I REMEMBER...

I REMEMBER…..

Sitting at the kitchen table our long sullen faces staring at the bowl of oatmeal. My older brother and sister and I were not talking, we just stared at the bowl. Oatmeal that was not as I know it now, full of enriched grain , dried fruits, honey and almond milk. No this was just plain lumpy oatmeal. Mom felt as long as it was hot that was all that mattered on a cold morning in western New york.

We had a snowstorm last night and for sure we would be walking to school in a couple of feet of snow. School was about a half mile from our home, back then there were no school buses.

Mom went to the basement telling us those bowls better be finished when she came up or we would be late for school.

I dont know which was worse facing my mothers wrath or that of Miss Hill our cranky witch of a teacher. It seems so long ago but hell it was long ago I’m seventy eight years old.

Pat was the oldest and Bill came next. I was the baby sister at the time but there were many more to follow, nine of us in all. Pat , always the defiant one, having to break every rule and usually getting caught. Mom went to the basement.

Pat jumped up and whispered get your jackets we’re out of here. Bill and I just looked at each other. Why we followed her I’ll never know I did learn not too soon after following her commands usually got me in trouble.. In any case we ran out the door leaving that bowl of oatmeal full to the brim.

The run through the snow left me cold and tired and by the time we got to school Miss Hill stood at the door. Same mean face but this time with that damned ruler by her side. 

“Why are you late?” she said in a mean tone.

“Uh it was my mothers fault she had looked in the cupboards and realized she  didn’t have anything to fix for our breakfast so she told us to just get going .” Pat said.

The look on Miss Hills face softened a little, very little. She let us in and we walked humbly to our seats. Meanwhile Bill and I just kept glancing at Pats face as she quietly giggled.

Within minutes I heard the outside door of the schoolhouse slam. Snow whooshed in from under the door and as the door slammed I had a bad feeling. In walked my mother mad as a nest of hornets. She was pregnant at the time and her coat wouldnt button close, She walked up to Miss Hill and speaking softly, I dont know what she said but withing seconds she had Bill and Pat by their ears dragging them to get their coats on with me following very close behind. Oh yeah this was trouble.

The three of us scrambled into the back seat. No-one wanted to sit up front with Mom like we usually did.

When we got home we looked at each other and well you quessed it the same bowls of oatmenat we had  left but this time just to make matters worse it was cold. 

“You’ll eat every bit of that and then walk back to school ,” she shouted.

I quess you know by now that is exactly what we did. 

Of course arriving back at the school Miss Hill gave us an extra assignment to write I WILL LISTEN TO MY PARENTS. I think we had to write it a million times, ok maybe not a million.

This was just the start of the day my memories of that schoolhouse will never leave me. As I look back on where I am today and what I have done it almost seems unbelievable.

The schools back then in our farm area were all over the county. They were mostly all constructed the same way. One big room with rows of desks, each desk representing a different grade. It only went to the 6th. Grade after that you had to find a way into town to the big school or thinking back I quess that was the end of your education. In terms of learning I dont think think it was the worse and in fact years later as I myself became a teacher the principal of my school commented he thought kids learned more .

Miss Hill would teach a subject to each row and then if you had questions you would ask the next higher row for help. It actually worked with little chaos mainly because of, you quessed it, Miss Hill. She did not “brook “ any nonsense as she was big on saying.

Besides there was so much to do during the day. Truthfully I think the only way any teacher could manage it was by being strict.

Besides teaching she had to make sure the room was kept warm and not by turning up a thermostat.

There was a big iron pot belly stove in the middle of the room and it needed to be filled with wood and stoked hourly. She gave this job to the 6th. Grade boys. The girls had to make sure the toilets had enough newspaper cut up to be used for toilet paper. The toilets were just boxes with holes in the center. Since there was no running water anyway you didnt need to worry about flushing. Every so often one of the parents would come down and pour some solution down the hole to dissolve all the stuff. You never sat on the toilet very long anyway as there was a wall between the “heated” classroom and the toilets so it was pretty chilly. You didnt waste any time out there that I can tell you.

There was one big blackboard and Miss Hill had to utilize it for teaching all 6 grades. Well, there was a space to put your name if you went to the toilet. That way Miss Hill could keep an eye on us.

Funny but when this was the way we all lived I never felt deprived but I quess today it would be considered “institutional trauma”.

There was no organized sports program, we just called it recess and it was just fine .

We did have a music class given by a man who came once a month. His name was Mr.Green and he traveled from school to school. He would write out the words to songs on big pieces of paper and he would plunk away at the vintage, like in really old upright piano. I loved music and thought there was a place for me on the stage. Unfortunately after a botched up tonsillectomp at nineteen that dream would not come true. When the schools “centralized” I was in fifth grade at the time, Mr.Green

Got me excited about playing the clarinet. I think by default as the clarinet was a geeky instrument to many and geekier yet he convinced me to take up the bass clarinet which I only think he did because no one wanted to be seen with this big ugly instrument which by the way I played in the marching band. I believe that was Mr.Greens real motive. There I was the only bass clarinet wearing ugly wool trousers , jacket and top hat. All the pretty girls were cheerleaders mearching in front of the band in cute pleated skirts and twirling batons.  Drats more generational trauma.

We had two other visiting teachers they taught religion. Of course in our community it was plain old Protestants reading the Bible. The only other religion was the Catholics but in my book they all did the Bible thing too just with a few fancier touches. I could never forget the one teachers name, Miss Blood. No, I didnt make that up. Thet came every week and had a board that they placed felt figures of the cast, you know God, Jesus and the crew. Well at least we didnt have homework and Miss Blood was very kind. There came a time however when Miss Hill received a letter from the boss. The schools were no longer permitted to teach religion. Well it didnt matter much to me . The neighbor  next door to the school volunteered to let Miss Blood and partner (I could never remember her name) teach in her home. The parents had to write a note to the school saying we could walk next door to the aforementioned house and she could teach religion. I didnt care I was out of school however after learning the  Catholics were allowed extra recess time I wasnt too happy. There was no turning back my mother was all into religion.