The Plantation
I don’t deny that I was an interesting youth, nor would anyone who knew me during childhood. Today, I’d like to share with you a little story about a boy, his plantation and the devastating effects a child’s projects can have on some fragile minded adults.
The year was 2001, I was 10 years old. We were having an American history lesson about plantations. I don’t know why and to this day I still only have a vague idea of what a plantation was. I know it was in the southern United States or as I like to call it Red Neck Turf, that they used slave labour to farm food and tobacco, and during all this some were inciting disgusting displays of racism while engaging in rape (let’s call it what it is, I doubt many of the sexual encounters between a white man and a black woman were consensual at this time.) of the slave women. And American politicians still say that the 11th of September 2001 was when America “lost her innocence”. What innocence? Far as I can remember back America or even England for that matter, has had no innocence to speak of. Now that I think about it, most of the Western countries have complete horror in their past and the idea that they’re going to hide behind any notion of innocence is pure horsecock. Ah, shit, I’m getting off topic again. Where was I? Right, the plantation.
During this time, we were told to build a model of a plantation so that we could understand the dynamics of it as well as have a visual sense of its role in a community. I honestly don’t know why the fuck we were doing this. I’d never been to a southern state, actually I think the only ‘southern’ states I’ve been to are North Carolina and Florida. Wait does Kentucky count? I don’t know. I’m not a geography scholar. This is just like the time I was wondering if Ohio was in the midwest. I still never got an answer on that. I could ask Google, but where’s the fun in that?
We were assigned groups to work in. I was partnered with my friend Sean, who I knew would do none of the work and that was fine with me. I didn’t want his oafishness corrupting the beautiful and artistic flair that I would create as my plantation. That makes me sound controlling and manipulative, but really it was about getting a good grade on the project…and also a bit of showboating if I’m honest. I jumped at the chance to show off my artistic talent and intellect. I worked for a week on the project, labouring over it. I researched like a child possessed. I spent time after school in the library, pouring over books, as the internet wasn't a big thing then. I did use a few websites, printing out some photos of reference. I had my mum get me paints, crayons and markers while I collected cardboard, and coloured clingfilm from the school art supplies and even little wood scraps from my father's projects.
Hunched over my bedroom desk, I saw my village bloom before my eyes. Each brush stroke, each dab of glue carefully applied. I took little lego people to add to the plantation and made ones out of clay. They were more like people shaped clay figures, but still, I put in the effort. My favourite part of the entire plantation was the little torture chamber. Punishment was an important part of the plantation life, something the slave owners seemed to delight in. I found it interesting that it was legal to abuse, torture and in some cases murder the slaves and yet the law didn't say boo about it. I was, well, taken with the hypocrisy of the entire setup. And, if I'm being honest, the most interesting part of the entire plantation. I gave less than a fuck about the crops, I'm not a farmer nor did I ever plan on being one, I was impressed with the level of creativity when it came to the abuse of their fellow humans. I featured a man with a powdered wig driving nails between the ribs of two slaves. Another was whipping two more. There were more in the corner watching in fear. I couldn't wait to show my creation off to the class and Mrs Hooper. I wanted them to admire all my hard work. I'd already impressed them before with my ode to J.K. Rowling earlier in the year with a Hogwarts creation and I felt the pressing need to impress again.
Carefully, I carried the massive project into the school. Mine was the largest and most nicely done out of the lot. My classmates loved the colour that I used and I tried to say nice things about their projects as well. My best mate in the class and I snickered at the other projects and high-fived. Yes, I admit, I did participate in that shameless activity. We had to line up next to our projects and talk about them, explain how we made them and why we chose the things that we did before handing in the written part of the assignment.
And Mrs Hooper looked down on my, I mean our, plantation and village. "This is amazing, Dan! You really put a lot of effort into this. I look forward to reading your paper on this. Sean, what did you do?" "He handed me the books and equipment." "I figured as such." She sighed. "You can't always have control you know, Daniel. Sometimes you have to share, work well with others." "Right." She made notes on her clipboard to help with grading and was almost finished when she noticed the little dark room. "What's that?" "A torture chamber." "Why in the name of the good lord have you built this?!" "Because they needed one. They needed a space to punish their slaves, you know the ones they weren't having sex with." Her head looked like it was about to explode.
Hunched over my bedroom desk, I saw my village bloom before my eyes. Each brush stroke, each dab of glue carefully applied. I took little lego people to add to the plantation and made ones out of clay. They were more like people shaped clay figures, but still, I put in the effort. My favourite part of the entire plantation was the little torture chamber. Punishment was an important part of the plantation life, something the slave owners seemed to delight in. I found it interesting that it was legal to abuse, torture and in some cases murder the slaves and yet the law didn't say boo about it. I was, well, taken with the hypocrisy of the entire setup. And, if I'm being honest, the most interesting part of the entire plantation. I gave less than a fuck about the crops, I'm not a farmer nor did I ever plan on being one, I was impressed with the level of creativity when it came to the abuse of their fellow humans. I featured a man with a powdered wig driving nails between the ribs of two slaves. Another was whipping two more. There were more in the corner watching in fear. I couldn't wait to show my creation off to the class and Mrs Hooper. I wanted them to admire all my hard work. I'd already impressed them before with my ode to J.K. Rowling earlier in the year with a Hogwarts creation and I felt the pressing need to impress again.
Carefully, I carried the massive project into the school. Mine was the largest and most nicely done out of the lot. My classmates loved the colour that I used and I tried to say nice things about their projects as well. My best mate in the class and I snickered at the other projects and high-fived. Yes, I admit, I did participate in that shameless activity. We had to line up next to our projects and talk about them, explain how we made them and why we chose the things that we did before handing in the written part of the assignment.
And Mrs Hooper looked down on my, I mean our, plantation and village. "This is amazing, Dan! You really put a lot of effort into this. I look forward to reading your paper on this. Sean, what did you do?" "He handed me the books and equipment." "I figured as such." She sighed. "You can't always have control you know, Daniel. Sometimes you have to share, work well with others." "Right." She made notes on her clipboard to help with grading and was almost finished when she noticed the little dark room. "What's that?" "A torture chamber." "Why in the name of the good lord have you built this?!" "Because they needed one. They needed a space to punish their slaves, you know the ones they weren't having sex with." Her head looked like it was about to explode.
“Jesus would have not approved!!” And to that statement, I answered, “He can protest all he wants to but he was a carpenter, not a politician or in law enforcement of any kind. He should just admire the craftsmanship like his people should.” And remember, this was before a lot of this PC bullshit started to take root, so I wasn’t questioned what I meant by ‘his people’ but for the record, I mean carpenters, not Jews or Middle Easterners. I actually have to say that so the PC police (people who have nothing better to do with their lives so they try to suck the fun out of everyone else’s) don’t picket me. Then again, if they did I might get some press, which wouldn’t be all that bad.
Speaking of press, I’m working on opening up my own bakery. I’ve got a lot of ideas that I’m playing with and I’d love some feedback from all of you! What kind of unique things do you want to see in a bakery? I’m not going to give away all my plans and ideas, but I’m going to do a blog talking about those looking for input.
Anyway, my mum was called and a little pow-wow was had about my "overzealousness". I still don't see what the big deal was. Sure, I bullied my partner into submission giving me complete control over the product and may have been a little graphic with the setup for my age group, but I did the assignment and I did it well. The craftsmanship was immaculate and it was, more importantly, historically accurate. I didn't get in trouble for it, but the teacher did keep an annoyingly close watch on me after it, especially when we did a Renaissance Day. If I expressed any kind of interest in something that was deemed dark, eyes fell upon me. Though they seemed happy with my fascination of the crucifixion of Christ when we did the Stations of the Cross. I was interested in how the wounds were inflicted and how they were portrayed, not the actual reason as to why it happened or why it needed to happen. Despite these little hangups, I look back on the school fondly. Actually, I think it was one of the nicest periods of my life.
What about you guys? Any of you have interesting stories as children? I've got another one I can share that involves me and the Virgin Mary statue in the school garden. Ah, that was good times. You all know me, of course, I did what I did more than once, but that's for another time.
🎋LINKS🎋
Anyway, my mum was called and a little pow-wow was had about my "overzealousness". I still don't see what the big deal was. Sure, I bullied my partner into submission giving me complete control over the product and may have been a little graphic with the setup for my age group, but I did the assignment and I did it well. The craftsmanship was immaculate and it was, more importantly, historically accurate. I didn't get in trouble for it, but the teacher did keep an annoyingly close watch on me after it, especially when we did a Renaissance Day. If I expressed any kind of interest in something that was deemed dark, eyes fell upon me. Though they seemed happy with my fascination of the crucifixion of Christ when we did the Stations of the Cross. I was interested in how the wounds were inflicted and how they were portrayed, not the actual reason as to why it happened or why it needed to happen. Despite these little hangups, I look back on the school fondly. Actually, I think it was one of the nicest periods of my life.
What about you guys? Any of you have interesting stories as children? I've got another one I can share that involves me and the Virgin Mary statue in the school garden. Ah, that was good times. You all know me, of course, I did what I did more than once, but that's for another time.
🎋LINKS🎋
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