How we dreaded it, right? At the same time it was exciting, was it not? I was always excited to be going on to the next grade, to learning new things. A new year meant I was getting closer to the coveted teen age years when I’d be a BWOC, Big Woman on Campus. We all aspired to be older didn’t we? It always seemed so far away until that first day of school when we knew we were getting closer and closer to our goal.
Like our “permanent records” which always were carried over to the next teacher to get us, we kids also had our own file of who was the best; the hardest; the most no-nonsense teacher in our respective schools. Our teachers always threatened us that what we did in their class would be recorded in that darn ole “permanent record.” That way the next teacher to come along knew who the troublemakers were; who were the brightest; who were the slowest in the class. Sometimes, however, those files didn’t always ring true. Maturity played a big part in how a student progressed from year to year. I know of some teachers who never looked at the records, preferring to form their own opinions of us. They told us just the opposite however, just to keep us on our toes. In a small town like ours the teachers generally knew who the troublesome students were anyway.
So we all piled into our new classrooms in our new “first day” school clothes or hand-me-downs depending on what household we came from in the South End. Some had more than others to be sure. If we were one of the lucky ones we came with a new pencil box which had pencils, erasers, and maybe a rule in it. We felt really special if we also had a protractor. The only thing I ever used mine for was to draw a true circle to use in one art project or another. We might also have one of those tin lunch boxes that now sell for outrageous amounts on EBay. We usually had a new box of crayons too. Of course not all of us had these things, which often led to jealousies later on.
Today the parents are given long lists of what they need to buy for their child for the school year. I wonder what happens to those parents who have several children and cannot afford everything on these long lists. I don’t even want to think about where they get computers for all of them. We already know that the teachers pick up the slack in more ways than one. It was the same when I went to school. Nothing changes in that respect.
One of my favorite parts of the first day of school was when we got our books passed out to us. If there was a brand new book in the pile, I would open it just to smell the new page smell. During that first week the teacher would test our reading skills and place us in the appropriate “reading group.” What group you were in determined what reading book you received. I was always in the top group. The teacher always closely guarded who was in the top group, but we knew somehow anyway. It seemed as though the same kids were in the same groups every year, so it wasn’t that hard to figure out. I don’t know if they still follow this procedure in classrooms today but I doubt it. The system was not a very good one ego-wise for the kids who ended up in the bottom group. They struggled all year long to get out of that group and into the next one before the end of the year so that when they went to the next grade they might possibly get put into a higher level reading group. If they’d had the same system for arithmetic, I would certainly be put into the bottom group. Letters and words always came first with me.
I usually got to sit near the same kids every year too. Most teachers seated us according to the alphabet so that she or he could learn our names faster. Trouble is, after they’d learned our names, we still sat in the same seats. The only time a seat was changed was for discipline’s sake. Troublemakers were put into the front row in that case so that the teacher could keep a better eye on them. I always ended up in the back row, therefore, as my name was Sylvester, toward the end of the alphabet. Earlene Sayward and I always got to sit next to each other.
One of the first assignments we were given was to write an essay called, “What I Did on My Summer Vacation.” For most of us in the South End, one summer was much like the next one. I was lucky enough to be able to go to church camp and to visit my cousins over on the farm. Most South End kids, however, didn’t do much else but hang around the neighborhood getting in and out of trouble. The most fun they usually had was racing bikes with their friends; playing street games or baseball; or going down to Sandy Beach. The biggest thrill for most of them was attending all the doings for the Lobster Festival which took place mostly in their neighborhood. They might get to go on a couple rides, buy some cotton candy, and watch the parade.
Do they still make kids write these things? Old habits die hard. One of my first blogs on this new space was full of what I did this summer up in Maine. Just to keep up the tradition, I’m going to start some discussion groups. One of them will be titled: What I did in Maine this Summer. Details to come. I hope you did have a good summer and that your kids are now all enjoying their first days of school.
Thanks for listening.
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