When I was studying, there were already attempts to teach sex education, but they were often massive and ineffective: sessions with over a hundred students and an adult monitor showing us a condom he held in his hand. In some cases, the content was directly avoided. I remember, for example, that in fifth grade of EGB the teacher skipped the topic of the reproductive system. He was from another generation and simply decided not to do it.

I am from 1979, the son of peninsular immigrants, and I grew up in Inca, but not in the center: we lived in the areas where the foreigners who had arrived in the 60s to work in industry had settled. My parents were part of that. That origin, which didn't seem important when you were little, ended up determining which school you went to. I started nursery school in the early 80s, still with an educational structure heavily marked by Francoism, and I went to Sant Vicenç de Paül, in the Crist Rei neighborhood. It was a school practically made for the children of immigrants. We were all Spanish speakers and, in the classroom, Catalan didn't exist. In fact, we needed it, but they didn't teach it to us.

One of the most unpleasant episodes of my entire schooling I still have very present. One day, in the dining room, I vomited. And instead of taking care of me, they forced me to eat it. I still remember it with a very vivid feeling of disgust. It was strawberry jam and they made us eat it by the spoonful. I have never tasted it again. It was a period in which the school really indoctrinated, so much so that they now tell us teachers that we do it.

One of the most unpleasant episodes of my entire schooling still stays with me vividly. One day, in the dining hall, I vomited. And instead of taking care of me, they forced me to eat it. I still remember it with a very strong feeling of disgust. It was strawberry jam, and they made us eat it by the spoonful. I have never tried it again. It was a time when school truly indoctrinated, so much so that they now tell us teachers that we do it.

If something stuck with me from my school days is that there were very violent teachers. I remember one who beat a child until he was destroyed. Another day, he threw one out the window. Today, it would be unthinkable. Back then, nothing happened. There were also humiliations. A classmate with a facial deformity, who spoke with difficulty, was ridiculed by the principal in front of the entire class. He asked him if he had finished selling coupons. No one laughed. The silence was more eloquent than any laughter.

When I started school, I was three years old and the youngest in the class, because we are from November. The first memories are of the Franciscan nuns of Bunyola. I especially remember Sister Antònia: a small, chubby woman who never raised her voice. I have no memory of punishments or bad words. I went to school happy, without fear.

'My School Years' is a series by ARA Baleares that reconstructs what education was like in Mallorca decade by decade through first-hand accounts. This week we delve into the 1950s.

I was born in 1948 on the Iberian Peninsula, but we came here when I was little because my parents were from Mallorca. first memories of school My memories are from Palma, from a public school that used to be in Pere Garau Square. From that time, I especially remember Mrs. Micaela, who was my teacher when I was very young. From the age of six, I had several teachers. First Rafael, then Ricardo, and later Pedro, who was Mrs. Micaela's husband. Pedro taught us so much. He knew a ton of things and would tell us about topics that, looking back, were almost at a high school level.

'My school years' is a series by the ARA Baleares that reconstructs what the 'Education in MallorcaDecade by decade, through first-hand accounts. This week we delve into the 1950s.