“The most important day of a person’s education is the first day of school, not Graduation Day.”
Fall is giving us a preview. Last night got down to 57°. I wore socks and a fleece wrap. I shut windows and doors. Right now it is 70° and cloudy. It will stay that way all day. Tonight will be in the 50’s again. I’m thinking we will have leaves changing early this year.
I still have a cold, mostly coughing. I seldom get a cold in the winter so this summer cold throws me a bit. It is just wrong.
My first grade teacher was Sister Redempta. She scared me. She scared most of us. Our class was huge, almost 50 of us, baby boomers. None of us dared even to whisper. We didn’t want the wrath of her look. My classroom was on the first floor, to the right of a set of stairs. We had a cloakroom and two doors into the classroom, one from the cloakroom. Banks of tall windows were on the side and the back of the room. You needed a long stick with a hook at the top to open and shut the windows. The bathrooms were down two sets of stairs from my classroom, boys to the right, girls to the left. We’d walk two by two and stand in line waiting for our turns. We ate lunch at our desks then went out for recess, weather permitting. Our comings and goings were ruled by a bell, a hand rung bell. An eight grader would ring the bell over the bannister from the top floor so we all could hear. I still have my report card from the first grade. Every subject was satisfactory.
I have scattered memories of the different grades I traveled through in elementary school, but my first grade memories are still the brightest in my memories drawers. My life had irrevocably changed. My days were now regimented. My time was no longer mine from Monday to Friday. I had to wear a uniform. I had to raise my hand to speak and to have permission to go to the bathroom. I was good at following rules, but I also was good at breaking the rules without being caught. I had learned the system.
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