The Word That Left Before I Could Stop It #295

I was in SS1 when it happened during an afternoon physics class that I was halfway prepared for because I was stressed out already. The teacher was asking some random questions about the previous class, and he pointed to me to answer a question, which I knew the answer to, but what happened next made it worse in a specific way. I stood up, adjusted my tie, and cleared my throat with the confidence of saying the answer. I opened my mouth to respond and called her Mummy.

It was not a mistake. I said it with full conviction. Just like addressing someone whose authority over my daily life feels total and unquestioned.

It took the whole class some seconds to process what was happening, and some classmates looked at me straight up before everything came undone. Even the physics teacher didn't know when he covered his mouth. I had cold feet and was unable to move; the expression that came upon me that moment was out of my control. I was trying to adjust my answer, but the whole class was trying to recover from what they just heard me say.

What I was embarrassed about more than what came out of my mouth was what my brain and mouth exposed. At that moment, my brain was calm, but it reached out for the nearest authority figure it recognized and applied the label without any internal check. I had combined school and home somewhere inside me, and my mouth made that "mummy" response publicly because I could even process it.

Even though I had answered correctly, I sat down as I remained quiet throughout the whole class. I guess only a few remember that part, because I still have some friends from that time who still call me mummy in our class group.

Thank you for reading.

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