Jón Gnarr - The Indian

I try to avoid learning at home. I always tell my mom that I learned everything I need to learn at school. Sometimes she believes me or doesn’t feel like chasing me but sometimes she makes me study in my room and sits over me and I don’t get to go until I’m done with the things I’ve got to do.

I have to practice handwriting. It sucks. I have to write the same letter over and over again. I can’t write the letters so that they fit in the lines. They’re usually either too small or too large, or too fat or even too skinny. They’re nothing like letters.

I write ugly. I don’t enjoy what I’m writing because it’s so ugly and stupid. I can’t write in a straight line so what I write always slopes down and even goes onto the line below.

No one in my class writes as badly as I do.

Jón Gunnar is a 5-year old boy whose parents came to the ward because of his behavioral problems. They say he displays violence, is compulsive, has an obscene vocabulary, doesn’t take care of his toys, has no sense of time and space and has difficulty concentrating. Furthermore, he finds it impossible to write the letter J correctly.

(National Hospital, Psychiatric Ward,

Children’s Hospital Trust, 09/05/1972)

He is very cocksure of himself, quickly deciding he wants to draw for me, but not doing so very successfully; he doesn’t seem fully in control of his imagination. Next he draws all the letters in the alphabet that are important, and that is I, an inverted J, and A. His parents emphasize that it is impossible to teach him to write J correctly.

(National Hospital, Psychiatric Ward,

Children’s Hospital Trust, 02/04/1972)

Grammar is also incredibly difficult and frustrating. You have to decline words and know what sort of words they are. Some are nouns and some are adjectives. And then there are particles and adverbs. I can’t remember the difference between them and always muddle them together. I also don’t care. I don’t want to learn about this. I don’t think I need it.

In my school, there are no exams. Instead, we have quizzes. When there is a grammar quiz, I try to do as well as I can. But I still make lots of errors, especially with adverbs and particles, but also with the other things. I mainly guess. Most of what I get right is not because I know the rules but because I remember how the word looks or else I just guess right.

Spelling is more difficult. You have to learn the rules of how words are written. I find all the rules annoying, especially the y/ý-rule. If it was up to me, then I wouldn’t have an ypsilon. You can’t hear the difference when people are talking.

When I read, I look carefully at the words and try to remember their shapes. That’s the best way I can remember how they’re written, since I don’t know the rules. I’ve no idea, for example, why a person writes Christ and not Cryst, the way you say it, or wonder instead of wander. But I remember, so it doesn’t matter.

Math is the most difficult of all. If there is one thing I wouldn’t have to learn, that’s it. I’m so far behind in it. Other kids are beginning to learn division but I’m still in subtraction. I only know the easiest things. I don’t know how to carry over. I can’t ever remember how it’s done.

Most people know all the times tables. I only know one times and two times and ten times tables. When I’m studying math, it’s like the numbers are made of little parts that run about in all directions as soon as I look at them.

I find nothing in the world as frustrating as math. I find it more frustrating than sitting on a hard bench at a funeral, in too-tight shoes and my best clothes, which scratch and itch all over. When I study math, I feel like I’m choking, like it’s drowning my soul.

I can’t learn examples. Mom sometimes sits with me and explains the rules. I don’t understand them. I don’t want to understand them. I don’t hear what she says. I just nod my head and pretend to listen and look where she tells me to look. Then when I do it myself, I try to work out from her reactions what’s right.

— And what’s the answer, then?

I focus on the example like I understand it a hundred percent.

— Ehhh…seven?

— No.

— Five?

— No, you borrowed.

I make a sound like I’m finally realizing it.

— Yes! Ehhh…nine?

I often guess nine because it is the hardest number, nine or seven. My favorite number is eight. That’s because it’s made of two rings, and its fun to write. I also like to write five. I see numbers like dots on a dice and think about them that way. That’s why seven and nine are so difficult, perhaps: I don’t ever see them.

— Jón!

— Yes!

I act like it’s totally unnecessary to get all worked up: I understand it all completely. But in reality I’m lost. It’s like I’ve fallen asleep inside even though I’m awake. It often happens when I get bored or frustrated, but also when I’m trying to think about something interesting. The teacher calls that daydreaming. But it isn’t always daydreaming. I know what dreaming daydreams is like; I do it all the time. But sometimes it’s different. Those times, I’m not thinking anything or dreaming. I try to think but I can’t. It’s like the thoughts are suddenly stuck and won’t come, like they’re all locked inside one room. Maybe I’m just a moron.

They think I don’t want to understand. I’ve been trying but I can’t get it. It’s no fun not knowing how to write or add up. It’s no fun always being a total moron. It’s not because I’m lazy. It’s no fun to sit alone out in the corner learning subtraction for months on end or to sit with mom in my room staring at books. It would be easier to learn it and then go back outside to play. I don’t want to do this, any more than I want to drink others’ pee or eat lumpfish. My teacher wouldn’t want to work in a workshop and always be drilling things by hand. Dad wouldn’t want to stay at home knitting or putting on makeup. Why do I have to do what I don’t want to, what I’m not good at? I don’t understand. Everyone just says that I have to learn.

— You’ll need this when you grow up.

I really doubt it. I can tell I’ll never need multiplication tables. I feel it’s about as important as knowing how many hairs different types of dog have or what materials my clothes are made from. It’s like having to memorize a bunch of telephone numbers in case you need to call someone. If I really need to know something, I can just ask someone. Why aren’t there schools for kids where there’s no math and no annoying rules and just all play and telling stories? If I find I don’t like the rules when I’m grown up, will I have to stick with them? I’m simply myself. Is there a place for me? I know some of the rules, even if I don’t know everything. I know how to talk better than everyone else. I know plenty. I’m funny. I know how to say entertaining things. Maybe I can tell stories when I grow up. I can tell people stories and take part that way.

I’d like to be a part of things. It’s just that I’m a bit weird. I’m not like the others. I’m not good at anything that’s of any value.

I feel bad about myself. I don’t feel good inside. I feel so bad that I get tears in my eyes when I think about it. So I don’t think about it.

Everyone gets tired of me sooner or later. I can tell by the way they look at me; I see the weariness in their eyes. Mom is tired of me, the teachers are tired of me, and my friends are sometimes tired of me, too. I’m the most tired of all. I don’t like being this way. I’m somehow all crumpled inside and I can’t handle it. I don’t know what to do. I’ve gotten lost deep inside and I can’t find a way out.