11 de Julio de 2005
  
Nuestra crisis de identidad
   
¿Quiénes somos? ¿Adónde Vamos? ¿De dónde venimos?
   
Capítulo decimocuarto: La educación y sus bemoles: primera parte...
 
No se puede decir que yo era un buen alumno. No, para nada.
  
Pero no existían para la clase media, aún, (faltaba poco) los jardines de infantes (al menos no en forma masiva)
 
O sea que me lo perdí, en verdad lo hice trabajando, ese fue mi aprendizaje del cual no reniego.
 
En cambio sí recuerdo mi primer dia de escolaridad, y comparándolo con el del jardín de infantes de mi hija veo la diferencia, en estupidez por mi parte de niño mas grande con la tranquilidad de mi nena al quedarse sola, cosa que a mi no me pasó.
 
Fue un día de terror, una sensación de abandono de mi madre (ni siquiera me acompañó) y una entrada a un abismo infinito del saber y del no conocer nada de nada.
 
Me sentía un monigote con mi impecable y blanquísimo guardapolvo -después supe que estaba prohibido ir sin él más aun, tu propia madre no te enviaba si estaba sucio o roto- ¡Pobres de nosotros que teníamos uno solo, así que a cuidarlo!
 
Já, tuve la suerte que me tocó una hermosa y muy buena maestra que me salvo de las tinieblas, pero que feo!!
 
Al menos, bueno, me enamore de ella, como corresponde a esa etapa de la escolaridad y la vida.
 
Me hizo sentirme protegido, contenido, no extraño, bueno... esos son un poco los motivos por los cuales se dice que la escuela es el segundo hogar, entre otros mas académicos.
 
El colegio Felix de Azara era estatal y muy bueno comenzando desde su propio edificio gigante en dos plantas , recién inaugurado y en excelente estado, digamos invirtiendo las realidades , como no lo son ahora.
 
Bueno, no tengo palabras para decir todo lo grande y hermoso que era ¿o las estoy diciendo? Menos aún para explicar lo impresionado que estaba este croata.
 
En verdad aprendí mucho y bien, porque enseñaban bien, donde el maestro era muy respetado como tutor de la enseñanza y fuente del saber. Era muy buena la síntesis del educador y el educando.
 
Sí, reconozco que había autoridad, pero bien entendida y aceptada por nosotros a los cuales jajajajaja, no se nos ocurría que existía la palabra y la acción de rebelarse, no, solo era con "v" la que conocíamos.
 
Un ejemplo claro me sucedió personalmente. Yo no era un traga, pero, lamentablemente, tenía todo el aspecto, pero era de notas regulares a buenas y pasaba de grado raspando, es más, una vez andaba tan mal que casi me descienden de grado, sólo a mi me puede haber pasado eso, no creo que exista para otra persona ello en los anales de la escuela.
 
No sé que había pasado, pero un maestro, al cual yo tenia como ejemplo de educador, no me daba ni la hora, mas bien que tenia razón, teníamos dos relojes distintos de la vida, pero bien, yo quería congraciarme con él y no sabia como.
 
Se me ocurrió que debía ser consiguiendo el respeto de él.
 
Puse manos a la obra y en cada recreo recorría todo el gigantesco patio con un libro en la mano y leyendo aplicadamente sin entender nada, solo quería que él me viera.
 
Así pasaron como diez días y cada vez pasaba más cerca de él cuanto menos interés por mí él me demostraba.
 
Hasta que un día lo logré, me encaró en plena caminata lunar, digo de estudio, me llamo por mi apellido y me dijo seca y fríamente: "A mí no me convence de que estudia!!!!!"
 
Por DIOS!!, fue como una bomba!!!!
 
Que arrasador para mi pobre mente , quedé destruido, peor aún, también humillado.
 
Pero qué valiosa enseñanza me dejo ese maestro.!!!
 
Así también se ganaban el respeto.
 
También ¡cómo me hizo asustar y sentir miedo escénico.....!
 
En fin, si bien era discriminado por ser extranjero, mí categoría de europeo me ponía por encima de los latinoamericanos en general, y de los de países vecinos en especial, ni que decir de los marrones, o sea los morochos.
 
Pero el natural de países vecinos era particularmente castigado, la premisa era (y es) que el argentino es mejor y que les da de comer a ellos que son inferiores y que viven bien gracias a nosotros.
 
Cuando se es niño se es muy cruel con los mismos chicos.
 
Me costó mi timidez y una larga tartamudez de años, que cuando supe su porqué por mis propios medios la hice perder de a tramos largos y dolorosos.
 
Pero bueno ¡las chanzas que me costó.....! Aunque peor fue para los hispano parlantes en general.
 
No puedo dejar de decir que la primaria fue una etapa maravillosa y que la pasé y me la hicieron pasar muy bien.
 
Realmente la Argentina era algo maravilloso, donde se tenia la conjunción de Estado benefactor educador, como atento a las necesidades populares.
 
Conocía gente que era muy feliz en general, gente que le habían regalado la casa donde vivían, gente orgullosa de sus trabajos, en especial si eran del estado, gente que pagaba alquileres muy bajos en su vivienda o comercio, donde las profesiones daban muchísimo respeto: abogados, médicos, contadores, escribanos, etc.
 
Bueno, eran escasos los bolsones de pobreza que yo veía, algunas pocas villas llamadas de emergencia (supongo que por su ocasionalidad y transitoriedad) y, curiosamente de las mismas tenía compañeros que poco o nada diferían de mi o mis amigos de la inmensa clase media, la cual al menos tenia en muchos casos su segundo auto o su terreno o quinta.
 
Hasta que caigo en la secundaria.......
 
Otra vez un mundo nuevo y distinto, otra vez frente a un precipicio, la nada de todo lo antes conocido.!!
 
Como hoy, no hay un pase de la primaria a la secundaria con un nivel de educación armado y no traumático.
 
Es decir no hay un puente de plata, una continuidad de la enseñanza con sus diferencias lógicas, pero no, hay un barranco.
 
Encima me tocó el Colegio Nacional Roca nada menos. ¡¡¡Qué nenes!!! Pero esa es la próxima parte de mi historia.
 
 Marijan Pirsic 

Our Identity Crisis  
 
Who are we? Where are we going? Where did we come from?  
   
Fourteenth Chapter: Education and its difficulties - first part...
  
It cannot be said that I was a good pupil. Not at all.
 
There weren't kindergartens for the middle class yet (there would be in a short while). I missed that, I spent my early childhood working, those were the teachings I had and I do not disown them.
 
I do remember my first day of school and compared to my daughter's first day in kindergarten I notice the difference, I see my stupidity as an older kid compared to my daughter's easiness at being on her own, something that did not happen to me. 
 
It was a terrorific day, a sensation of abandondonment on behalf of my mother (who didn't even accompany me) and an entrance to an endless abyss of knowledge and of not knowing anything at all.
 
I felt like a clown with my immaculate and whitest overall. Then I learned that it was not allowed to attend school without wearing it, in fact, your own mother would not allow you to go if it was dirty or in bad conditions, and we only had one, so we had to take great care of it!
 
I had the luck of having a beautiful and very good teacher who saved me from the darkness, but what a hard time I had at the beginning!!
 
At least, well, I fell in love with her, something that always happens at that stage of scholarity and life.
 
She made me feel safe, understood, not alienated, well, those are more or less the reasons why it is said that school is our second home, among other more academical places.
 
Felix de Azara was a very good state school, it was a gigantic building with two floors, at that time it had been recently inaugurated and it was in an excelent state, though nowadays it is the other way around.
 
Well, I cannot find the words to explain how big and beautiful it was, or am I finding them? Neither am I able to explain how impressed this croatian was.
 
I really learned a lot and in a good way, because there the teacher was very respected as a tutor and as a source of knowledge. The synthesis between the pupil and the teacher was very good.
 
Yes, I do recognize that there was authority, but it was well accepted by us, who didn't even think of the existance of the word and action of rebelling, no, it was the word with the v in the middle that we only knew.
 
A clear example of that happened to me personally. I wasn't a nerd but sadly I looked like one, but I had average or good marks, and it was difficult for me to pass grades, in fact, once I was doing so bad that they even almost downgraded me, that could only happen to me, I don't think that existed for someone else in the annals of the school.
 
I don't know what had happened, but a teacher who was an example for me did not even know I was there, and he was right, we lived at different rythms, but well, I wanted him to like me and I didn't know how.
  
I came across the idea of earning his respect.
 
I started to work towards that and in each break I walked around the whole gigantic patio with a book in my hand reading without understanding a thing, I just wanted him to see me.
 
I spent about ten days like that and each time I walked closer to him, and the more I did that the less interest he showed as far as I was concerned.
 
One day I made it, he faced me in the middle of my lunar walks, I mean, study walks, and he called me by my last name and told me dry and coldly: you are not convincing me that you study!!
 
My GOD!!, that was like a bomb!!!!
 
It was so devastating for my poor mind, I was torn out, to make it worse, I feld humiliated.
 
But what a valuable lesson that teacher gave me!!!!
 
You earn respect in that way too.
 
And he frightened me so much and he made me feel so much stage fright.
 
Well, even though I was discriminated for being a foreigner, my label as an european put me over the latinamericans in general and the people from the neighbour countries in particular, needless to say that I was more respected than those they called "morochos" because of their dark skin.
 
But they who had been born in neighbour countries were particularly punished, the premise was (and is) that the argentine people are better and that they feed the neighbour foreigners, who are inferior and live well thanks to us.
 
When you are a kid you are very cruel with the other kids.
 
That had as a result my shyness and stammering which lasted for lots of years, until I knew why it existed and with my own means I could lose it, in a very painful and long way.
 
But I was so teased because of that.... but it was worse for the other Spanish-speakers in general.
 
I must say that Junior School was a marvelous stage for me and I had and they made me have the time of my life.
 
Argentina was really something marvelous, where there was the benefactor state which also educated you, it paid attention to the popular needs.
 
I knew people who were very happy in general, people who had been given as a gift the house that they lived at, people who were proud of their jobs, specially if they were state workers, people who paid really low rents for their homes or shops, where the professions such as lawyer, accountant, were something to feel respect towards.
 
The poverty I saw was scarce, there were only a few shanty towns called emergency towns (I suppose they called them like that because of their intermittence their temporary character) and, curiously, I had friends at school who resided in them and they were very much like myself or my friends who belonged to the middle class, which in many cases had two cars and/or a countryhouse.
 
Then I entered high school...
 
Again a new different world, again I was facing an abyss, again I knew nothing!
 
Just like today, there isn't a non-traumatic, organized transition between Junior and High school.
 
There isn't a silver bridge, a continuity of teaching with its logical differences. No, there's a precipice.
 
To make matters worse, I went to Roca National School, and the boys, well.. but that goes to the next part of my story.
  
 Marijan Pirsic