as a collective - this generation of school children will have some interesting traits as a result of this. Or not. It’s just their childhood. And God bless and help the parents. I feel more concerned for you guys. And as I was musing on all of this I remembered.
I had 2 months off school when I was 8.
I had forgotten until the whole stay-at-home thing started up.
2 whole months in isolation.
Why?
Well I had Glandular Fever. I think we call it Epstein Barr or something now, but back then it was good old Glandular Fever. Which was a great descriptor because your glands get massive. And you get super tired. And you are not allowed near the other kids because you are super contagious. So I was literally not allowed to see my mates for 2 months or go to school or church or have visitors.
(It is also called the kissing disease because that is how it can be spread, a fact that I was teased about - “Ooooh who have you been kissing?” the adults thought they were hilarious. That was horrifying to me because, I don’t know why, and I was 8 and mortified that the adults were teasing me so…)
This 2 months completely changed my life.
Not really.
It didn’t.
I don’t really remember it.
I’m sure Momma Sue could fill in some of the details, but that’s not really the point - the point is, I remember 3 things only from that time.
1 - My friend’s Nan used to look after me on the days my Mum was working
That’s it - I remember one day, Nanny McFarlane was at my bedside asking if I was alright. That’s it. I vaguely remember where the bed was, which bedroom I was in and Nanny McF being there. The end.
2 - The Pot Noodle incident
My Mum was not a buyer of Pot Noodles. For some reason I was obsessed with the idea of having a Chicken and Mushroom Pot Noodle and I begged and begged to be allowed one as I was sick and that was what I fancied to eat. She acquiesced. I was violently sick afterwards. I vomited long and hard and to this day I have never ever eaten another pot, cup or ramen noodle. Even just recounting that story I can smell the noodley steam in my olfactory memory and I feel queasy. Even in my poorest student moments I would rather have 2p beans on 5p toast than a Cup Noodle.
3 - Zooty the Zebra
I literally balk at how earnest I was back then. In my mind’s eye I can see myself sitting at the medium nest table in the old living room going “really girl?” This two months fell at the time everyone was learning joined-up or cursive writing. I was gutted - I was really looking forward to it. This is THE ONLY academic activity that I remember. My best guess is that worksheets were sent home for me to work on but I don’t remember anything besides that. My best guess also is that Momma Sue taught me how to write cursive because my handwriting is almost identical to hers and our signatures were exactly the same. Exactly. Our initials were the same, back in the days before I gave the middle finger to feminism and became my husband’s property and changed my name to his. Our signatures were identical. I copied hers - every last curve. I assume, because I DON’T REMEMBER.
Anyway - in order to practice all the letters of the alphabet and especially the elusive letter z, I concocted a story about Zooty the Zebra and I’m imagining that even 8-year-old-me knew that it was not my finest work because I’m presently triggered and I feel skin-crawlingly, gut-churningly embarrassed about a story I can’t even remember. Humans are weird.
Now, my Mum was a teacher back then. And I’m certain she would be able to fill you in on the nightmare of homeschooling her child, or not as I DON’T REMEMBER, and what she and my male-parent teacher also did to keep me up to speed on the primary education I was missing out on; but again, that’s not the point. I don’t remember a thing. Besides the things mentioned above. I also didn’t fall far behind - I still got into university and even got offered a place at medical school at one point, that I failed to occupy due to maths and clubs, and then went on to study Biology and Psychology along with all the other failed medics.
I don’t even remember giving my 2 months off school a second thought after all that.
I don’t remember
Being home schooled
Missing my friends
Watching TV
Being lonely
Being bored
Being sad
My Mum being around besides her generous concession to the Pot Noodle
My brother being around
My Dad being around
Being in the garden
Going for walks
Missing sports
Feeling sick, although I do remember being in bed, an activity I think about often still to this day. Day bedding and napping
Being told I would have to stay off school until I was no longer symptomatic or contagious
My Grandparents, Aunties or Uncles
Receiving or making phone calls and believe me, phone calls were an event in the 70s and 80s - so much so the phone had to be sequestered in the hall with a dedicated tiny phone table
Any detail about the rooms I was in besides the bed head being against the window
Going to the doctor
Returning to school
The doctor visiting to give me check ups
Being behind at school
Anyone giving a shit about my absence
Who my teacher was at that time
Remembering it or talking about it ever
Work coming home
Feeling ill apart from the Cup Noodle incident that is seared into my senses and maybe lumpy neck, but I don’t know if I’m remembering a generic symptom there
So take what you will from this missive. I’m simply telling you a story as I remember it, with a few unsubstantiated amateur opinions, or more importantly what I don’t remember. Of course we will have Facebook memories to re-traumatise us and our kids forever following the great Corona WTFIG. So there’s that.
2 months out of school at such a young age, through our adult lenses can seem like an enormous incident, a huge chunk of a short life, a deeply life changing event. I mean maybe it was and I’m the asshole I am today as a direct result of all that. And maybe the reason I love napping is because I have a lethargy hangover or muscle memory lingering in my physiology. I have no idea.
But my key memories and influences from all that were:
Cup Noodle projectile, Zooty the tragic Zebra and sweet Nanny McFarlane.
Zooty the Zebra throwing shade. Judging my sad story.