The View from the Long Grass
We were left to find our own way to the park. And, to be honest, they didn’t seem too concerned about whether we turned up or not. As such, I wasn’t sure why I bothered to show up for sports. But I still went. It’s just that I didn’t join in with the sports. Instead, I lay down in the long grass. From there, I scrutinised the other kids, who chose to take part in the games on the mown grass. And even then, back in junior school, I got the sense that there was something a bit sinister going on – that this insistence on organised games on the part of our teachers had some peculiar motives. I was the only runaway, long-grass boy in my class. There were a few runaway girls. We spent our time together, getting our first inkling of rebellion. At senior school, this pattern continued. There was a group of runaway boys. We told jokes and had conversations at the edges of the playing fields. Now though the teachers were a bit more concerned by our non-participation. As a punishm...