Being Underestimated

All my life folk have miscalculated me as a whole. There's no need to be alarmed, this post has no intention of morphing into a X Factor inspired sob story where I'll desperately weep out how being deprived of a teddy bear as a child has deeply effected the quality of my existence. In my experience you build a bridge and get on with your life, no matter how poor the deck of cards you were handed. I submit to you a brief example illustrating one of my own personal encounters where yours truly was underrated. 

Before I mutate into narration mode I would just like to argue that in this scenario the odds were always stacked in my favour, as my father's parents were born, bred and most likely baptised on rural west of Ireland farm yards. The nearest thing to a city for many years they ever came across was a toilet indoors. Hence, you can imagine what they thought of my siblings and I when we first relocated to their precious village from loud boisterous London all those years ago. I like to think they grew to like us and not just tolerate us as my father suggests.
Rule one of farm life, never label cattle 'cows'. I made the mistake once and almost got my arm amputated.

One day the grandfather and I were residing in their living room watching the evening's edition of Coronation Street. I was roughly about ten or eleven years old and he, well as you can imagine he was much older than that. 

Grandfather: "That Charlie lad is a real strong worker, but a proper English scumbag." He often liked to shout abuse at the television, mild racism usually trailed this pastime.
Me: "Eh?" I didn't know how to react, especially considering I was sceptical whether or not he could recall that I was in fact English too.
Grandfather: "That is the second affair he has had, the bollocks likes to keep busy." Filtering out the subject matter to suit the child in the room was something that perchance slipped his mind. 
Me: "What are they even building?. That construction site has been fixed there in the middle of the street for ages, it doesn't make sense." It really wasn't bugging me enough to question it as frantically as I did but I wanted to direct the conversation away from where he was set to take it, as quickly as possible.
Grandfather: "This TV show you are watching isn't real life, those men are actors not builders." He was smiling aimlessly at me, clearly underestimating the level of understanding I was at.
Me: "Okay." Of course I knew this was a scripted soap opera I was watching it since I was five years old. I knew about a quarter of the cast's real names. Two weeks earlier I had read which cast members had signed contracts to remain in the show for the next six months and which hadn't been as fortunate. I was familiar with the programme. I was merely pointing out how unrealistic the characters' vocations were. I didn't say anything in the off chance I'd offend him.
Grandfather: "Yes, this is pretend. Coronation Street doesn't have real people." He was speaking morbidly slowly and had turned his armchair to completely face me. 
Me: "Ah right, right." It has then dawned on me that I was in fact more tuned in than him. He just accepted whatever he eyeballed as truth. Whereas I was prepared to query how convincing the content I was watching was.
Grandfather: "Here have a biscuit, you are a good ladeen." He used to say the same thing to the sheepdog when it was showcasing good behaviour. 

We are all familiar with the story and life of Steve Jobs. I'd struggle to believe anyone who declared that they remember him for being that sacked Apple employee in 1985. He is celebrated for being the man who revolutionised the computer industry and changed the importance of technology in society for the better. Therefore, if you are currently the underdog in your life are you going to let it bring you down? I like to thrive on my adversity and use it to fuel my success. Are you going to be the person to let it wound and deflate you or is there another diamond in the rough ready to soar to greater triumphs and prosperity, I sure as well hope so.

Currently attempting to sing the theme tune.

Home Comforts

Over the past five weeks I've been suffering through my first teaching practice placement and I'll selfishly admit I did marvellous. Marvellous, in the sense that not once through its entirety have I squealed out some of the endless side-splitting entertaining stories I've received from these little red faced senseless children. It's called being professional, I believe. Therefore no matter how pain inducingly funny the tale was I refused to blurt it out. Go me, I'm so winning at this being a teacher ballgame. 

Being on this placement meant I was home for (including the Christmas season) seven whole weeks. To put it in perspective seven whole weeks of sumo wrestling my brother for the remote control, bestowing temporary blindness through the use of lasers on my sisters who dared annoy me and pondering on a biweekly basis if you'd successfully get away with smothering your entire family in one rampage. However, this post intends to focus on the positives of being home which are equally as fabulous. 

1. Food. Whilst in college budgets are restrained on a tight lead and food typically becomes one of the least important necessities. Whatever money you do grant towards food is usually broken down between the healthy nutritious stock and your basic top-of-the-notch trash. The sugar coated goodness always gets priority and thus whilst at home having the option to swipe from the fruit bowl was nice. Having the option to have a wholesome breakfast and not spend a fortnight avoiding your landlord was even nicer. My mother is no Gordon Ramsay, but this month in particular I got to truly appreciate the art of a home made Irish Mammy dinner. The shepherds gathered most Tuesday evenings to tackle into their pie and there was a flavoursome tae-kwon-do battle between the bacon and the cabbage on the majority of Thursdays. 

2. Heating. My college room is so cold that before diving into slumber land your softest, fluffiest hoodie is required in hood up format to challenge the severe dampness generated on my pillow. The windows are smeared in condensation and when it's not raining outside it tends to rain inside due to multiple leaks arising. Being home meant the open fires were always in full swing, oil had better uses than battering your chicken goujons and frostbite hadn't seized your remaining toes.

Here's an image of my college house, live from Google earth.

3. Conversation. I don't exactly like the people I live with down in college (apart from one or two of them) and I'm pretty certain the feeling is mutual. It's not even that I hate them. It is just all dialogue is awkward, small talk becomes a way of life and bed time commences alarmingly early most nights. Whereas in comparison at home I get on really well with everyone. We are a close family. I'm talking regular close, not all-six-of-us-sleep-in-the-same-bed close. We get on and we know each other well enough to try our best to avoid confrontation. That's not to say we don't fight seventy percent of the time because we do, but anything is better than my current living circumstances.

4. Decent Showers. We possess this magical shower at home. It was most likely crafted by an angel or Cara Delevingne, which is basically the same thing. It scalds your skin while at the same time taking you to this special place where all WiFi connections have no password, Cilla Black is kept in a cage and assignments have no deadlines i.e. heaven. I miss it more than any human being while away.

5. Cleanliness. I don't consider myself a neat freak and my home house is no palace. Nonetheless we do behold some pride in ourselves to not let the rats ring up (in desperation) Aggie and Kim from Channel 4's How Clean Is Your House? appealing for some better kept living conditions. The same cannot be said for the majority of my third level house-mates who confuse the floor for the fridge and the sink for the toilet. 

I want framed pictures like this in my life when I'm older, they put me in a good mood. 

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