โฆOr Just Who Is Tom Merriman?
Please gather round for I have a story to tell,
And if you enjoy it Iโd have told it wellโฆ
Me. I admit, I AM a bit of a mystery. To myself as well as anybody else. Oh, and Tom Merriman? That isnโt me. Well, it is me, but thatโs my nom-de-plume. My pseudonym. My blogging persona. We all need masks and cloaks sometimes, donโt we? I do. You see, Iโm rather socially awkward.
This current journey of mine began at the latter end of the Swinginโ Sixties, not that I remember any of them. I remember sitting on my Nannaโs knee eating an apple when I was two years old, and that is my earliest memory. If only my memory for things I did yesterday was as clear, but with so much going into our brains it is so easy to lose track of a few things here and there. I like to think so, anyway.
I was born with sticky-out ears, not that it bothered me at the time. I was a very happy child, very curious and eager to learn and to please. I loved learning. Drawing. Painting. But I was painfully shy. I think the shyness kept me somewhat distant from the other children, but it didnโt bother me. I think my distance caused the others not to like me, and soon one or two would start taking their dislike out on me โ usually by grabbing my ears from behind, and then the usual kicking, punching and biting. Not very pleasant, and it soon started to affect me. This time, however it was noticed by others.
Eventually, I went into hospital and had, what was at the time, pioneering cosmetic surgery on my ears to pin them back. I think I experienced my first dose of real magic whilst I was in hospital, and Iโll go into more detail of this in part four (Yes, this is a rather long tale!) Following this operation, of which I was terrified โ in fact I was terrified of the whole hospital experience โ I spent ten weeks of having bandages wrapped around my head.
So, rather than feeling sorry for myself, Iโd pretend I was a spaceman. Itโs funny, the things you do as a kid.
Every now and then, Iโd have a peak at my ears when the bandages were being changed, and I looked completely different to how I had previously. It wasnโt me looking back in the mirror. I looked older. I still liked my drawing and painting, was still happy, and was still shy.
Iโm rather protective of that little boy, me and yet not me, going through all that before reaching ten years old. Itโs not a lot compared to what others have to go through, but for me it was a big deal. I did it. I didnโt like it, but I did it. Iโm going to leave that little one with his pencils and paints now, and head through high school.
Still shy, still loving learning, enjoying art, being bullied.
By this time, I was slightly more outgoing. Gangly and spotty, but outgoing. I had a small circle of friends, but a larger circle around that of what I would call pretend friends. Friends who wanted me to do something for themโฆ or else. It wasnโt referred to as bullying, but that is what it was. Even one of the teachers got involved which didnโt help, but I put up with it. Soon, schooldays were over and I didnโt need to see any of the people from there again. I think I gave up with learning by the time Iโd left school, getting good grades in all of my exams but not excellent ones. At least I was out.
Would you like to leave a comment?