'Rhododendrons are grown for their spectacular flowers, usually borne in spring. Some also have young leaves and stems covered in a striking dense woolly covering (indumentum) and some - the deciduous rhododendrons or azaleas - have good autumn colour.' RHS Gardening website.
Rhododendron. I was probably 5 or 6 years old, in Primary 2 at school and my teacher had called me out to the front of the class to show the rest of the children what I had just painted. My painting was of the hedge we had at the back of our garden. I had painted shiny green leaves, shaped like big ovals and had then added lovely splodges of purple and white for the flowers. Each flower was arranged next to five others, in a circle pattern. The paint smelled lovely and the paper I had used was going soft and wrinkly where I had used too much paint or where my watercolour had too much water. The paints were large solid circles of primary colours in a plastic pallet and I remember being very happy when the colours (red/blue and some white) had mixed to make the purple I wanted.
My teachers Mrs Hein, wrote a large word on the blackboard. Rhododendron, it was a very long word and she wondered if any of us could learn to spell it. This was the name of the plant/hedge I had painted, although Mrs Hein said you could also get white and pink flowers on those plants, I didn't know about that. The flowers in my back garden were purple.
Rhododendron - it is a nice word to say as well as to spell out.
My Rhododendron painting got pinned on the wall. It was the first painting I had had pinned up that school year, I had had a crayon drawing of trees hung up the year before but that was a different class and this time my painting was much bigger. Those things matter when you are probably 5 or 6 years old.
I went home and told my Mum all about the painting and the name of the flowers. Mum helped me practice my spelling of Rhododendron, I wanted to be able to spell it properly as well.
My exact recollection of what happened next is a bit hazy but I think we had a student teacher or some other person, a 'lady', come into the classroom. This 'lady' wanted to watch our class and then talk to our teacher and perhaps she would ask some of us about what work we were doing. Then if she wanted to, she could take you into the headmistresses office (with your teacher there too) and she had a tape recorder where she could record you answering these questions. If you got asked to go in, you would be able to hear what you sounded like on a tape player, it seemed very exciting. I was very excited and happy about this. Perhaps if I got chosen I could hear what I would sound like on tape. My Dad had a Phillips reel-to-reel tape player that he used to play music on at the time.
I can't remember whether this 'lady' was in our classroom for a day, a week or a month. This was 45 years ago after all. Anyway, I did get chosen to go and have a chat with the lady and her tape recorder.
Mrs Hein took me into Miss Adair's (the Headmistress) office and sat next to me as I was asked questions. What did I like about school, what were we working on, what was a I good at? Well, I liked my friend Fiona, I liked my teacher and I liked painting Rhododendrons. I could even spell it, Rhododendron and I did spell it correctly too. Well, that seemed to make everyone very happy, especially me, and wasn't I lucky that I had a back garden with Rhododendrons growing in it she said?
I must have replied, well yes I was very lucky, because I was actually very special. The reason I was special was because my Mummy and Daddy couldn't have children of their own and that God gave them me to be their child instead. I did believe in God then, my Mum was very religious and I was taken to church and Sunday School right the way through my childhood. The 'lady' finished recording me and then let me listen to my answers back, I sounded funny and I thought I had done well telling them about my Rhododendrons. I was sent back to my class while Mrs Hein and the Lady talked.
That was when everything changed for me.
I was sent home with a letter for my Mum.
My Mum had to go to school to have a talk with Miss Adair.
My Mum came home from school and then told me that what I had said was wrong and that I had said something bad. I shouldn't have said I was special, even though that is what I had always been told about myself and my little brother, from then on I wasn't to tell other people that I thought I was special or lucky or adopted. I had to keep it a secret and not upset people. I think my Mum got quite upset about it. I remember thinking that she seemed sad about it. I didn't like that I had made her sad, it made me sad too.
I can't remember what happened to my Rhododendron painting.
And that is the moment I think, when I remember back to my childhood, when the 'fear' started. The fear that I have lived with for most of my life but that now as an adult I try not to. Naive that I was, I told the girl that I sat next to in class what had happened and about how I wasn't to tell people I was special because I was adopted. That girl told me that she knew what being adopted meant, it meant that my 'real' parents didn't want me so they gave me away. She also told every one else in my class too.
I spent most of my childhood trying to be very good, but having nightmares about being given away again. Anxious, timid, shy, daydreamer and quiet - all words from Primary school reports about me. It took me until my teens and twenties to realise that I didn't have to be that scared person, although 'she' appears at times, I do think that I'm doing okay. My fear of abandoment stays with me, it is much smaller now but it is still there.
I will always love and grow Rhododendrons in my garden. They are such happy flowers with beautiful colours and scent, although ours at home was not scented.
I may even try to paint them again. I've signed up for an folio building art course in the spring, perhaps I'll get the shade of purple just right again.
The Rhododendron hedge still grows in the back garden in the house where I grew up, my Dad still lives there, my Mum passed away 7 years ago.
As an adult I think I have finally accepted that I will always carry that 'fear' and that primal wound that all adopted people have. Even after searching and finding both my birth parents, one of whom sadly I can't have a relationship with and the other who is a very important part of my life, I do feel as if I am still scarred. Actually perhaps scarred is not the right word? Not scarred as scars heal, but that there is a covering or scab on that wound which shouldn't be poked or picked at too much. And that is just the way things are, and as with everything in life that I cannot change, there has to be my acceptance of it.
And when Spring arrives this year in a few months, I will look out for the purple flowers of the Rhododendron blooming to remind me of my happy life, which I hope I live as well as I can. Not special in any way but happy.
And for that I am very grateful.
Ali
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