The Story of Illegally Enrolling in Elementary School

In the alley next to our house where many students passed by boys carried folded wrapping cloths slung over one shoulder, girls carried neatly folded wrapping cloths, and middle school and high school students with book bags passed by. As the children rushed home after classes, there was the sound of lunchboxes and chopsticks colliding at their waists. On the day report cards were issued, idle young men from the neighborhood guarded the street, trying to catch the children's attention and asking to see their report cards. Some children willingly showed their grades, but most blushed and ran away when approached. The stern young men would scold and reprimand them after glancing at the report cards.

 

Watching those kids going to school, I didn't envy them. My cousin, Hyeong-yong who lived in the same house, Hae-jin from the house behind ours, and Jin-seong from the neighbor's house and I, spent our days exploring mountains and fields, shooting birds with slingshots. The school playground was just a nearby place we could visit if we felt like it.

 

However, one early spring day when I was barely six years old, Hae-jin proudly announced that he would soon be starting school. Upon hearing this, Hyeong-yong and Jin-seong also bragged about going to school. Since I hadn't heard such news at home, I went back and scolded my mother, who explained that I could go to school next year since I was a bit too young. I protested, saying, "No, if everyone goes to school, who will I play with? It's unfair that I'm younger than the kids I used to play with. This doesn't make sense." So, I pleaded with my mother to let me go to school. Late that evening, my father, who had returned after drinking, summoned me and, sitting me down, explained the reason why I couldn't start school that year. Despite being scared in front of my always frightening father, I couldn't put up a fight this time.

 

The next day, after my father went to work, I followed my mother around, pleading to send me to school. After a few beatings, I decided to go on a hunger strike. Sitting on the lower part of the Singer Sewing Machine, our family's first property, I refused to eat and cried all day. Sometimes, I would turn the wheel of the machine, saying, "Send me to school. It's simple for Hyeong-yong, Hae-jin, and Jin-seong." Initially, my mother tried to comfort me, saying, "Come out of there. Eat your meal..." But later, she seemed tired and stopped responding.

 

Late that night, my father, who returned after drinking, summoned me and made a promise. "If you go to school, you must be the top student." "Yes." "If you go to school, you must be the class president." "Yes."

 

My father seemed to imply that I should study hard to enjoy wealth and honor in the future. At that time, it didn't matter, as long as I could start school. Although I essentially entered school illegally due to my father's plea, some bribery might have taken place during the process.

 

When the school started, my older sister, who was a middle school student at the time, sometimes wet my hair as she pleased, combed it neatly, and tied it with a red butterfly bowtie she found somewhere. However, since I was always a bit away from home, if my sister didn't see me, I would mess up my hair with my fingers and quickly pull off the bowtie, putting it in my pocket. Therefore, friends from elementary school probably never saw my neatly combed hair or the butterfly bowtie.

 

Although my physique was weaker than my friends, and my hearing was still bad due to chronic otitis media, my grades were barely average because I couldn't properly listen to the teacher during class. Spelling was always close to zero. Moreover, I struggled as a class leader, taking turns with others to lead the class. The power of leadership was futile, considering the timid and frail nature of the rotating class leaders.

 

Several years later, my hearing had improved enough to understand vaguely, and I started to perform well academically, often ranking first in the class when exams were held. My parents were proud, especially my mother, who would boast to guests, pointing to the Singer Sewing Machine, "He's sitting there. He begged to go to school and was sent a year earlier, and now he studies so well." Being the top student in a rural school wasn't much of an achievement. I felt embarrassed that my academic journey started with a sewing machine, but it seemed my parents were proud of the promised success and glory that never materialized. I wonder what my childhood friends are doing now. I haven't seen them for over half a century. As for the Singer Sewing Machine, once cherished by my mother as the first property, I wonder where it is now.

 

(November 25, 2014)