Hold that thought … for 35 years?

For six years during the sixties I attended a Catholic boys boarding school on the far north coast. This school had a solid reputation, not for academic prowess, but rather as a dominant force in rugby league in the region. League was so entrenched at the school that the only way you could not play league was to be physically disabled.

I have a congenital vison defect and despite that try to be as normal as possible. The defect prevents me from driving, from reading signs at a normal distance and leaves me with abysmal hand eye coordination. Up to that point in my life I had been remorselessly mocked and bullied because of this. The last thing I wanted to be was different. So you can imagine my horror at finding my name on the exempt from playing list at the start of the season in my first year. The last thing I needed was to be marked as different within the closed community. I quickly had my name removed from the list. And for the whole six years I played league every season.

I was never an outstanding player but participated just like all the other boys. Mostly in the second tier team but never in the dregs.

In the school culture the members of the First XIII, the school’s best team, were held up as Gods. Preeminent within our cohort was one lad who was inducted into the First XIII in his fourth year and played with them for the next three years.

Our cohort was notorious within the school. We continually challenged the status quo and broke the rules. As a result none of us made any concerted effort to hold a reunion or attend Old Boys Days. In 2005, 35 years later, a core group succeeded in organising a reunion, held away from the school. It was not endorsed by the school or Old Boys Association. From a potential cohort of about 90 45 turned up at the event.

Meeting a group of people you have not seen or spoken to in 35 years was quite a shock. Especially when looking around at all the old farts gathered at the bar. Slowly the realisation sinks in that you also, must be an old fart.

As the evening wore on, I noticed the God amongst Gods making his way towards me through the crowd. My heart fluttered “wow, he remembers me”. He stopped in front of me. I looked at him and realised he was quite a bit shorter than me and certainly fatter, no longer the elite athlete.

“Peter” he started, “I never understood why they let you play league. You were useless, a waste of space and a joke to watch”. With that he turned and walked off.

I shrank. My head spun, emotions surged, and I wished I were anywhere but there, preferably somewhere by myself. Suddenly I felt as I had during my time at school, an outsider. It was almost impossible to believe that after 35 years that was all he could think to say to me.

All because I tried not to be different.