Having a dead father made me sad but the idea of having a dead father made me sadder. The person who had once tied my skates too tight had become dimmer over the years. It was becoming increasingly difficult to conjure up a tall, smiling man and keep him in my mind. However, the symbol of Father remained extremely strong. Through all my travels I had never lost the feeling that I had a father and he was ‘out there’. I had a mother and a father who were just a little too busy to pay me attention but, when they had some time, I would see much more of them. With Father dead, I was suddenly at The End with regard to fathers. I wanted to remain in my room and cry but Gran insisted on taking me on a sympathy tour. We visited various aunts and uncles to show them what a crying boy with a dead father looked like. Somewhere between my shoulder being squeezed, my hair tousled, and the suggestion that I keep my chin up, my anger grew into rebellion.
With my life’s first conscious act of real defiance, I flatly refused to go back to that school. I hated everything about it: the dreary building, the maroon blazer, the striped tie, the grey longs that were too short but too expensive to replace, the bullies in my class and, of course, my teachers – specifically that teacher. My daily dose in humiliation as she spoke to me in a language I could not understand, while my classmates sniggered, fuelled a rage that was taking over my soul. I hated her car, I hated the people she smiled at, and I hated the door she walked through and the floor she stood on. No. I was not going back. No. Despite all attempts, and various threats, I would not budge. For the first time, Mother was faced with a child problem that could not be fixed by Gran. My stubbornness necessitated the formation of a plan, which set off its own sequence of events. We were all going to live together as a family. Mother could not come to us, because of the Org, so we were going to Mother. The move was due to happen in two parts: I was going to move immediately and be enrolled in school number seventeen, while Gran was going to move after she had sold the house.
Mother and I got as far as the school’s front gate. We were due to have an interview with the principal and had just arrived at the school.
‘I can’t do this again, Mom, I can’t. I want to leave school.’
‘Great! You can become a Scientologist and you can finish your schooling via correspondence.’
So I did and didn’t. I went to the Org during the day and tried to read books at night. For the first time in my memory, my family – the living ones, the important ones – were in the same place. Keryn was in town and living with her boyfriend, while the rest of us were all under the same roof, the roof Gran paid for after she sold the house and joined us. Gran was proving to be useful as a source of money as well as a cleaner, gardener and cook.
The studying was not going so well. I had opted to skip three levels and study for what was the equivalent of the last year of school. Not only would I catch up the year I had lost to Scientology but I would gain two. I was going to leapfrog the wogs who had been at school with me. When I had left school, Algebra was just being introduced, but my self-study books assumed a solid knowledge. I was being asked to perform differential calculus, but I did not know what a differential was or, for that matter, what a calculus was. Instead of going forwards, I was going backwards. In order to understand D, I needed a book to try to understand C, only to find that I needed another book to understand B, and – wouldn’t you know it? – I did not even understand A. Every once in a while a small piece of information stuck. We were driving to the Org one morning, with the radio on. The daily quiz was: What are the first twelve elements of the periodic table?
‘Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium, Beryllium, Boron, Carbon, Nitrogen, Oxygen, Fluorine, Neon, Sodium, Magnesium. That’s easy,’ I said.
Mother stared at me in amazement. ‘Fuck a duck! I thought you were just jacking off.’
The plan in my head was simple: I was going to finish my schooling and then I was going to university to study medicine or engineering. At the same time I was going to rid myself of my reactive mind and move up The Bridge. I had not decided if I wanted to be a Scientology doctor or a Scientology engineer. If I was going to be a doctor I was going to do things the right way – Ron’s way. Every evening I tried to read mathematics, chemistry, physics and biology. Every evening I hit a brick wall. I persisted with my efforts and wrote the exams. I failed every subject except English. My Mathematics mark – the benchmark for obtaining entrance to university – was thirteen per cent. I had no option but to start again. Another year of wandering around the Org by day and reading correspondence courses by night yielded the same results. The building blocks were just not there. I had no tutors of any sort; it was just me and the books. My enthusiasm for study was not shared. Being from a different generation, Gran thought I should just become a soldier. Being from the current generation, Three thought I should get a job – ‘any fucking job; just get a job’ – and contribute to the costs. Mother had some sympathy for my ambitions but was stuck between the confines of Scientology and my worsening relationship with Three. She came up with another plan, which was hatched on the back of new developments. She and Three were going back on mission – back to the ship.
‘Come with,’ said Mother. ‘You can join the Sea Org and you can work in the engine room. You can be an engineer! It will be great! But you’ll need to join the Sea Org first.’
So I did. One evening, somewhere between my fifteenth and sixteenth birthdays, I signed my billion-year contract. In the haze of age, it’s a memory that has kept its detail. In my shaky, childish, unschooled handwriting, I signed the piece of paper that stated: ‘Blah, blah . . . I solemnly swear that I . . . blah, blah for 1 000 000 000 (ONE BILLION) years. Witnessed by blah, blah, blah.’ With that the five Sea Org members present clapped and cheered. With that I was a Sea Org member. With that I earned the right to wear a blue lanyard on my shirt.
Anastasia and (particularly) Angus have occasionally said to me that they do not want to go to school. Apparently it’s ‘boring’. My response to each of them has been identical: ‘Shame. It is your great misfortune that you have picked me as your father. In the entire universe you happened to pick me – the person least likely to entertain your boredom. You poor thing. Take the potatoes out of your ears and listen carefully: I do not care if you have to crawl a mile over broken glass each day – you will go to school. If you need open-heart surgery you can have it during your lunch break – you will go to school. Not only will you go to school but you will embrace it. Every single assignment – you will do. You will participate – fully – in the activities relevant to your schooling. If you have a problem with someone at school – tell me. If you have a problem with a teacher at school – tell me. That’s my job and I will make it my problem. But you will go to school. This is as negotiable as sunrise and sunset. When you’re as old as me you will thank me for giving you the greatest gift of your life. The end.’
The Bridge to Total Freedom – Progress Report: Big progress. Huge. I had spent hours doing courses and had received extensive auditing. Scientology had helped me see all the things wrong with me. And, boy, was I a mess. Fortunately Ron’s technology was helping me to get my shit together. I was about halfway to being ‘Clear’, which was when I would lose my reactive mind. I couldn’t wait. I still thought I used to be a Viking.