by Joss Sheldon
I had to stay inside, writing lines, every day after I’d eaten my lunch. And, dear reader, some of those lines were quite frankly bizarre.
Here’s a few examples:
‘I will not interrupt the class unless I’m vomiting, bleeding or on fire’.
‘Good boys don’t eat their shoes, stuff mulch down their pants, or glue food to the table’.
‘Students should not engage in lamprophony. They should be pauciloquent’.
Writing those lines wasn’t so bad, per se, but I did resent losing my lunch break. I needed the fresh air. I needed to be social. But I was stuck, alone, in that soulless school reception; that stolid, empty space, where the air was always dank and the silence was always snooty.
The egot always encouraged me to act out.
One day, for example, it suggested that I release the school mouse:
“He wants to be free, just like you,” it prompted whilst ruffling about in my parietal lobe. “Perhaps you should let him run around in the corridor. Let go. Float away. Do what you really want to do. Yes, yes.”
Another time, whilst sweating away in that unventilated box of a room, the egot suggested that I run away and jump in a lake. And on a third occasion it suggested that I lick the wall. (Well, I did happen to be wondering what it’d taste like).
The egot suggested that I stand up for myself, act out and rebel, every single time I was given lines. And every time I ignored it.
I ignored it when Mr Grunt told me that I’d be spending my morning breaks picking up litter. Although, if I’m to tell the truth, I actually quite liked that ‘punishment’. It got me outside and it gave me something to focus on.
I also ignored the egot when I was told to run around the football pitch instead of taking part in PE lessons. And I ignored it when I was made to miss a class field trip. I complied with every single punishment which came my way.
And those punishments didn’t stop at school.
My parents, you see, were a little square. They cared more about being good parents in the general sense than being good parents for me. They wanted to appear normal; respectable and responsible. But they weren’t prepared to acknowledge my individual needs.
And so, given my behaviour, they did what they felt society would want. They refused to stand up for me. They didn’t protect me from my teachers’ wrath. Not once! They colluded with my teachers! They supported the school on every single issue. Dear reader, they turned on me! They punished me themselves!
Whenever I got home my parents sent me to my room. I had to stay in there, on my own, for weeks on end. It was boring; I didn’t have a TV or a radio. There was absolutely nothing to do.
I was only ever given boring food to eat. There was no ice-cream or chocolate for old Yew!
My dad smacked me whenever I disobeyed him. ‘Bang! Bang! Bang!’ His eyes glowed red. My bottom hurt something chronic.
And my mum washed my mouth out with soap whenever I swore.
“You need to be a good boy,” she’d say. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
I think those punishments made my mum feel uncomfortable. Those sincere, loving eyes of hers look distressed whenever she punished me; as if she was experiencing some of my pain herself. But my dad seemed to actually enjoy himself. His chin used to jut forwards when he punished me. His eyebrows used to jump for joy.
My parents’ abandonment began to grate. It opened up a desolate crater within me. I felt like a grain of sand, thrown in random directions by an omnipotent ocean. I felt like a feather in the dawn breeze. I felt so low that I was tempted to listen to the egot.
“Just leave your room,” it often suggested. “What are your parents going to do? There’s nothing they can do! They won’t have any power over you if you have power over yourself. No, no.”
But I never listened to the egot.
The egot’s words felt polluted. Their pull was powerful, their content was true. But they were weighed down with images of my fall. Whenever the egot spoke, I recalled the punishments I’d suffered after following its advice. I saw myself writing lines, picking up litter or sitting in my room.
The push of those punishments overpowered the egot’s pull.
And so I walked on through those dark days with my head bowed and my tail between my legs. I ground the gears. I did everything that was expected of me, whenever it was expected, even when I didn’t want to. I said ‘please’ and ‘thank-you’. I only spoke when I was spoken to.
But I got by. I survived. Because, as I denied myself, other people began to accept me. The more my actions betrayed me, the more other people warmed to me. In that all-singing, all-dancing, madhouse of a world, my conformity was a cause for real celebration. And that did cheer me up. I liked making other people happy. I wanted to make them happy! That selfless urge drove me on.
I knew I was pleasing people, because they told me so. Like when Mr Grunt patted me on the back after I’d been writing lines for three months:
“I knew we’d make a respectable citizen out of you,” he sang with self-gratifying glee. “Doesn’t the world feel like a better place now?”
It really didn’t, but I still appreciated Mr Grunt’s positive energy. It made me feel proud. My body flushed with a comfortable sort of warmth and my toes all tingled.
I also appreciated my parents’ kind words:
“We’re so very proud of you,” they told me after another three months had passed. They took me bowling. My mum rubbed my thigh and my dad nodded. (He wasn’t one for physical contact).
I enjoyed that outing. And I enjoyed the other treats I received when I behaved; the ice-creams, mangoes and chocolates; football boots, computer games and movies.
When I went for a whole month without getting into trouble, my mum took me to a waterpark where there were whirlpools, slides and Jacuzzis!
“You’re such a good boy,” she said. “You deserve to have some fun.”
When I got knocked about on the train, but didn’t fight back, my gran bought me some chewing gum.
And when I got ten out of ten on a test, Mr O’Donnell gave me a gold star. A genuine gold star! Just like all the good boys and girls used to get!
That sort of special treatment did lift my mood. It encouraged me to behave. Not, please understand, because I wanted to behave. Oh no! But solely because I wanted the rewards. I liked those rewards. And I liked making people happy.
For me, it was a bit like having a job; I was doing things I didn’t want to do, in order to receive a payoff that I did want to receive. I suppose you could say I was a labourer, working at the feet of society’s desires.
I was finally starting to fit in…
EIGHT
I didn’t know it at the time, but my parents and teachers were using a process which psychologists call ‘Operant Conditioning’. I don’t think they knew they were using that process. I don’t think they even knew what Operant Conditioning was. But they were using it nonetheless.
Operant Conditioning is based on Edward Thorndike’s concept, the ‘Law of Effect’, which states that actions which are followed by pleasant consequences are more likely to be repeated, whilst actions which are followed by unpleasant consequences are less likely to be repeated.
It sounds like common sense, right?
Well, Operant Conditioning takes place where someone uses that natural law to alter the behaviour of another being; by creating pleasant consequences (such as rewards) to encourage desired forms of behaviour, or by creating unpleasant consequences (such as punishments) to discourage undesired forms of behaviour.
One of the first psychologists to prove that Operant Conditioning could work was Burrhus Skinner. Skinner set up an experiment in which a hungry rat was placed inside a box. Whenever it pressed a lever it was rewarded with a treat, which was delivered through a plastic tube.
At first, Skinner’s rats acted in a random manner. But, in time, they all pressed the lever by accident, for which they received a treat. They soon rea
lised that they could receive more treats by pressing the lever more times. And so they pushed the lever over and over again.
Operant Conditioning had converted those rats into lever pushers.
This form of Operant Conditioning is called ‘Positive Reinforcement’.
Skinner then adapted his experiment. This time, the rats were subjected to an electronic current which ran across the floor.
The rats soon learnt to press the lever in order to stop that current.
Then Skinner introduced a light, which turned on just before the current.
In time, the rats learnt to tap the lever as soon that light came on, to avoid receiving an electric shock. Even when the electronic shocks were turned off, the rats still pressed the lever whenever they saw the light.
This form of Operant Conditioning is called ‘Negative Reinforcement’.
Well, this partnership of punishments and rewards, bribes and threats, can be used to affect human behaviour too. This was shown by the ‘Little Albert Experiment’.
In that trial, two psychologists showed baby Albert some masks, a monkey, a rabbit and a rat. I don’t know what it is with psychologists and rats. I think they’ve got some sort of fixation on the little buggers. But anyway, little Albert was fine with all the things he was shown; he didn’t react to them at all.
Then the psychologists struck a hammer against a steel bar. Little Albert burst into tears. The noise had terrified him.
When Albert was eleven months old, the psychologists showed him the rat again. As they did this, they hit the steel bar.
Little Albert burst into tears, because he was terrified by the noise. And he burst into tears every time this process was repeated, once a week, for seven weeks.
In the end, Albert associated the scary sound with the rat. And so he became fearful of the rat itself. He cried and tried to crawl away whenever he was shown it, even when the steel bar wasn’t struck. And he acted in a similar manner whenever he saw other things which reminded him of the rat; things like the family dog, a fur coat, some cotton wool and a fake Father Christmas beard.
Well, that’s exactly what happened to me!
My parents and teachers punished me whenever I misbehaved, which encouraged me not to misbehave. It was a case of Negative Reinforcement. And my parents also rewarded me when I was good, which encouraged me to behave. It was a case of Positive Reinforcement.
“Be a good boy,” my mum used to say. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
And I listened to her. But it never made me happy. Deep down, I didn’t want to be a ‘good boy’. I just wanted the rewards which came when I behaved. And I did still want to do the sort of things my mother ‘wouldn’t do’. But I didn’t do those things because I was scared of being punished. Yes, I conformed. But, just like Albert and the rats, I don’t think I was ever truly happy.
I mean, think about it. Skinner got those rats to behave exactly as he wished; he converted them into good little lever pushers. But do you think those rats were happy? Really happy? Do you think they liked being electrocuted? I mean, who likes being electrocuted? Don’t you think those rats would have preferred to be free to run around the sewers, doing ratty things like eating cheese and gnawing on cables?
And what about little Albert? Do you think he wanted to be terrified of anything which remotely resembled a rat? He was acting exactly as the psychologists had hoped, but I doubt he was truly happy.
Well, I was the same. I wasn’t happy. How could I be? I was living in a state of constant terror.
Whenever I wanted to do something naughty, whenever the egot convinced me to misbehave, I immediately thought of the painful punishments I’d have to endure.
My actions were all dictated by fear…
When I wanted to take my clothes off and run around naked, because it was just so hot inside, I saw myself in my school’s reception, writing lines which just went on-and-on forever. In the end, I did remove my jumper, but I kept the rest of my clothes on.
When I wanted to throw my dinner onto the floor, because it was the most disgusting thing I’d ever tasted, I imagined myself locked up in my bedroom, bored out of my mind. So I ate that mangy meal.
And when I wanted to hide Sleepy Sampson’s PE kit, so I could see her do PE in her underwear, I couldn’t help but see my dad smack me, over and over again. ‘Bang! Bang! Bang!’ Just thinking about it made my bottom feel physically sore. And so, in the end, I left Sleepy Sampson’s PE kit exactly where it was.
My actions were all dictated by fear, just as had happened with little Albert.
Because little Albert heard a scary sound whenever he saw the rat, he associated that scary sound with the rat. He became scared of the rat itself.
In the same way, because I was punished whenever I misbehaved, I associated misbehaving with punishments. And so I became scared of misbehaving. Deep down, I still wanted to misbehave. The egot still encouraged me to misbehave. But that didn’t come into the equation.
My good behaviour made other people happy; I was becoming the person they wanted me to be. But I don’t think it ever made me happy. I don’t think anyone can be happy whilst they’re being coerced to act in an unnatural manner.
Lao Tzu says; ‘When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be’.
Well, I was certainly ‘letting go’. I was becoming what I ‘might be’. But it was tearing me up inside. Because I didn’t want to be what I ‘might be’. I wanted to be me.
NINE
It wasn’t just the Positive and Negative Reinforcements, the punishments and rewards, which kept me on the straight and narrow back then. I had a very important responsibility which also helped to keep me in line. You see, dear reader, I was the class Cupboard Monitor. And I was incredibly proud to hold such a haughty position!
Well, they do say that having responsibilities is good for one’s personal confidence.
The classroom cupboard was three metres wide and two shelves tall. It was made of fibreboard, which was protected by a thin layer of beige plastic. It had six doors, eighteen hinges and one hundred and twenty-three screws. Yes, I did count them all. Twice.
That cupboard was a real mess when I first took up office. Pens were mixed in with pencils, the paint pots were covered in dust, and the exercise books were all facing in different directions.
But I soon fixed that!
By the time I was done, everything was in order and everything was clean. Everything had its place. The felt-tip pens were arranged according to colour. The pencils were lined up from shortest to tallest. And I even stuck little labels onto the shelves, to mark where each item belonged.
I think I must have had ‘Obsessive Compulsive Disorder’.
I was so proud of that cupboard. It gave my mind something to focus on. And my work was appreciated too:
“There’s my little lieutenant!” our teacher, Miss Grey used to say. She used to ruffle my hair, to show that she was pleased with me. And she used to smile at me in a way which was one part proud and one part seductive.
She was such a sweet person, that Miss Grey. She had these little dimples which pulsated when she was happy. And she always wore summery dresses which really lit up the room. They were covered in colourful flowers, pretty butterflies and retro patterns.
Mr Grunt also passed comment on my work:
“You’re the best cupboard monitor this school has ever had,” he told me one time.
I blushed with pride. My skin tingled. My teeth felt fizzy.
For the first time in my life, I was doing something that was both enjoyable and appreciated. I was starting to assimilate.
I liked the responsibility. I’d always acted out when I felt lost, imprisoned or feeble. I’d wanted autonomy. I’d wanted to have power over my actions. And that role gave me a power of sorts. I got to maintain that cupboard my way, as I deemed fit. My position gave me that responsibility. It gave me a stake in society. And I found that exhilarating.
I wouldn’t let
anyone mess with that cupboard. I was protective, like a big brother. I was defensive. And I was proud. Oh so proud!
But it’s like Lao Tzu says; ‘Pride brings about one’s downfall’.
And so it turned out. My ‘pride’ did indeed lead to my ‘downfall’…
It all started when Snotty McGill put the scissors back in the wrong place. Well, dear reader, the egot took its cue!
The egot, you see, had remained a permanent feature in the landscape of my mind. It was still very much at home in there; lounging on my beefy sinews and swinging between my brain’s different lobes. But it didn’t speak so much. It had lost some of its aura. It had become a persona non grata; subdued by my will to resist it.
The egot gazed up at me.
It’d be wrong to say it had puppy dog eyes. The egot was too suave for that. But there was an element of desperation in the way it looked at me. It didn’t bend its knee in its normal fashion. Rather, it stood perfectly erect. And its voice sounded tepid. The egot had to use such much energy to open its mouth that it didn’t have the strength to fully activate its vocal cords.
“Yew?” it whispered. “Yew?”
The egot put a finger in the air and waited for permission to speak.
I nodded.
“You didn’t like that, did you?”
I nodded again.
“People shouldn’t mess with your system, should they?”
I shook my head.
“Well then, it might be a good idea to pull Snotty McGill’s hair. She should know that she’s misbehaved. You get punished when you misbehave, so she should get punished too. It’s only fair.”
I pulled Snotty McGill’s hair.
I did it without even thinking. And I regretted it straight away. I regretted it even as I was doing it!
“Eeeeeeeeee,” Snotty McGill screamed.
It was an ear-splitting scream; as sharp as a razor and as shrill as a maternal monkey. It cut through me like a knife through butter.
The gravity of my situation weighed down on me.