Unit Eleven

I have no doubt that years ago I would’ve been diagnosed with ADHD. I battled to focus in class especially with the subjects I had no interest in.

I worked on my sense of humour instead.

I remember at age 13 starting Unit 11 in Biology. Biology was made up of 20 units. Every unit was a different subject, another part of the human body. We all knew what Unit 11 was, timed perfectly to coincide with those awkward teenage years. I was gearing up for it, I knew it was coming.

Sexual Reproduction.

As my Biology teacher introduced the unit, I couldn’t help myself, I was overcome with embarrassment/mortification/hysteria all rolled into one, I spluttered with laughter making the moment even more awkward than it already was. Side note, if anyone has read a previous blog called Guitar lessons, this is the guitar teacher. How could I ever look at him the same way again whilst he strummed his guitar singing sweet nothings? The visuals were coming thick and fast, no Sally don’t go there.

The whole long drawn out Unit Eleven was painful for me, diagrams, discussions, terminology, I kept myself together by a thread, I certainly wasn’t going to make eye contact with Trina, that would’ve been disaster.

I got lost in the theory and learning at school. Maths was a huge challenge too. My mother sometimes would ask my father to explain Maths concepts . Even before we’d started he was bristling with irritation. My mother would hover around us, aware that Sally wasn’t understanding and could he please repeat the theory one more time. It never ended well.

Homework was a long drawn out process too, this involved many phone calls to Trina. Dialling up 352264…

Trina, have you done your Maths homework? What did you get for question 5?

The sound of footsteps going down the passage as she would go and fetch her Maths book, then an explanation of how it went, maybe a couple of times more, before the penny dropped.

And what about English?

Shall I get my English book?

Yes please.

Off back down the passage to get her English and explain. Trina never complained, she must’ve had the patience of a saint because it was a daily occurrence.

So by the time our O levels came and went, the day had arrived to get our results. This involved a phone call to our Headmaster who would read out our results over the phone. It was our job to phone, but not me. I was too frightened. Having taken 8 O Levels and 1 A Level, my mother had asked me the night before how many I thought I’d passed.

3, I said after some deliberation and trepidation.

Just 3?

Yes.

My mother dutifully went upstairs to make the call. Julia and I downstairs in the kitchen. Time always goes extremely slowly in these circumstances, this time was no different. Then the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs fast, opening the kitchen door wide, my mother joyously announced,

Sally you’ve passed 7 and you’ve got your Spanish A Level!!

We jumped up and down and celebrated, I was cleverer than I thought.

Me and Trina