It was wrong to never come first

My data analyis: The story of postwar European immigrants is emerging nicely through my interview data.

My aha experience: Forgotten memories of the past are resurfacing as I work through the hardships of the postwar assimilation years.

From my collection of op-shop stories:
She was much fitter than all the other kids but she didn’t know it. They didn’t have to walk to school for several hours every day from an outlying farm. She didn’t like to attract attention. Just follow the rules. Do whatever the teachers say. That’s the best way to fit in. Don’t talk. Do your work. “We have to fit in,” her family said at home.

She never smiled although she didn’t know that either. When she carefully obeyed the instructions of the school photographer the others said, ‘Why aren’t you smiling?” But she was, inside somewhere.

The interschool races were held on the oval at the end of the sleepy township away from the school. The Grade Oners lined up to race. It was too far, right across the oval, she thought. Too far for her age group. “Run as fast as you can,” was the teacher’s instruction, “as fast as you can.”

She never thought about being the asthma baby of the class. She didn’t know what it was like not to be sick. Better not to make a fuss about it. Better not stand out. She knew she was different, not like them. Hers was a migrant family coming out of the wartime internment camp. That seemed normal. Her parents were accidental immigrants not like the Brits who had special accommodation and still complained. She walked to the shops with her mother every week, even further than the school. Poverty meant no toys and no lollies. Sometimes she ran with her older brother to play under the pine trees at the top of the farm. “That’s exactly one mile,” her mother said.

The gun shot exploded and the kids took off. It frightened her. She didn’t know what to do. “Run! Run as fast as you can,” yelled the teachers. So that’s what she did till she caught up with the pack. Run as fast as you can, she thought. She always did what she was told. Quietly, not to attract attention. Soon she wasn’t running with the pack any more. She was running on her own. Where did they all go? Better keep running, as fast as you can, she thought.

Then a fear gripped her, worse than the fear her mother felt when she dreamt of the war years she left behind. They were behind her. She was way ahead of the pack, tearing out in front of them across the green, when she saw the ribbon. Two teachers were holding the ribbon taut ahead of her. Suddenly she understood. The winner runs through the ribbon. “That’s it! Run!” they yelled. The winner would get all the attention. That’s not how to fit in.

She wasn’t even tired but she slowed her pace till the pack caught up with her, till she was at the back of the pack. Somebody else won the race. Someone she didn’t know. The teachers were dumbfounded, “What happened? Why did you stop running?” Too much attention, she thought. She had just learnt the most important lesson of her life. If she was to do well at school, never come first. And more importantly, don’t ever let them know you can.

My motto: It takes a lifetime to recover from old hurts, but all's well that heals well.