Column: Divorce, not always bad for kids
Joshua Aromin
Issue date: 11/18/09 Section: Editorial/Opinion
A woman directed us to our homerooms by calling our last names alphabetically. I waited for my name to be called but it never came.
She went through all the "A" last names, then all the "B's", and she went through her whole list until I was the only kid sitting in the auditorium.
At 10 years old, I didn't know what to do so I cried. Three hundred seats in the auditorium and I was the only kid there. I thought public school was terrible from the beginning.
Out of nowhere, my mom was by my side. She secretly stayed behind that morning to make sure things went smoothly. After she took care of finding me a homeroom, I was ready to finally start the sixth grade.
The first month of school tortured me. I had a hard time adjusting to classes and had a tough time making friends.
I was used to being the smartest, but now I was mediocre. My math teacher intimidated me, and I couldn't understand the material.
A bully harassed me in art class. This one particular girl ruined all of my work by brushing random strokes on my paintings during every class. She recognized my fear of talking so she knew I wouldn't say anything.
I would come home miserable and used my parents' divorce as an excuse. I never told my mom about what happened in school. She knew something was wrong, but she didn't know what.
My mom brought me to a counselor every week, where I pretended to be distraught about the divorce, although I was really upset about school.
The allotted time period with the counselor ended, and one of my aunts somehow convinced me to go back to school. I went back, and slugged through the sixth grade.
I hated the transition into public school, but I needed it. It broke down the imaginary force field that the confines of a small private school created.
Hugh B. Bain humbled me. I was still pretty smart, but I wasn't the best anymore. And finally, grades were no longer the only thing on my mind.
My dad plans on moving back to Rhode Island permanently on Nov. 21, and by coincidence, he'll be living a couple streets away from me. I'm indifferent to him coming back.
My dad isn't a father figure. He's a short Filipino guy who I happen to call dad. I never confronted him about secretly introducing me to his girlfriend, and I've never forgiven him for it either. Still, leaving my mom was the greatest gift he's ever given me.
She went through all the "A" last names, then all the "B's", and she went through her whole list until I was the only kid sitting in the auditorium.
At 10 years old, I didn't know what to do so I cried. Three hundred seats in the auditorium and I was the only kid there. I thought public school was terrible from the beginning.
Out of nowhere, my mom was by my side. She secretly stayed behind that morning to make sure things went smoothly. After she took care of finding me a homeroom, I was ready to finally start the sixth grade.
The first month of school tortured me. I had a hard time adjusting to classes and had a tough time making friends.
I was used to being the smartest, but now I was mediocre. My math teacher intimidated me, and I couldn't understand the material.
A bully harassed me in art class. This one particular girl ruined all of my work by brushing random strokes on my paintings during every class. She recognized my fear of talking so she knew I wouldn't say anything.
I would come home miserable and used my parents' divorce as an excuse. I never told my mom about what happened in school. She knew something was wrong, but she didn't know what.
My mom brought me to a counselor every week, where I pretended to be distraught about the divorce, although I was really upset about school.
The allotted time period with the counselor ended, and one of my aunts somehow convinced me to go back to school. I went back, and slugged through the sixth grade.
I hated the transition into public school, but I needed it. It broke down the imaginary force field that the confines of a small private school created.
Hugh B. Bain humbled me. I was still pretty smart, but I wasn't the best anymore. And finally, grades were no longer the only thing on my mind.
My dad plans on moving back to Rhode Island permanently on Nov. 21, and by coincidence, he'll be living a couple streets away from me. I'm indifferent to him coming back.
My dad isn't a father figure. He's a short Filipino guy who I happen to call dad. I never confronted him about secretly introducing me to his girlfriend, and I've never forgiven him for it either. Still, leaving my mom was the greatest gift he's ever given me.
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