Leaving Home
It's terribly early to leave home at 15. I didn't realise that then. The smallness of rural drove me into a kind of despair, which in turn inspired me to do a lot of work to improve our local environment.
For many years youth who wanted higher education to , often outside our own county. Contributing as a student I worked very hard to introduce higher schooling, roughly the equivalent to the American High School, German 'Gymnasium,' or the British 'A-levels' models. By the time I was 15 we had achieved our goal, and the first cohort of students started in a class combining distance education and classes on site. It was a great achievemnet. Today Dokka is a known, sound and successful educational centre in the district, offering a wide spectrum of opportuinities for those who hunger for knowledge.
Personally I was in the the first cohort; however, I couldn't stick it for more than three months, or so. Then I left for Oslo, having auditoned and been accepted at the Norwegian National Ballet School: I had seen West Side Story at one of the main theatres in Oslo, Det Norske Teater, and I was obsessed. All that seemed to matter to me was theatre!...
I still remember my parents on the day I left. They had been trying desperately to talk me out of leaving, but found their efforts to be of no avail.
As I was dashing off to the station the I was leaving, nearly keeling over from the weight of a rather huge and stuffed bag over my shoulder, my father called to me: "I think you're mad to go, and I want to stay home. Wait a couple of years and finish school at least! - But - if you really are going to be this stubborn, go! And I warn you: If you do go, do not return home expecting help!!"
Harsh words it may seem, uttered in the heat of the moment. I did return for help many, many times, however. I frequently received help, although not always.
What I remember most affectionately about parents, was that whenever I arrived home very late, and they had gone to bed, there was food prepared for me, neatly laid on the kitchen table.
Memories of those yummie sandwiches, the smoked salmon with scrambled eggs, always makes me smile when I think about it. In these moments I remember my parents with deep gratitude and appreciation.
It's terribly early to leave home at 15. I didn't realise that then. The smallness of rural drove me into a kind of despair, which in turn inspired me to do a lot of work to improve our local environment.
For many years youth who wanted higher education to , often outside our own county. Contributing as a student I worked very hard to introduce higher schooling, roughly the equivalent to the American High School, German 'Gymnasium,' or the British 'A-levels' models. By the time I was 15 we had achieved our goal, and the first cohort of students started in a class combining distance education and classes on site. It was a great achievemnet. Today Dokka is a known, sound and successful educational centre in the district, offering a wide spectrum of opportuinities for those who hunger for knowledge.
Personally I was in the the first cohort; however, I couldn't stick it for more than three months, or so. Then I left for Oslo, having auditoned and been accepted at the Norwegian National Ballet School: I had seen West Side Story at one of the main theatres in Oslo, Det Norske Teater, and I was obsessed. All that seemed to matter to me was theatre!...
I still remember my parents on the day I left. They had been trying desperately to talk me out of leaving, but found their efforts to be of no avail.
As I was dashing off to the station the I was leaving, nearly keeling over from the weight of a rather huge and stuffed bag over my shoulder, my father called to me: "I think you're mad to go, and I want to stay home. Wait a couple of years and finish school at least! - But - if you really are going to be this stubborn, go! And I warn you: If you do go, do not return home expecting help!!"
Harsh words it may seem, uttered in the heat of the moment. I did return for help many, many times, however. I frequently received help, although not always.
What I remember most affectionately about parents, was that whenever I arrived home very late, and they had gone to bed, there was food prepared for me, neatly laid on the kitchen table.
Memories of those yummie sandwiches, the smoked salmon with scrambled eggs, always makes me smile when I think about it. In these moments I remember my parents with deep gratitude and appreciation.
posted by PJ Dyrud at 12:26
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