I went after primary school, against my better judgement at the time. My parents talked me into it by going on about what a great opportunity it was, pointing out that most of the cost covered by scholarships and bursaries.
I thought
- I would be forced to participate in officially supported activities rather that what interested me.
I was proved right. As a teenager, among other things, I read philosophy and taught myself electronics, but had the majority of every day taken up with things I didn't want to do. In fact it was school policy, written down, that barely half-an-hour of every day should we be left to our own devices.
- That it would hamper my ability to stick with the only sport I excelled at, Karate
I was right. I eventually only agreed to go because the school had just started offering it. Then after one year, the teacher who was qualified to teach Karate moved on, and the school stopped offering it. Even if he'd stayed, splitting the year between school and home would have interfered with training/progress. After he left, I used to miss dinner and run a couple of miles to a local state school and do some training there, but they had different terms, and I was treading water rather than progressing.
- That it would be a nightmare place full of bullying, like some Dickensian novel.
It was. The prefects ran the school, no teachers let alone parents had a clue what went on, or if they did, they didn't let on. Whenever I read people on here saying how great things are, I think how the fuck do you know? How do you know you child isn't telling you that because he'll get the shit kicked out of him if he tells you anything else? For three months at a time, 24 hours a day (except when sitting in a classroom or some teacher-supervised activity) I was completely at the mercy of sadistic and bored final-year pupils.
I recall the scene in "Another Country" where one boy talks bitterly about how outraged the parents would be if they knew what went on. His friend replies something like. "They do know. Well the fathers do."
My parents moved the same year I went to board, so I had nowhere to return to, no friends to go back to, if I tried to leave boarding school. So I stayed. At 13 I realised my parents were just going to be people I saw between each term, marking time alone in their house, until I could return to the only (shit) life I had, at school.