Call me resentful, but there are grievances that have stuck in my memory and haven't left me even after all these years. With the arrival of June, the light of the lengthening days, the swallows crossing the sky, and the exaltation of the burgeoning heat, I can't help but remember that end of the 8th grade school year. The summer camp had been in preparation for months, these being more important than any that had happened before because they would mark the end of such an important stage in our lives, the end of primary education and, to some extent, childhood. It had been an effervescent school year, I had learned and thought and felt more than ever and I was convinced that anything was possible. One of the problems with summer camp for families was always the cost, but at our school they knew this very well and from before Christmas they launched initiatives that would allow us to finance them. One had been selling lottery numbers. I didn't yet know if they would let me go that year or not, but I wanted to go so badly that I thought if I made an effort to cover the cost, I would eventually achieve it. Surely my tutor and the school principal would eventually convince my father to let me participate in such an extraordinary activity, which filled me with immense joy, as if it were a trip to the Moon. So, I spent my Christmas holidays in the center of Vic stopping passers-by with that plain accent I had then, saying: "Do you want a lottery number?" I remember myself like that and I find it hard to believe that I overcame my shyness and dared to speak to strangers as if it were nothing. I soon discovered that I had a great knack for this new activity. I sold everything that could be sold, and I covered the expenses for my summer camp and for others. And yes, I was absolutely sure that with that effort "He" (as we called him at home) wouldn't say no to me. I spent the day imagining what it would be like, how much fun I would have, and also that I would be close to the boy I liked, of course. I was 14 or 15 years old. I would leave the neighborhood, breathe a very different air.
When it was time to go back to school, the signed authorization form fell on me like a ton of bricks: "No, you are not going," He decreed. I was the most responsible girl in the world, the best behaved, the most studious, and the one who resolved countless things in the family that were not a girl's responsibility, but the answer was emphatic: “No.” The injustice was even more blatant if we consider that I had brothers who had always been able to go on school trips. Boy brothers, I mean. And, furthermore, I have a twin who was then a boy as boys should be, without having to carry on his shoulders all the things that were always attributed to me (as if I were the older one when we were both the same age, but it seems that being a girl tips the scales towards responsibilities and duties, not towards freedoms). So, that was the enormous injustice with which my basic education ended: me at home, not going on school trips, and my twin going and having a great time.
I remember that experience now that I visit schools and meet girls who resemble the girl I was. And many of them tell me that they will also stay home. And they don't participate in any of the activities that go beyond what is strictly academic. Excursions, school trips, extracurriculars, swimming, or parties outside of school hours are things that always happen to the girls next door, not to them. Some will say that what matters is that they go to school. But education is not just a transmission of content; it is about living together, establishing bonds, recreation, and enjoying oneself beyond the walls of educational centers. It is about experiencing things that cannot be experienced at any other age and rooting the joy of living to grow in freedom.
