first grade

Growing Up in the Shadow of a Model Student

Attending a small rural school where “everybody knows everybody” presents problems for the lackadaisical student unfortunate enough to follow a “model” student. My older sister was the darling of every teacher. She always did her homework, had beautiful penmanship, and followed all the rules. She never missed a spelling word until fourth grade when she forgot to cross the T in grandfather and didn’t dot the i in president. She was only called down for raising her hand too much and trying to give all the answers!

Needless to say, teachers held high expectations for me when I showed up in their classes three years later. “Oh, I had your sister in my class. She was the best student I ever had.” Not fully understanding the expectations that teacher held, I beamed with pride, thinking I was “teacher’s pet” by proxy. This would be good.

By day two in the first grade, I’d gotten over any initial shyness and been labeled a blabbermouth. I beamed with pride and couldn’t wait to share the good news with my parents. It didn’t take them long to straighten me out on that. Just a few days later, I learned Mrs. Crow didn’t approve of my putting my big yellow pencil up my nose. Not only that, she didn’t like me eating school paste. She was offended even after I pointed out it was my paste. It tasted delicious. She also was critical of my penchant for peeling my crayons and chewing the paper wrappers. The unfortunate teacher had difficulty understanding how the model student came from the same family as the one she was currently dealing with. I think the final insult was when I told her “My mother said she wouldn’t take a sick dog to Dr. Pugh. Mrs. Crow had the nerve to tell me I was “sassy, ” and let me know her father was a good doctor!”

I was offended at her attitude and reported back to Mother. Not surprisingly, Mother was horrifically embarrassed and cancelled out on her roommother duties at this Christmas Party Later that week.

I don’t think my brother suffered such high expectations when he entered the first grade three years behind me.

Puke

As I walked in my first grade classroom in December 1956,  I  wondered what all the excitement in the back of the room was about. The kids were buzzing around a mushy, malodorous pile of paper towels on the floor.  “What happened?

“Belinda puked!”  Jody giggled and pointed.

“What’s puke?”  I was glad someone else asked because I didn’t know either. It sounded like a bad word and Mother had so far prevented me from hearing as many bad words as I would have liked..  Jamey Alston picked up the corner of the towel and revealing a puddle of puke, educating me and several others.  Nancy Pearson walked in just in time to puke when she saw it.

Everyone but Belinda and Nancy thought it was hilarious.  The teacher shooed us out so the janitor could clean it up before someone else wanted to know what puke was.  What a great day!  I learned a very useful word and the class got an extra recess.  I also learned I didn’t want to be a janitor, my first taste of career conseling.

Most days at school were all right.  I loved recess and lunch, but they didn’t last long enough.  Sometimes the classes got boring and I daydreamed.  Miss Angie said I was a scatterbrain, meaning that I didn’t pay attention, drew pictures in class, lost my homework, and chattered to my friends. She even said I could make straight A’s if I only tried. I was so pleased since it was certainly all true! I thought scatterbrained was good till she sent a note home.  Daddy and Mother didn’t agree that scatterbrained sounded good and explained it in a way I couldn’t confuse!

Trouble always seemed to be looking for me.  How was I supposed to know what I wasn’t supposed to say in class?  My teacher, Miss Angie’s face got red when I told her, “My mother said she wouldn’t take her dog to see Dr. Lewis!”

Putting her hand on her hip and snapped at me, “I’ll have you know my daddy is a very good doctor!”  Then she made me stand at the blackboard with my nose in a chalk ring.  I got in trouble again when I got home and told Mother how mean Miss Angie was to me.  After that, Mother called one of the other mothers and told her she wouldn’t be able to help with the class Christmas party the next day because the baby was sick.  The baby didn’t look sick to me, but it seemed like a good time to practice to keep my mouth shut.

A Rose by any Other Name

teacherWhen the little girl started first grade, the teacher asked her name.

“Happy Butt.”

“Happy Butt. That’s not a name.  Let me check my records.”  She checked her records and came back.  “You’re name is Gladys, not Happy Butt!”

“Glad Ass, Happy Butt.  Same thing!”

“Hell No, I Just Got Here!”

Repost:   imageRobby Bobby Peters’ school career didn’t really start well. Sharing the same first grade class as his older brother Frank who was giving first grade a second try, he didn’t really get the big picture. He left his seat and headed for the playground when class got dull. Since Frank knew his way around, he grabbed Robby Bobby, dragging him back to his Continue reading →

Jimmy Sasses Sweet Miss Billie

Miss Billie                                                           Sweet Miss Billie School Pics enlargedThis is an excerpt from my book in progress.  It is a collaborative memoir of my mother’s memoirs of The Great Depression.Pictured above you can see Kathleen Holdaway, left to right from grades 1 through 5  Please don’t be too hard on Miss Billie.  Corporal punishment was an accepted part of education at that time.

I adored Miss Billie, my first grade teacher.  I hungered for her approval, strived for perfect work, and admired every thread she wore, her floral scent, her ladylike jewelry, and her kind, modest manner.  Heaven could have granted me no greater wish than to grow up and be just like her.  And above all this, Miss Billie was fair and gentle.  One day after lunch Jimmy Wilson shocked us all by “sassing” Miss Billie,  earning me the privilege of serving as message bearer to Mr. Kinnebrew, her husband and the principal. I proudly carried a note concealed beneath red and white checked napkin covering the lunch basket Miss Kinnebrew packed for them daily.  I almost felt like a member of the family, being on such intimate terms.  I knocked shyly, intimidated by the powerful man.  He opened the door just a crack, took the basket, and returned it to me moments later, without a word, to my great relief.  I returned the basket to Miss Billie, got her smiling nod in return, and scurried back to my seat.

She, Jimmy, and the covered basket exited the room.  The entire class gave the door just time enough swing closed before rushing to claim prime viewing spots at the large crack afforded by a missing panel, the faster, more aggressive kids and the lucky ones in the back rows getting the best views.  Despite our enthusiasm to see the show, we restrained ourselves sufficiently not to push the door open and fall out into the hall in harm’s way.  After a quick lecture on manners and respect, Miss Billie had Jimmy bend over, grasp his knees, pulled Mr. Kinnebrew’s belt from the dainty basket, doubled it and gave him three stinging licks across his backside.  As Jimmy rubbed his bottom, Miss Billie tucked the belt beneath the napkin, took Jimmy by the arm, and led him back to the classroom, just ahead of the thunderous sound of the class returning its seats, which she somehow failed to notice. No mention was made of how Mr. Kinnebrew was to keep his pants up the rest of the day, since neither the basket nor the incident was referred again, but Jimmy was respectful the rest of the year.  I think he’d seen a new side of Sweet Miss Billie.  It was an altogether edifying and satisfying experience for the rest of us.

First Things First

The first day of school, Miss Angie passed out great big yellow pencils just the size of my nostrils. I stuck the blunt end of mine up my nose. It felt really smooth and slick. It smelled just like Mother’s iron skillet. Miss Angie got all mad, picked it out of my hand, and threw it in the gray metal trash can with a big thunk. “Don’t stick pencils up your nose. That’s nasty.” The pencil didn’t look that nasty to me or I wouldn’t have stuck it up my nose.