Self Story 1: The Name Game

I could feel my feet curling in my boots. I was trying to feel the ground beneath me, absorb the sensations of my peers walking around the room as if I could still my body through this action. My mind was swimming as it often was in Grade 12 history class. I felt so small, like a mouse in a kitchen, and yet so big, like the same mouse in a bullet hole. The class was coming to an end and people swarmed around the desks of the popular kids. They were moths travelling to light. The room was far too small to seat 32 teenagers and I could feel every breath and every move pushing down on my throat. With shaking hands, I packed up my supplies into my satchel and prepared to leave once the bell rang. I could barely stand and stumbled as I tried to steady myself enough to head out into the busy hallway and go to the isolated area I often ate lunch. Then, like a bullet in the night, my teacher's voice shoots through the loud conversations of my peers and the never-ending stream of worries in my mind.

"Let's play a game. Boys vs Girls,". He called out. The idea of a challenge steadied my feet even more. If I could focus on one small thing, I could make it the next few minutes. "Who can name the most prime ministers of Canada?" He asked.

I was stunned. I could barely name any. Names rattled through my brain, vice presidents, secretaries, and more that belonged to the United States. None were what I was looking for. I heard the words loud and clear in my anxiety-riddled mind. "Aren't you Canadian? Don't you love history? You're a fool and a fraud, you can barely name five." I felt the world slip out under me again. I saw the colour drain from the world, felt the hitch in my breath, and stumbled, catching myself on the desk chair. My thoughts kept spiraling, deeper and deeper into the place where I can't control my thoughts, my pain, or my breath. "You can barely name any Canadian historical figures. Who cares about General Montgomery who died in Quebec? No one. I can't believe they even let you in here," words that cut deep running through my head. They were going so quick I could barely piece out sentences.

"Alright. Who can name the most presidents of the United States of America?" My teacher's voice cut through the constant stream of thoughts calling me a disappointment. Maybe I couldn't name 15 prime ministers, but this, this I could do.

I willed my voice to stop its trembling. "Washington. Adams. Jefferson. Madison," I easily rattled off the first four presidents in order before continuing "Bush, Wilson, Roosevelt, JFK, Obama, Reagan, Clinton," at this point, no one else was speaking. I stood there alone in the back of the classroom, the walls still closing in, but I was succeeding despite all of it, and I wasn't done yet "Bush, again, Nixon, Eisenhower, Coolidge, Taft, Cleveland, Grant, Johnson, Buchanan, Lincoln, Harrison, Taylor," I was finally finished. All the American history I had studied about presidents dumped out of my head. The girls won that point, and I walked out of that classroom a little taller, but with a few more questions. It's important to know your history, to know from whence you came. To learn the mistakes of the past and to never repeat them, so why didn't I know the names of those in power to make those mistakes?