Sea Park secondary School, Form Two - Part One

 

FORM TWO, 1976 – PART ONE

In the year 1976, we proudly began our Form Two enrichment at our spanking new school, built on the slopes of Sea Park hills just like the feng shui of a Chinese cemetery. 

At last, we have left all our old baggage – including skeletons – of last year behind, and gloriously moved on. We have burned all the bridges. Astalavista La Salle.

But, to our horror, someone had secretly slipped through to continue his Gestapo ways. Just like in the never-ending Friday the 13^th, Freddy Krueger was still alive!

The portly stone-faced head of Salleans (sounds like Salem) had been transferred to our new school! Unhealed memories of “Thou shall not grab again” haunted us at that morning’s assembly when we saw him marshaled up the pedestal with a slimy grin. They said, “Once bitten, twice shy”. I replied, “Once beaten, sure cry”. They don’t rhyme well enough? Bugger you, who care about rhymes when you get caned a few times, every year. That was how my years and a few brothers’ soon turned out under our Sir Freddy.

To make it worse, Freddy practiced public segregation like once upon a time in America! As anticipated, our new zoo, I mean school, had also taken in our significant other comrade – our female compatriots who actually resembled cute puppies and were looking forward to our healing kindness.  As a thoughtful gesture of our reunion (we thought about the girls’ wounds all December), we looked forward to healing them all day long. But, Freddy locked the raging, hormone-charged lambs into one pen while the female puppies, so prettily dressed in blue and white with pink ribbons on their heads, pawed separately in their own kennels.

When recess time finally came, I and the rest of the lambs rushed forward to ogle, “Ooh, I knew that cute one over there…baaahbaaah…Wow, just like Farrah Fawcett…woofwoof.” With only fifteen minutes each day, alas, no interbreeding could be done between the two domesticated groups. Bang balls, man*. The puppies were like flowers in the fields – you get close to admire and smell, but you can’t pluck them. Strictly, for adult males only, please pronounce pluck with your fingers pulling at each end of your lips, to get hifi stereo sound.

* For ladies who often misunderstood man, this is male’s lingo expressing frustration and nothing to do with sex. If it has to do with sex, they’ll usually say, bang balls woman. If you don’t believe, go bang his balls (I apologize if offending) and watch him yell, fun for you but certainly, not for him. By the way, just use your fists, not a hammer!

So, life in limbo goes on. But at least we were the seniors with no other lambs older than us - we were the masters of our land. This place is huge with a bald field we call Sahara. And, we have some juniors to lord over – a group of Remove and Form One lambs and puppies who have just been roped in. For the first time, there were no one above us – we were the seniors, the pioneers, the Lord of the Lambs, the Tai Kors, the Godfathers. We stared at the juniors like De Niro, “You talkin’ to me? You talkin’ to me?”

But . . . it felt eerily like Camp Crystal Lake like in Friday the 13^th. We could feel, behind our backs, someone is constantly watching us. It turned out to be Freddy – still with his bazooka megaphone and whistle for double dosage, and his branding iron hot-readied. This time, he looked like a non-smiling Benny Hill. I heard some people call him Tom Jones because of his singing and sighing over the megaphone. I told them they were wrong; I didn’t see any of our girls throwing panties at him, just only their kotex.

Too many metaphors, puns, and symbolism used in this story? I hope Shakespeare will bear with me. Sorry, Willy, it’s the only way to describe and exonerate my subconscious scars – please let thy burn thy skeletons in the mind. Thy long beard with the funny hat, ok? (My apologies to Shakespearians). William eventually said yes. Freddy came back to tell me so. I think it was in part eight . . . or nine . . .

Moving along, let me tell you how some of us passed our school days. Actually, it’s how we skipped them – the P way. I counted from my diary entries – a total of 10 school days were spent at Zoo Negara, Mimaland amusement park, Ampang Park shopping center, Pertama Complex, Musuem Negara, tin mines of Kelana Jaya, and even Subang Airport where, yes, we saw the stewardess! We were singing Silver Convention’s hit, “Fly robin fly, fly robin fly, up, up to the sky” because we were so free like robins flying where we wanted. A bunch of us whom I’ve been told not to mention were at those places, dressed informally to participate in the Personal and Team building program – that’s what the P stands for. 

Our program entails mastering the art of camouflage – how to secretly blend with society, enemy deception – about evading powers that be, escapism – how to have fun all day long, and most important, the study of illicit human gratification – something like why did Adam ate the apple. Believe me - this program was very tough as it covered so many activities in so many tourist landmarks. We didn’t enjoy it thoroughly because we had to work so hard, and no play will soon make lamb a dull mutton. Only the rewards of comradeship keeps us going as well as our theme song, “Boogie nights, Ain't no doubt we are here to party, Booki nights, Come on now, got to get it started . . . Got to keep on dancing . . . Keep on dancing” 

But, some of us were so good that they became leaders in this field – more like Consultants whom clueless lambs will seek to organize a similar program for them. Mind you, the Consultants won’t just do it for anyone; they must have a wanderlust persona to qualify. And before passing the program, there’s one final hurdle to test their loyalty – they have to master and recite a Shakespearian poem:

For Silence is Golden,

Lest Headmaster be awaken

For Lambs have proven,

Thy ponteng* is heaven.

Wow, so poetic; I just want to cry. Who say we didn’t pay attention in Literature? So, have you P’d?

     *ponteng means play truant, a gamely game. 

Well, you have learned from the masters of P. If ever, your kids exhibit such talents as camouflage, escapism, or Adam’s apple, etc, you’ll know what they are up to. One tip: just randomly check their school bags before they leave for school. Not in front of them! But, secretly disguise your intentions as you enter his room, then deceptively open his bag, look inside and quickly escape. What you did was illegal, but you gratified yourself – you ate the apple like Adam, didn’t you? Welcome to the adult P program – the Peep program. Now, all you need is to master and recite our poem:

For Silence is Golden

Lest children be maddened

For parents have chosen

Thy Peep is prudent

Wow, so poetic; don’t you just wanna cry? Go ahead, let’s P.

… to be continued in part two.