Early Education

Originally Written Between 2016-2017                                           

 

I loved going to school.  I particularly loved kindergarten and first grade.  The year I was five was a “practice” year for kindergarten in my town.  I loved my teacher, Mrs. Pepin.  She played the piano and we did a lot of singing and playing games.  I don’t really remember actually learning anything such as the kids in kindergarten do today.  I do remember, however, taking out a small rug for our “naptime” and secretly maneuvering my rug so I could be next to Chuckie Handrattie.  Usually Peggy L. would get there first and for the next 13 years of school, Peggy always got what she wanted – you know… Homecoming Queen, top cheerleader, dated the football quarterback, etc., etc., etc.  But, I digress.

 

A couple of things stand out in my memories of first grade and my teacher, Miss Eicher.  I hear about the problems that teachers have these days with their class sizes growing each year.  Well, I was in a class of 42 kids and Miss Eicher never had any help.  I don’t ever remember her leaving us for a break.  She even ate lunch with us and patrolled the playground during recess.  She must have had a restroom break at some time during the day, but I never knew it.  I loved Miss Eicher.  She taught me how to skip.  She taught me how to color within the lines.  She taught me how to read (I was in the “red” group… whatever that means), and add and subtract.  And, she taught me how to print my name.

 

Four times a year, I have lunch with four of my classmates – Carole, Diane, Kathy, and Judy.  These lunch dates started when we became the committee for our five-year high school class reunion.  Many, many years ago.  We held reunions for 10 years, 25, 40 and 50.  But, even though we had several years in which we didn’t have to plan a reunion, our little team would still meet four times a year to celebrate our birthdays.  Since we have known each other since we were five or six, we’ve been through the thick and thin of our entire lifetime!

 

And so, when we got together last Tuesday for our spring birthday luncheon, I asked the gals to help me recall our grade school teachers and events.  We all remembered Miss Eicher.  But, for the life of us, we couldn’t name our second or third grade teachers.  They didn’t make much of an impression on us, I guess.

 

The only thing I remember about second grade was my class being placed in a window-less basement room that was next to the hot boiler room and having to share that room and teacher with a third grade class.  I also remember my mom getting quite mad with the principal when I was again placed in that same room when I was in fourth grade.  My teacher’s name was Miss Zaicheck.  I had Miss Simon for fifth and Mrs. Volkman for sixth grade.  The only thing I can remember about them is that I thought they were old.  Probably 40, I think.

 

Remember cloak rooms?  I think they were the original “time-out” corners.  Now, being the Miss Goody Two Shoes that I was, I was never sent to the cloak room.  But, my friend, Judy, sure remembers spending a lot of time there!  I think she was quite proud of that fact.

 

Two things stand out regarding my elementary years:

First item:  Every year, since my last name started with “V,” I was assigned a desk in the back of the room (each teacher went alphabetically, after all).  Within a day or two, I was always moved up to the front of the room near the teacher’s desk.  “Why,” you ask?  Because I talked too much and needed to be monitored, I guess.

 

Anyway, when I was in ninth grade, I was told that I needed glasses and that I probably had needed them since third or fourth grade.  But since sitting in front of the blackboard, I – and the teachers – never noticed that I couldn’t see long distances!

 

The second highlight was in sixth grade.  I was asked to be the bus patrol for my particular school bus.  That meant that #1, I got to go to the school patrol picnic at the end of the year.  In addition, I got to sit in the front seat of the bus.  Nothing else, really.  My main job was whenever the bus crossed the railroad tracks, the driver would stop before the tracks, open the door, and I would jump out, look both ways for a train, and run across the tracks and waving the bus to follow me at the same time.  After crossing the tracks, the bus would stop and the driver would let me back on.  I’d then sit back in my front seat and all was good.

 

Well, one day, the bus stopped at the tracks and the driver opened the door for me.  As I started to wave the bus to go forward, I noticed that a train was coming – lickety split towards us.  I didn’t know what to do!  I was never really trained on what to do if there was an emergency.  Do I put my hand up and yell “stop?”  I just froze.  At least I didn’t try running across the tracks.  Lucky for me and my fellow passengers, the driver was on top of things…. He saw the train… and stopped.  I just stood by the closed door until the train had gone and then the driver opened up the door for me.  

 

I never did ask the driver what I should have done.  I thought about giving up my treasured bus patrol position – but it was two close to the end of school and the picnic.  My priority was the picnic.