Page 55 - A Life - my Live - my path

School - my youth

As I didn't study much, my results weren't very good either.
We had a report card every month. The 1st year went pretty
well. In my 2nd year, on my 1st report card, I failed French.
The failing grade was followed by an (*). I went home and
showed it to my father. He looked at it and asked me to
explain the meaning of the asterisk. After a rather light
explanation, he said to me: "This mustn't happen again."
To be perfectly clear, my father never spanked or slapped
me. But I was scared to death of him. During my early teens,
I wasn't a quiet child, I was unruly, but whatever I did, all he
had to do was give me a look and I'd stop immediately. I was
like a bloodhound: rigid. If I jumped up and he looked at me,
I felt like I was freezing in mid-air. I always thought that with
his coal-miner's hands, if he slapped me, my head would fall

off. Never a scolding, never a yell, at most all he had to do
was say my name in a sharp tone. On the other hand, some
of my friends received real beatings with belts and kicks up
the backside. I witnessed some epic chases down garden
paths.

On the 2nd month's report card, another failure. Not in
French, but in another subject. My father had 3 breaks. He
changed every week: 6am - 2pm, 2pm - 10pm and 10pm -
6am. He worked from 10pm to 6am. Usually, when he got
home, he went straight to bed. I got up around 7am and saw
him in the kitchen. I thought: this can't be a good sign. I get
ready, have breakfast and when I start to get dressed, he asks
me where I'm going. I answer: to school. He replies:
"School's out for you!" You're going to go to the farm, to De

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