SCHOOL DAYS: LIFE AT LFE

Photo: Mrs. Stanley and Skitch
First Grade
Pioneer Days 

THEN:

When it was time for me to start first grade, my mother told me that I had no choice but to go to school. She said that she would surely keep me home if she could, but if I did not go the "Welfare People" would come and take me away from my family. Even though I felt a lot like keeping my sons home as well (when it was their turn) I made a point of being positive and excited for them. I told them about all the fun they were going to have when they started school. The idea that I MUST go or be removed from my family had frightened me more than a little, so I hoped to spare them that and to give them a more optimistic viewpoint on life. If you must go anyway, best to look on the bright side, I figured, and see that cup half full. I sent them to school and cried my heart out with fear for their tough encounters and with loneliness for their little hands in mine and their voices ringing in my ears. But they did not know about these tears until they were adults. They did know, however, that I loved summer vacation, weekends, and snow days every bit as much as they did. They did know that I was never one of those mothers that was excited about school starting back simply because she was sick of her own kids. I never craved school just to "get the kids out of my hair." My kids were largely a joy to be around. Even when they were sick, or whiny, or being particularly difficult I loved having them with me. If I simply must have some me time I found family to keep up with them. I was blessed to have that option, I know. 

In my own first grade days, I was happy to find that I had a marvelous, and fairly trustworthy teacher named Mrs. Stanley. This classroom smelled as good as the kindergarten room had, and my life was suddenly ablaze with crayons and blunt end scissors, abacuses, and glue, paint and markers, tracing and learning numbers and letters, connect the dots, and find the ones that are alike or different. My mind burned with happiness over all this gladful learning. I made friends with a girl named Camillia Michelle. She was a beautiful dark haired child that rode the bus with me. My mother praised me when she found out we were friends. She told me that Michelle, as we called her at school, had found her father dead in the bedroom one morning and now she had no daddy, so I was to be as kind to her as I could be. Again, I was petrified, but this time I think my mother was right to not cushion me from the realities of life. I think I appreciated my parents more once I realized they might not always be there.

At first, I was too little to open the doors of the schoolhouse. My family was full of short people anyway and my health had slowed my growth. I was six and looked about four years old. I had to wait until a bigger kid opened the door and then dash in behind them. These were the days before they served breakfast at school, although they started doing that when I was in fifth grade at my second elementary school. Some mornings though, they would have hot chocolate ready, and when we got off the bus we would all line up in the cafeteria to get some of that thick, warm, chocolaty goodness. A classmate, Lisa C, walked by me one morning and wiped her hot chocolate off of her mouth and onto her dress hem. In the process she showed her panties to the whole cafeteria. I don't think I had ever been more shocked in my life. Wasn't she much too old for that kind of mistake?! 

One day, the school custodian decided to pull my tooth. I had told her (the only handy grown up) that I could not eat my lunch because my loose tooth was hurting. She said, "Let me see." And reached into my mouth and wiggled the tooth. "Yep, it's lose alright." And before I knew it, she had pulled that tooth right out of my head and was showing the bloody end to me. It was the first baby tooth I lost. I don't remember if it was the pain or the shock, but a blackness slid up the world, and I woke up in the nurses station. I could hear the principal, the nurse, and the custodian arguing about silly things like angry parents and something called "lawsuits". I sat up and asked if I could go back to my classroom now. The nurse came over and checked on me. The custodian told me I was a good strong girl and she was sorry she had scared me. After a bit, the principal walked me back to my room, and never another word was said about the incident. 

My second grade homeroom teacher liked me just fine. Somewhere during second grade, I gave her a hound puppy and for years after that she thanked me for that dog and kept me abreast on how he was doing. She was Mrs. Vicey Mullins, and she was a sometimes blustery but very kind lady that I remember fondly. The students traded rooms in the second grade and the other teacher disliked me much more than Mrs. Mullins liked me. I figured out how to deal with that as best I could for a seven year old, and I carried on. I was still friends with Michelle, and I made two new friends named Annette and Tonya. We four would hold hands when we walked around on the playground. Lots of girls did. But the boys did not. I wondered why the boys did not like each other well enough to hold hands. What funny creatures they were! Annette met my parents after school one day and begged them to let me stay the night with her that weekend. That was one of many rejected ideas of being away from home, but at that time I was more relieved than disappointed. The world was a big and scary place. What if Annette's mother liked me about as much as that one second grade teacher did? My family did not have a telephone, so I could not call my parents and be rescued. No, I was not ready yet to stay away from home overnight with a friend. I could have stayed with my sister, but even that was not allowed. In second grade, I was also good friends with a guy cousin named Earl who looked at our class photo and laughed before telling me, "Dee Dee your knees look like footballs!" I thought about slugging him quickly while no one was looking, but I did not want to get in trouble. In the end I just shook my head while he giggled at my funny knees. I also started hanging around with Rosalee and Betty now and then. They were both sweet and funny. They were poor girls like me and we stuck together when the rich kids started in on either of us. I remember once (in fourth grade) Betty said the rich girls were just jealous of Rosalee and me because we had bigger boobs than they did. She paused a moment and then added, "I don't know WHY they hate me!" And we all laughed. 

I talked the librarian into allowing me to assist her that year, and I continued doing so all throughout my days at LEF. Thus, I found a sweet refuge from the bullying. In that quiet room with so many books, many that were already like dear friends, I could breathe. I would run my hands over "Billy and Blaze," "Harold and the Purple Crayon," "Frog and Toad," and "Amelia Bedilia" reverently as I passed them. The librarian loved me, and in there I could pretend that everyone did. I plowed my way through a tough year and into the third grade, which at first was scheduled to be with the same teacher, but she complained about having me in her room two years in a row, saying it was, "Too much to ask of any teacher!" The bemused principal put me in the only other third grade class, and my learning was nourished all year by a lovely lady name Mrs. Rose who read us Bible stories at the end of every class day, if we behaved. We most often did. That year we did not trade classes, and I was happy to be with the kind Mrs. Rose all day every day. In third grade, Annette and Tonya made friends with other girls that had more in common with them. They were healthier and fairly well off compared to Michelle and me. I did not mind though. I met a girl named Jutannia (Tanny) and made another friend named Angie. Jutannia was my sister Lila's relative by marriage, and Lila had asked me to be friends with the tall skinny little girl that was the same age as me. Jutannia and Angie were a tad more rambunctious than my friends had been before, but I managed to just stand by and be amused by their exploits and stay out of trouble myself. Jutannia once told me to call her a "turkey", which was the insult of the day. When I did, she replied back with, "Well, if I'm a turkey you can just eat me pilgrim!" She and Angie laughed and laughed, but it was the strangest come back I had ever heard. Why would you want someone to cook and eat you? How could that even be funny? But she and Angie sure seemed to think it was! The sexual innuendo went over my short little head with ease. 

Fourth grade landed me in Mrs. French's room and though she did not hate me nearly as much as the second grade teacher, she did not seem to like me very much either. I was back on the "bad kid" list even though I had always done everything in my power to be liked by my teachers and to stay out of trouble.

One particular day, I wore one of my dad's white t-shirts to school because mother had fallen behind on the laundry and I loved daddy's Ts. I slept in them often, and didn't see a reason one why I should not wear them to school if I wanted. While in line outside, gathering to go back in after recess, I noticed one of the more popular and monied girls looking pointedly at my t-shirt.

"Don't you just love t-shirts?" I asked her.

She sneered at me, "Not if they are just stupid white t-shirts with no words or pictures on them!"

Her friends laughed and I heard one say, "I bet that's her dad's shirt!" And they laughed some more. I wondered what they thought was wrong with wearing my dad's shirt. I felt out of place and disliked often at LFE, so my skin was rather tough by that point. Later in life, I ran into the very girl that had made fun of my t-shirt. I hadn't seen her since I'd made a point of avoiding her in 8th grade. We both now had kids that were on the same T ball team. As she walked my way, my gut automatically braced itself for a confrontation and my mind began having all the preparatory conversations with my son about bullies. You could have "pushed me over with a broom straw," as country folk say, when she walked over and treated me like a peer. She had grown up. I was just another "mom" and she was as nice to me as I could have ever hoped. People grow. People learn. People change, for the better and for the worse. This time, Thank goodness, it was for the better! I still had those conversations with my sons about bullies. They are everywhere.

In the fourth grade, I'd been on my own a lot. Jutannia and Angie, Earl, and Michelle were all in other classrooms (Michelle had been held back a year) and so I buddied up with a cool guy named Paul. The teacher did not like him very much either, so we sat in the back of the room and talked quietly to each other. For the first time, I deserved some of the trouble I got into. I decided to have fun and to not stress myself out too much trying to please people that were not going to like me. Paul was fantastic to talk to and, when I showed up (I was out sick a lot that year) we bent our heads over comic books and motorcycle magazines. We whispered about horses, and farm animals. We talked of legends and ghost stories. I learned a lot that year, but very little of it was from the schoolbooks. Still, my grades were fine and they passed me to the fifth grade. 

In the fifth grade I had my first male teacher, Mr. Branham and also had Mrs. V. Mullins again, the nice teacher from second grade. Mr. Branham was a very kind man, and of course I was familiar with and liked Mrs. Mullins, but that year, I had decided not to do homework, and not to pay much attention in class either. I am afraid, I gave them no recourse but to fail me, and so they did. I was hanging around with Jutannia and Angie most of that year, but they passed on to the sixth grade when I did not.

The next year, I had fifth grade again with Mr. Dotson, who turned out to be my favorite teacher of all time. Mr. Dotson went above and beyond like no teacher I had before or after. He taught the required subjects, and still made time for many new and exciting topics as well. We studied current events, photography, art, creative writing, vocabulary, and more. Many days found us at the craft tables making our own holiday decorations for our seasonal bulletin boards. (My favorite thing to do at school was volunteer in the library, my second favorite thing to do was decorate the bulletin boards, and my third favorite thing was music class.) We also made the props for the Halloween play we did that year. My friends in that grade were Andrea and Jennifer, but we hardly got to know each other as they passed on to the next grade and I (again) was held back. 

Disappointing Mr. Dotson was horrible, and a very mean thing to do, since he did teach me so much. I realize now that my failure must have hurt him, at least a bit. He must have felt that it reflected on his ability to teach, or to reach a troubled child. I can only say that not all children are reachable, and that these days I am very sorry I ever disappointed him. But disappoint him I did. I earned a failure in his room once more and would take fifth grade for the third time! Next time though, I would be in a brand new school! LFE had toughened me, entertained me, taught me, and shaped me all it would. My family was moving to town, and I was off to a new school and brand new adventures!

Photo: Second Grade Class

Skitch in red, middle row, far left
Earl France is in the front row, far left
Annette is the middle row, far right & Tonya is beside her
Rosalee (stripes) & Betty (pink) are beside Tonya
Mrs. V. Mullins is on the right in black and white