The Story of My Stupidity

I left school at fifteen years of age with no real qualifications. I got expelled after getting caught breaking into my classroom with some friends one night. We weren’t there out of any love of the school; we were looking for solvents to sniff. Our attempted burglary was completely bungled because we were all so drunk – earlier we had stolen a case of altar wine from a nearby church. I got caught, and I suppose I got what I deserved.

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Despite the fact that it was my actions that led to my expulsion from school I felt terribly betrayed and angry. This all happened around the time of my parents breakup when I was completely off the rails. In the space of three school terms I went from top class in one school to the bottom class in another. Nobody seemed to notice anything strange about this downward spiral and nobody seemed to care. I walked away from the whole experience with a huge chip on my shoulder and an inferiority complex in regard to my own intelligence.

Despite my lack of an education I found my way into the world of employment, and by the age of eighteen I was working as a barman in Oxford. I was surrounded by people who were learning at one of the most prestigious universities in the world, and they were a constant reminder of my failings in life. It used to bug the shit out of me, and I loved to mock them – sometimes to their faces if I was drunk. I developed a type of reverse snobbery by consoling myself that university just made people stupid and unable to think for themselves.

By age twenty-two I was working in a bar that catered mostly for customers studying at University College London. I started going out with a girl who was studying for her degree. I thought I was in love but I struggled with the relationship because of the differences in our educational achievements. I felt jealous all the time. Her friends annoyed me because I always felt like a complete dullard around them. They were always nice to my face, but I suspected that they looked down on me as the “amusing drunk Irish fellow”. I used arrogance to hide my inferiority complex which meant that I tended to rub people up the wrong way. This put a strain on the relationship, but before we split up she did manage to encourage me to return to education. This girlfriend suggested that I might want to train to be a teacher because I was so fond of lecturing people when I was drunk.

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Over the next three years I studied part time and managed to get enough A levels to be eligible for a place in university. I signed up for a social science degree at Southbank University but before I could take my place on the course my dipsomania got the better of me. I ended up homeless and begging in a tunnel at Elephant and Castle (ironically this was right beside the entrance to Southbank University). People who knew how hard I’d worked to get into university were a bit stunned – some were even angry. How could I get so close to my goal and then just piss it all away? I’m sure it looked like self-sabotage, but it felt like a mental breakdown to me.

At age 25 I was once again sober, and I managed to return to the path of education. I decided to study to become a nurse. I took my place on the Project 2000 diploma course at St Bartholomew’s School of Nursing and Midwifery in London. I later did another course in Ireland that brought my qualification up to a degree. After moving to Thailand I played around with teaching English for a few years, and I ended up getting a Post Graduate Certificate in Education. I’ve no plans for any further formal qualifications.

If Only…

I can sometimes wonder about what would have happened if I’d not had my meltdown at fifteen. I had the ability to do well in the Irish Leaving Cert, and perhaps I could have gone on to university at eighteen. Who knows? The reality is that I was always destined to under perform in formal education. Even before my family troubles all my school reports said things like “Paul has the ability, but he just does not apply himself”. When I returned to education in adulthood I was always happy to just do the bare minimum. I knew that if I gave my best shot there would be less of an excuse for failure. I didn’t see the point of putting the effort into getting better marks if I could get away with less – every hour that I spend studying was an hour away from the pub.

I’m grateful for my education, but the pieces of paper don’t seem that important to me anymore. I no longer feel inferior to other people, but this has nothing to do with my qualifications. The reality is that it was never really about any of that. I don’t need certificates to be a worthwhile human and formal education is only ever going to get me so far. The most important lessons come from dealing with the challenges of life – the school of hard knocks.

What Does it Mean?

Here we are at the end of this blog post, and I’ve no real idea about what I’m trying to say. I suppose the lesson is that it is good for me to go after the things that I feel are lacking in my life, but that it may be more important to understand where this sense of lack is coming from. Returning to education did not make me a better human, it just meant that I was the same person with better qualifications.

I’ve discussed on this blog before about my concerns regarding my son’s education. I do want him to have as many opportunities in life as possible, but I’ll be proud of him no matter what qualifications he ends up with. The most important thing is that he is able to handle the challenges that will come his way in life, and that he never feels the need to hide behind alcohol and drugs.