But finally, it was my time to start school, and since I had colored enough pictures in my Dale Evans coloring book to last me a lifetime, and memorized every word to every song on my sister's 45's that she had expressly forbidden me to touch, it was long overdue. There was just nothing left for me at home. I needed school. And school was everything I'd hoped it would be. I loved the work, the play, the teacher, and all the kids, especially the little boy who held my hand every morning during show and tell. I truly loved it all, which is why it sucked that I happened to start school at the exact time that the school system decided to implement a "newer, more progressive" half-day schedule for all first graders. I still wonder who came up with that brilliant idea. Half of the class would come in the mornings and go home at lunchtime, the other half would come after lunch and stay until three. We never got to eat in the cafeteria (translate: no revenue for the school) which is why on the one day that my mother sent me to school early, armed with money and instructions to eat lunch with my teacher, I simply stood in the middle of the hall, paralyzed with fear. Even though she had phoned ahead to let Mrs. Bray know I was coming, and had given me explicit instructions, when I walked into that school, I FROZE. UP. SOLID. I was saved from certain death by a sixth-grader who deposited my sorry, humiliating ass into my sister's classroom, so she could deal with my catatonic state. She took me down to my first grade classroom, where my teacher was waiting for me. Mrs. Bray couldn't understand why in the world I hadn't just opened the classroom door and walked in on my own. She tried to talk to me about it while I was attempting to eat my first-ever school lunch, but both efforts were futile. I was too nervous to eat and since anxiety attacks wouldn't even be invented for another thirty years, there was no explanation for my behavior. Anyway, the new half-day schedule called for our class to switch out the morning and afternoon groups every six weeks, which ended up being as disruptive for the students as it was inconvenient for the parents, so they discontinued that progressive misstep after only one year.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Euclid Avenue, Part II
I have a lot of happy memories from our family's Euclid Avenue era, but the most significant, by far, was finally getting to join my sisters on the short walk to Stonewall Jackson Elementary School. Being the youngest, I was the last to go, so that left me stuck in the house all day with Mother, which I found to be extremely dull and boring, and very lonely. Also, I was convinced that they were having the times of their lives, since my only two experiences with school had been so much fun. The first was the Maypole dance (an old, discontinued tradition) that my sister's first grade had performed the year before. Mother and I had gotten all dressed up to witness the spectacle spectacular, and it was all so festive and pretty that I couldn't wait until I was in first grade so that I, too, could hold the end of a ribbon and dance around a pole. My second school experience took place after school had closed for the summer. I can only describe it as a kind of "activity day" that was held in the cafeteria there at Stonewall Jackson. My sisters took me with them (because Mother made them, I'm sure) and we spent the entire day doing various arts and crafts projects and playing games. I had the time of my life, but I think they (whoever "they" were and I'm guessing it was the city's Parks and Rec department) only did it that one time, which was a shame because it was such a wonderful event.
But finally, it was my time to start school, and since I had colored enough pictures in my Dale Evans coloring book to last me a lifetime, and memorized every word to every song on my sister's 45's that she had expressly forbidden me to touch, it was long overdue. There was just nothing left for me at home. I needed school. And school was everything I'd hoped it would be. I loved the work, the play, the teacher, and all the kids, especially the little boy who held my hand every morning during show and tell. I truly loved it all, which is why it sucked that I happened to start school at the exact time that the school system decided to implement a "newer, more progressive" half-day schedule for all first graders. I still wonder who came up with that brilliant idea. Half of the class would come in the mornings and go home at lunchtime, the other half would come after lunch and stay until three. We never got to eat in the cafeteria (translate: no revenue for the school) which is why on the one day that my mother sent me to school early, armed with money and instructions to eat lunch with my teacher, I simply stood in the middle of the hall, paralyzed with fear. Even though she had phoned ahead to let Mrs. Bray know I was coming, and had given me explicit instructions, when I walked into that school, I FROZE. UP. SOLID. I was saved from certain death by a sixth-grader who deposited my sorry, humiliating ass into my sister's classroom, so she could deal with my catatonic state. She took me down to my first grade classroom, where my teacher was waiting for me. Mrs. Bray couldn't understand why in the world I hadn't just opened the classroom door and walked in on my own. She tried to talk to me about it while I was attempting to eat my first-ever school lunch, but both efforts were futile. I was too nervous to eat and since anxiety attacks wouldn't even be invented for another thirty years, there was no explanation for my behavior. Anyway, the new half-day schedule called for our class to switch out the morning and afternoon groups every six weeks, which ended up being as disruptive for the students as it was inconvenient for the parents, so they discontinued that progressive misstep after only one year.
But finally, it was my time to start school, and since I had colored enough pictures in my Dale Evans coloring book to last me a lifetime, and memorized every word to every song on my sister's 45's that she had expressly forbidden me to touch, it was long overdue. There was just nothing left for me at home. I needed school. And school was everything I'd hoped it would be. I loved the work, the play, the teacher, and all the kids, especially the little boy who held my hand every morning during show and tell. I truly loved it all, which is why it sucked that I happened to start school at the exact time that the school system decided to implement a "newer, more progressive" half-day schedule for all first graders. I still wonder who came up with that brilliant idea. Half of the class would come in the mornings and go home at lunchtime, the other half would come after lunch and stay until three. We never got to eat in the cafeteria (translate: no revenue for the school) which is why on the one day that my mother sent me to school early, armed with money and instructions to eat lunch with my teacher, I simply stood in the middle of the hall, paralyzed with fear. Even though she had phoned ahead to let Mrs. Bray know I was coming, and had given me explicit instructions, when I walked into that school, I FROZE. UP. SOLID. I was saved from certain death by a sixth-grader who deposited my sorry, humiliating ass into my sister's classroom, so she could deal with my catatonic state. She took me down to my first grade classroom, where my teacher was waiting for me. Mrs. Bray couldn't understand why in the world I hadn't just opened the classroom door and walked in on my own. She tried to talk to me about it while I was attempting to eat my first-ever school lunch, but both efforts were futile. I was too nervous to eat and since anxiety attacks wouldn't even be invented for another thirty years, there was no explanation for my behavior. Anyway, the new half-day schedule called for our class to switch out the morning and afternoon groups every six weeks, which ended up being as disruptive for the students as it was inconvenient for the parents, so they discontinued that progressive misstep after only one year.
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