It’s time for kids to go back to school. It sets me thinking about when I went to school. For the first six grades, I attended a one-room, country school. All of the farm boys carried a jack knife in an overall pocket. Some of them used that knife to carve their initials on a stationery desk top. I thought it looked great. At home, I used the sharp tip of a nail file to carve my initials, L.E.T., on the wooden, end table where our radio sat. My mother wasn’t happy when she saw what I had done.
I couldn’t brag about walking miles through snow to obtain my education. We lived just across the garden from the schoolhouse. For that reason, the teacher boarded with us one year because she didn’t drive and was gray-haired and couldn’t walk far. It was during the WWII years and some teachers came out of retirement to fill the need. I had to give up my bedroom and sleep on a cot in my parents’ large bedroom so she had a private spot. Our home was a two-story, house but we only used the upstairs for storage.
Having the teacher follow me home every day was much worse than walking through snow. I hated that at supper, she would talk about how clever my best friend, Karen, was. I complained to Mom that I was clever, too. She told me that Karen’s dad was on the school board so that was why the teacher noticed her.
The teacher’s brother and his family lived close by, so on weekends she went to their house giving us all a rest from one another.
There usually were less than ten students enrolled in the school. I was the only one in my class during all six years. It had its advantages–I covered my lessons at my own speed. By the end of the first semester, I was through the year’s textbooks and the teacher found other work for me to do.
What are your memories of school days?