September 5, 2008

• School Memories

  Sending my kids to school has me thinking back to those idyllic days behind the yellow-brick walls of Curwensville Elementary and High School. You see, I went to one school–one building, actually–from pre-school to high school.  Both my parents were teachers at the school, too.  Would you like to wander through the mazy memories in my mind?  No? Okay, go read somoene else’s blog.
  
  Pre-school

  I don’t remember much of anything from childhood, so this period is pretty foggy. I only recall one event. I had taken a balloon with me to class. I have no idea why or why my parents let me. (My guess is because I was an obnoxious brat and whined, but these are happy memories!)

  In the midst of a romping frolic, my balloon popped. I  was hysterical and disconsolate. In an attempt to cheer me up, one of the teachers said, “Would you like me to make it into a baby balloon for you?”
  “NOOOOOOoooooo!” I howled. Fool. I have wondered all these years what a baby balloon would have been.  I have been guessing ever since.
  
  Kindergarten

  As I aged, I guess I got a few more memories. Actually, when I do think of my early school years, I remember a lot of barking and sitting under tables.  What was with that?  My teachers let me do that?  (Well, yes. They pretty much let me do whatever as I was smart and known and both my parents were teachers.)

  My most vivid kindergarten memory is coming back after missing a day of school due to illness. The class had done the workbook page for the letter K. But, I didn’t know what to do for it as it was one of those teacher-read direction things (color the cloud chartreuse).  It was a traumatic time for me.
  
  First Grade

  I don’t have any clear memories of this time, but my mom reminds me that I got put out into the hall (a common form of Curwensville punishment) for being bossy and talking too much.  The time in the hall apparently did not help much as I am still bossy and talk too much.  I also had to leave the class to go into the advanced reading group. Apparently Pig Can Jig was too simple a tome for this girl, and she had to move to Hen in a Fox’s Den.

  Second Grade

  My friend Tracy Yeager and I wore matching, floor-length blue dresses for our school pictures that year. Also, we were all amazed to learn that our teacher had a first name. (It was Kathy. It still is.)
  
  Third Grade

  This is the first year I remember with any clarity.  Mr. O’Donnell was my teacher. He was cool!  He one time told me, “For a girl, you have horrible handwriting.”  (Some things never change.)  Also, he did something incredibly pedagogically sound which I am sure must have vexed my smarty-pants soul to its very core.

  He would often have us break into teams to play math fact relay games. We were learning the times tables, and I knew those things.  When it was my turn to face off, Richie Larson was the opponent. “No problem,” I must have thought in my smug, eight year old brain.  Mr. O’Donnell gave me a shrewd glance. “What’s 3 + 2?”  In the few seconds it took for my brain to process that I was being asked an addition question, not a multiplication one, Richie blurted out “Five!” 

  Also, I recall Sonya, a girl in class, trying to buy friendship with packs of gum and drawing endowed women’s side profiles so that the boys would pay attention to her.

  And, I had my first crush on a red-headed, freckled fellow with a razor-sharp wit.  (Who was also in third grade and my teacher’s son)

  Later, I shall tell you of my fourth grade cheating and humiliation and more.  But first, tell me some of your school memories. I’d like to hear your tales!

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