MORE ME ME ME....ME IN SCHOOL

When I think of how quickly my kids are moving through their own journey through the hallways, I find myself looking back to myself in the stages they are in now.

Thus, this post - my school history. And NO I did not attend school in a one-room scoolhouse, contrary to what my kids think. Nor did I sit in class and listen to lessons on how the earth is flat; although I slipped in right under the wire on that one.

Kindergarten - My kindergarten teacher was Miss Hall. She had long blonde hair done in a Farrah flip. We had a white bunny as a classroom pet. That's all I remember.

First Grade - My first grade teacher was Mrs. Harris. She was nice and she was BEAUTIFUL. My mom really liked her because she had taught my brother and worked very well with his learning disabilities. In first grade I went to the third grade class for reading.

Second Grade - This was an eventful year for me. That was the year a girl named Julie slapped me in the face while we were in line to come in from recess. We argued all the time. She was the kind of girl who threw horizontal tantrums, even in second grade, and bullied her parents. And slapped other children. Our mothers got together to discuss our encounter, and they spent the entire time in our driveway, in the car. I was crying in the house the whole time, because I was sure Julie's mom was beating up my mom. You know, figuring the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
After Christmas break, in second grade, my class returned to school to find out our teacher, Mrs. Best had died. Our teacher's aide became our full time teacher. Of course there were no counselers brought in to help us deal with our confusion or process our loss. Nobody offered to answer questions. We were just told she had died and that Mrs. Rinker would now be our teacher.
Second grade was also the year I won the all-school spelling bee. The last remaining speller, besides myself, was an eighth grader. And I beat her. I remember spelling the word, watching the teacher nod her head that it was correct, and then seeing and hearing the whole student body rise up from the gym floor in a huge wave of cheers.
And I collapsed into the teachers arms and cried, because I had been so nervous and was so glad it was over. But I made my mark on that little grade school by being the second grader who beat the eighth grader in spelling. The word was "mischievous."
I always say I peaked very early in life.

Third Grade - My teacher that year was Mrs. Brandt. Her daughter,Patty, was in my class, because there was only one class of each grade. Mrs. Brandt's teenage son was accidentally shot to death that year. My mom took me to their house after the funeral so she could leave food and pay her respects. And so I could talk to Patty. I remember asking my mom "What do I say to her?" As an eight year old, I had no idea how the death of a son and brother would effect that family. But now I think of them often and wonder about that impact.
Also in third grade my classmates and I sat in our chairs and listened to the fourth grade teacher scream at her students next door. And we dreaded Fourth grade.

Fourth Grade - We got the screaming teacher. That's all I remember. Ironically when Paul and I returned to the area after college and started attending church, there was the screaming teacher and her husband. She wasn't screaming in church, though.

Fifth Grade - In fifth grade I had Mrs. Foster. My aunt and uncle, who are twins and are only 8 years older than I, also had Mrs. Foster. They called her Bird Legs. I never did. In fifth grade, I started playing the clarinet. And I started wearing panty hose.

Sixth Grade - This is another pivotal year in my life. My teacher was Mr. Coppage and he was really nice. For math, Mr. Kilcullen came to our room. He was always smudged with chalk dust. Sixth grade is when I got my first and only detention - a noon detention. With most of my classmates. For our math test, covering 4 digit numbers, we were told that the comma wasn't necessary for four digit numbers, so we could put one or not. So 98% of the class, including myself, chose not to use the comma. And we got noon detentions for not using the comma. Where is the justice?
Sixth grade is the year we moved. We moved on December 2, 1978. And I hated school for the rest of the year. It is really, really hard to be the new girl at that age; although, I ultimately adjsuted much better than my siblings who were in 8th and 9th grades. My sixth grade year is why we have made such an effort to have our kids attend school in one place from kindergarten through senior year.

That's enough about me. I know. I can't believe I'm saying that.

Tomorrow - junior high and high school.

Oh, the anticipation.