First Day

    Holding her mother's hand tightly, the little girl walked into the classroom for the very first time. Cacophonies of sound were not unfamiliar to the little girl.  Kids were getting settled in their desk; moms were saying their goodbyes and giving final instruction on behavior.  The little girl said goodbye to her mom, knowing that her older brother was close at hand if she needed him.  The kindly looking teacher began to distribute papers, distracting the children from the abandonment of their moms.  The day had begun.

    That is how I recall my first day at school.  I was the youngest child in our family.  I yearned to attend school along with my older brother and cousin.  They had all the fun.  They got to go to school and see all of their friends.  I was relegated to playing with kids younger than myself or to use my imagination to fill my time with play.  Candyland was the game of choice, when I visited with my Aunt two houses down from ours.  She would oftentimes set aside the ironing and the washing to play a game with me.  A bottle of Coke and a game in the afternoon were a special time while I waited for my cousin and brother to arrive home from school.  Now, it was my turn to go to school.  I was ready.

     I settled into my desk and put away my cigar box filled with pencils and Crayolas.  Mrs. Breco was my teacher's name.  She was a kindly looking woman, grandmotherly of sorts, wearing wire-rimmed glasses and graying slightly at the temples.  When she smiled at us, her slightly wrinkled face enhanced the twinkle in her eyes.  She loved what she was doing, teaching.  She set about to distract us from the recent abandonment of our moms.  Papers were passed to us.  The smell of the mimeograph ink permeated the room.  Oh, that smell, none of us would forget that smell. Crayons came out of the new crayon boxes and we set about to our business.  Letters and combinations of sounds, learning to write our names, all blended into that first day. 

     The bell rings and we head out to the playground.  The kids run jumping, yelling and attack the playground like a troop of Indians on a hunt.  The swings, the slides, all of the equipment on the playground, make it hard to decide what to play on first.  The slide, the big slide!  It had to be at least twenty feet high!  I'm sure it wasn't, but to a child's eye, it loomed large.  The merry-go-round, covered with kids riding, pushing, going 'round and 'round, faster and faster!  Thirty minutes of play flew by, but I was ready to go inside and continue the day when the bell rang. 

     The room smelled of lunch sacks.  In the un-air conditioned room, the smell of our lunches filled the air with the blended scents of bologna sandwiches, bananas, and peanut butter and jelly.  After more exercises in learning, the bell rings and it's time to head to the cafeteria for lunch.  We walk in an orderly way to our large lunchroom.  Some of us buy hot lunches while others simply buy a pint of milk.  We gather with our new friends and become more acquainted with each other.  Trading abounds. "I'll take your peanut butter and jelly if you want my bologna sandwich." "How about trading an apple for a banana?"  Meals eaten, the bell rings again and we make our way back to the classroom.

     The classroom is darkened and it's time for our naps.  I bring out my towel from home, spread it on the floor, and lay down.  Mrs. Breco sits at her desk making admonishments for us to settle down and rest.  She walks among us to attend the rebels by their side, and encourage them to be quiet and rest.  I must admit that a towel on the floor isn't the most comfortable item to lie on and rest, but it was all we had at the time.  The rest time passed and now the lights come back on, the shades are pulled up and the afternoon's tasks begin. 

     We practice our letter writing, but I was left-handed.  Mrs. Breco didn't allow any "lefties" in her class.  I tried to accommodate her, but to no avail.  After beginning to read and write backwards, my mom came up to the school and demanded that I be allowed to use the hand of my choice.  Of course, that didn't happen on the first day of school, so I must get back on track.  Our reading books were put away in our desks, our cigar boxes filled with pencils and crayons, all put away for the next day's exercises of learning.  The day flew by it seems.  The bell rings, we break out of the classrooms onto the breezeway at Frazier Elementary, and head for home.  I run out into the sunshine, eager to get home, and tell my tales of what I did that day to my mom.  I loved school and was ready to go back the next day.

     While many of you have a similar experience, we all have different memories of our teachers, friends, and schools.  Treasure those memories and try to hang onto them.  It is in our memories that we remain young and playful.  Find joy in simple things, trust your instincts, and never forget how you felt on that last day of school before summer break.  Sometimes we have to remember to get us through our lives during the tough times.