Monday Memories: My School Years

Hey, y'all! Monday which brings us one of my favorite memes and it's all about sharing memories! Y'all know how much I appreciate memories so you can imagine how excited I was to hear of a meme all about writing our memories! 

Want to join in? Just click the button and link up to Memory Monday at Retired, Not Tired!

This week's prompt is: My School Years

I enjoyed, as much as any kid can, my school years for the most part. Grammar school (what we old timers called elementary school) was uneventful and my teachers were ok. Except for that second grade one. She was horrid. One of my most favorite things about school was the first day of school outfit. I got a new one every year and couldn't wait to wear it on the first day. AND, it was store bought which I loved because my mother made a lot of my clothes and I never appreciated that. 

Junior High (they call it middle school now) went by in a blur. I remember enjoying my academics but not much about anything else during those years. Except I do remember some really hateful kids. Mostly girls. And yes, I recall their names. Looking back, I suppose you could almost call them bullies. Not that they physically bullied others but their gossip and the spreading of it was vicious. They never sought truth but could spread a lie quicker than a match following a trail of gasoline. Small town girls they were. OH, and the time my 7th grade science teacher (Ms. Elmore???) putting those disgusting earth worms on our desks for observation. I hated her for that. Still do. 

High school flat out sucked. We moved just before my freshman year- from one small town to another- and life during those years were the worst ever. Except for most of the academics. I did enjoy Latin and history and English. Anything else, not so much. 

College was good until my junior year when it turned into great. And, once again, I quite enjoyed my academics. So much so that I changed my major 5 times before getting it right. Or, them right, as I ended up with two degrees. I finished my college years off with a master's degree. 

Having introduced my school years with a brief summary, I'll re-share a tale of the second grade teacher from hell. (My entire school career was not like the following tale. Most of my teachers were fantastic and I learned so much from them.) 


The year was 1965 and her name was Miss Garrett.  She was young and sported a very blond 60s haircut, you know the one--poofy with the big flipped up curls that lay above her shoulders--and mean as hell very strict.  There was never any doubt that Mrs Garrett was the head bitch in charge the one and only boss in her second grade classroom.

Back in those days, when people still thought that the earth was flat when elementary school was called grammar school, corporal punishment was a teacher's best friend THE acceptable form of classroom management and, most likely, Miss Garrett's sole reason for becoming a teacher.  She absolutely adored made swift use of this method for even the slightest infraction of the breathing classroom rules.  The particular method that gave Miss Garrett such pleasure was a ruler slap to the palm of any 7-year-old hand belonging to any second grader foolish enough to commit a classroom felony (including taking too many breaths in a minute, scratching an itch, or turning one's head in the direction of the blackboard too slow or too fast).  Miss Garrett would marched proudly towards the cowering 7-year-old and demand that he/she hold out their hand which she promptly grabbed by the 4 fingers--to assure connectivity with said hand--and slap the wooden ruler against the uplifted palm--from 1 to 5 times depending on the infraction.

The thorn in my side during second grade was George--the little George not the big one.  LG was a short little dude with straight blond hair and the devil on his right shoulder (no angel on the left side.  He gave up and moved on- most likely during LG's kindergarten year).  Our class was having a share day which meant we could bring one item from home that was special to us.  It was quite an exciting day as, back then, students were not allowed to bring any items from home that were not pertinent to the learning experience.  I, on that fateful day, brought in my favorite book at that time- the story of BAMBI.  Each student had a turn to stand up, show their item, make a brief statement about the item, and then pass it around the room for the other students' viewing pleasure.  Our desks were side by side in a huge, square around the room- when you handed the item to the right it would return to you on your left.  When my turn finally rolled around, I made my statement, held up the book and passed it to my right--on purpose because LG sat on my left and I was not about to let him be the first one to touch my cherished book- and sat right down like the good little soldier prisoner student I was.  Once the book reached LG's mitts, he immediately raised his desk top and shoved my book inside all the while wearing a smug little grin on his face.  (I know I was only 7 but I thought something like, WHATTHEHELL?).

"Give it to me." (whispering)
Silence.
"Give me my book!"  (whispering louder)
Silence.
"Give. Me. My. Book. NOW!"  (maybe a bit louder than a whisper)

LG took my precious possession out of his desk and handed it to me BUT HE DID NOT LET IT GO.  He had put a death grip on my book and I was one pissed off second grader.  I yanked that book out of his death grip and whacked him right-up-side-his-little-second-grade-head!  That's when I noticed Miss Garrett standing in front of my desk.  Wooden ruler in hand.  CRAP.  This was NOT going to end well.  At. All.

Miss Garrett's classroom policy was shoot first and NEVER ask what happened.  She was not the least bit interested in whowhatwhenwherehoworwhy.  NoSir-eeBob.  She merely took my hand and whacked my right palm with her torture weapon wooden ruler and then carried out the same punishment on LG which was totally unfair because all I did was get my book back and, IF I had to be punished, LG should have gotten way more than me because it was all his doing.

Now, what lesson did I take with me throughout my educational years from this experience?  First, take care of LG outside the classroom. Second, do not blindly trust authority figures to render just judgments.

At least I had plucked the thorn from my side.  LG was afraid of me from that day forward!  Which means he wasn't as dumb as I thought he was.                

Monday Memories: Family Life Continues

Hey, y'all! Monday which brings us one of my favorite memes and it's all about sharing memories! Y'all know how much I appreciate memories so you can imagine how excited I was to hear of a meme all about writing our memories! 

Want to join in? Just click the button and link up to Memory Monday at Retired, Not Tired!

This week's prompt is: Family Life Continues

For 25 years, give or take, I stayed home and raised the kids. Actually, staying home is something one rarely does while raising children. I spent that quarter of a century volunteering, chauffeuring, managing, doctoring, nurturing, encouraging, making priceless memories, laughing until it hurt, praying, creating family traditions--a good deal of which took place outside the home at school, gymnastics, piano lessons, soccer games/practices, cello, band, dance team, competition dance, chorus, softball, rehearsals, performances, and so on. 

To say the least, our family life was active. Busy. Never dull.

But, when I think of our family life when the lovelies were growing up, I think of our dining/kitchen area…

The kitchen has always been a gathering place for my family for as long as I can remember.  The women in our family have probably spent over half of their lives in their kitchens and I am no different.  I spent countless hours conversing with my grandmother as she prepared meal after meal- three meals/day seven days/week and while she baked cakes and breads from scratch.  I also enjoyed listening to her sing while she worked in the kitchen.  Our family ate all of our meals at the kitchen table and, if someone had football practice or a meeting, we waited for them to get home and we ate together.

People are always pushing togetherness during meals at the family table--like this is something new or perhaps they believe families have strayed from this particular type of family quality time. Meals at the table with everyone around are the only kind I have ever known (and not just during the holidays) so it is no surprise that I would continue this tradition with my own kids.  Certainly our kitchen table saw thousands of meals over the years.  Sometimes we were even a bit creative with our meals- candlelight dinners; no manners night; dessert first night; etc.  However, saying our table only satisfied family time during meals would diminish the importance and quality of the times our family shared while sitting there together.  

   

Our kitchen table provided space for creating school projects; ginger bread houses; Christmas cookies; Easter eggs; colorful art work. The lovelies also studied and read books there. Many a game of telephone has been played at the table as well as hundreds of hours of playing board games, card games and putting together jigsaw puzzles. The laughter still resounds if you listen carefully. This table has seen more than anyone’s fair share of Girl Talk, both serious and silly- the sharing of the deepest secrets and fears that young girls harbor as well as the silly thoughts and stories of a day in the life.  Our kitchen table has witnessed the tears and anger brought on by disagreements as well as the tears, hugs, understanding, and smiles the resolutions brought.  It heard the intense discussions of the injustices of the world and the ways to make changes.  It heard us telling our girls that they could be anything in the world they wanted to be.  The table has been the meeting place for friends both young and old as each of their friends sat and discussed their lives with me as well. How amazing it was to know their friends almost as well as I knew my own girls. They all knew that there was no judge or jury at the table, only listening and an attempt to understand.  

While I was growing up, the kitchen table was the center of our family life.  It was the same while I raised the lovelies.  The kitchen table is still a meeting place for the living-at-home-lovelies and myself and it remains our center when everyone comes home as it stirs past memories, and encourages the sharing of present goals and  future dreams. And those games and all that laughter? Yep, it still takes place right at the kitchen table.