SCHOOL DAZE

Winsday Wisdom 306

I love seeing pictures of my grandchildren dressed for their first day of school. I love hearing about their school projects, sports, and funny moments.

However, I do not remember a lot about my time in grade school. I must have been in a School Daze!

What are the things you remember most from elementary school?

I fell in love on my first day of school, sort of. It was the first day of first grade. I saw this cute little girl crying out in the school hall with a teacher trying to console her. My heart went out to her.

That night I was interrogated by my parents, both school educators. When Mom asked if I made any new friends, I mentioned the teary-eyed little girl. Mom asked if I knew her name. “Yes, Joan. She is going to be my girlfriend.”

Dad asked if I thought she was pretty. I replied, “Yes.” The questions continued until Dad asked about the color of her eyes. I shrugged, “I never saw her eyes. She was crying all the time.”

Dad told me I could not have any girlfriend without knowing the color of her eyes.

So, I went through Miss Solomon’s first grade class without any girlfriends. That trend continued throughout my elementary years.

In fifth grade, I was disciplined for disrupting class because I was making Donna laugh. Miss Sharp’s “punishment” was to sit the students in the hall and wait for Principal Noblet to talk to them. Unfortunately, my mother passed by before the administrator. That did not go well.

She took a double-take glance followed by the Michael Jackson moonwalk back to where I was. Then came the pointed finger in my face. I think she actually said she hoped I had a broken leg because that was the only acceptable reason for being on the floor in the school hall during class time. During the next two weeks, I missed more time playing with my friends than if I had broken my leg.

Sixth grade was an emotional roller coaster. My parents and I wanted me to be in Mrs. Nance’s class. She was a very nice and accomplished teacher.

My mother, a high school and college English teacher, wrestled with another idea. Mom always pushed education more than sports. Mom pushed more weight through school than any Olympic lifter. The great Pusher never stopped even though Dad became a Hall of Fame coach and her sons all preferred sports.

Mom decided my education would benefit from the very strict and rigid classroom instruction of Miss Peck, the prototype for the most feared and hated elementary teacher ever portrayed in film or literature. No kid wanted to be in her class, but half of us would be assigned to the torture chamber. I mean, she was already a legend before I ever met her.

That is correct. She was a legend, not in the sense of a celestial icon, or fabled falsehood, or infamous myth. She was more like the feared Wicked Witch of the West or the contemptible Cruella de Vil. There was a schoolyard whisper rumor she had changed her name from Lizzie Borden, the Fall River axe-murderer.

Sometimes, her class would not go to lunch in the cafeteria. They were not on a class trip with a picnic basket; they were sitting at their desks in piles of classwork. Every grade school kid knew that her class would regularly be absent from recess time. Throughout the earlier grammar school years on the playground, we could see Miss Peck’s students still imprisoned in their classroom.

What was the most common saying heard on the playground during those elementary days? It was not what one would suspect from little kids during recess…”This is fun” or “Let’s play ball” or even “I need to go to the restroom.” Throughout the schoolgrounds, one collective moan drowned out all the laughter…”I never want to be in Miss Peck’s class. That would be torture.”

Why would my mother subject me to this regimen? Learning is supposed to be fun, right? Apparently, it is also designed to be hard, boring, and void of enjoyment. Preparation for life.

Miss Peck was noted for her extensive lessons, heavy homework, and beautifully classic cursive handwriting. Mom called my handwriting some form of scribbling. She wanted me to learn the elegant flowing cursive script.

My wife has beautiful cursive writing. My handwriting preference is to print unconnected block letters. My sentences are barely legible. I think I am still protesting sixth grade.

Mom convinced Dad I would benefit from the challenge of imprisonment in Miss Peck’s classroom.

My biggest emotional baggage from sixth grade came from the recess periods. Our class was never allowed outside while the other kids were frolicking on the playground equipment and throwing a football around in the schoolyard.

However, Sally and I were granted recess period for our completion of the assignments while the rest of the class remained inside. It was also while all the other students were inside. Miss Peck’s actions would now be called Cruel and Unusual Punishment.

Sally was a very cute blonde. She was smart and very competitive both scholastically and athletically. I tried to discern her eye color, but we just never connected in the heart department. I probably talked to her more than any other girl I have ever known before I was married.

We spent hours and hours on the playground…alone. We were in a schoolyard wasteland. It felt more like a penitentiary. Well, I was never in a prison yard, but it could not have been more restrictive than what we experienced with the warden, Miss Peck, watching out her window, monitoring every step.

I was a sixth-grade boy sitting for agonizingly long hours on the swing set with a girl who did not like me.

The killer part was seeing my friends watch me on the playground. Todd stared out the huge windows as if he had lost his best friend and favorite dog. Gary would make finger gestures and stick his tongue out at me. Charles always had his head buried on his desk.

Miss Peck showed her humanity during the sixth-grade sports challenge against Mrs. Nance’s class. Our team had one student on base but was behind by one run in the last inning of the softball game. That is when Miss Peck whispered in my ear. It must have sounded like Marlon Brando in The Godfather. She made an offer I could not refuse.

Miss Peck offered me an “A” in art in exchange for a game-winning home run. What a deal! Do you think this is how Michaelangelo got the prestigious assignment to paint the ceiling of the Sisteen Chapel?

For one brief shining moment, my mental camera caught the image of Miss Peck doing her best preview of a Taylor Swift celebration at the Kansas City Chiefs football game.

After the victory, Miss Peck made me promise two things: (1) secrecy about the deal based on something she called “ethics” (the statute of limitations has run out on that confidentiality agreement) and (2) a promise I would never go into any profession connected to “the arts.” Roden and Raphael benefitted from my absence.

Elementary school. I witnessed the televised accounts of the first American astronaut, Alan Shepherd. I listened to the radio reports of the dramatic seventh game walk-off home run by Pittsburg Pirates’ Bill Mazeroski to win the World Series against the highly favored New York Yankees. I watched the black and white televised Billy Graham Evangelistic Crusades and the John Kennedy-Richard Nixon presidential debate.

Mostly, I was a good kid throughout grade school. I occasionally terrorized my younger brother, Bill, as Todd and I guided him through the brutal challenges of astronaut training. I was only seeking to prepare him for greater things in life.

My late life reflections leave me wrestling with the question of why I went to grade school. Recess was never long enough. My class lecture attention span matched that of a fruit fly. Social contact with the opposite sex was mostly limited to games of Red Rover.

As one person wrote, each class had a cool kid, a nerd with glasses, a non-stop talker, a silent shy type, a pretty girl, some mean girls, a loud-mouthed rebel, and a drama queen. The personalities of Grumpy and the other Seven Dwarfs also made daily appearances. That was just the teachers!

Did grade school teach me necessary disciplines for life? Or instill in me the love of learning? Did I develop social skills or a life of avoiding eye contact? Did I ever realize that the music teacher had me playing the triangle so I could not sing in the choir? Did Sally become a psychiatrist because of her sixth-grade playground experiences?

How did I turn out? That is still to be determined, but my mom marveled that I could simultaneously do homework, eat a snack, watch TV, talk on the phone, and play with my brothers. Apparently, grade school taught me how to multi-task.

Oh, the good old School Daze! I am more grateful for teachers than ever before. God bless the ones who invested their lives into the hope of the future.

I do remember this about my early School Daze, meeting Jesus, my Savior and Friend. When I mess up, He cleans up. When I am confused, He is my guide. When I am down and out, He is the Hope on my Horizon.

In anxiety, Jesus is my peace. When sorrowful, He is my Comforter. When weak, Jesus is my strength. I could list hundreds of things Jesus is for me.

For this School Daze memory session, this I know, Jesus is my greatest Teacher.

This I know, Jesus loves me.

This I know, the most important thing in life and eternity is to love God and love others.

This I know, Jesus lives inside of me to lead me to others He intends to love through me.

This I know, but still learning how to love first and love most.

My prayer for you is shared from the inside cover of the Bible my parents gave to me as I went far away to college.

“Whatever course of study you pursue, we pray this will always be your #1 Textbook.”

That is good counsel for all first-grade students and to those who, like me, are in the last classes of life.