DEAR BOSTON PUBLIC SCHOOL K-5

DEAR BOSTON PUBLIC SCHOOL K-5

By Hannah Stone

This is a work of fiction with some truth mixed in.

All names have been changed.

Dear Kindergarten Teacher,

I don’t remember you. But I have a class photo, and you look super sweet. Years later, my mom told me she kept bumping into you at bars on the weekends and thought you were embarrassed. Don’t be… she says it’s how single women met men in those days. I just wish my mom hadn’t left my half-brother to babysit when she went barhopping.

Signed,

The Keeper of Secrets

***

Dear Boston Public Schools,

Thanks for Bussing. Back in the seventies, I lived on Commonwealth Avenue and from my top-story bedroom window, I could see a mosaic of bustling sidewalks, car traffic, and green trolleys. I met people from around the world and every walk of life and I’m thankful this diversity extended to my teachers and classmates. The summer before middle school, we moved to a “better” district, and I walked to school. And even though everybody looked like me, I never fit in.

Yours truly,

Hannah

***

Dear School Bus Driver,

When I was in the first grade, a mini school bus stopped in front of my apartment building. But when second grade started, I walked to the big school bus stop, alone. It stood next to the liquor store on the hectic intersection of Commonwealth and Harvard.

I waited,

and waited,

and waited some more.

I figured I’d gotten there too late when a school bus pulled up. Phew! I climbed in and wondered why I didn’t recognize any of the other children. You drove to an unknown part of the city and parked in front of a strange school. I watched as the bus emptied. Looking through the rearview mirror, you asked,

“What are you waiting for, an invitation?”

“This isn’t my school.” I replied.

“So, what’s the name of your school?”

“The Hennigan.”

You radioed headquarters and drove me there.

And that was that.

Signed

Girl Without an Invitation

***

Dear Right School Bus Driver,

I’m sorry that horrible kid whisked your wig off and threw it down the aisle. How I wish I’d said something to show you I was on your side. You see, I knew all about wigs, because my mom hated her thick, wild hair and always wore a platinum wig to cover it up.

Signed,

The Girl with the Flyaway Hair

***

Dear Second Grade Math Teacher,

You made math cool. When you asked the class what seven plus eight equaled, everybody got it wrong except Kara. I wished it was me. But it wasn’t.

Signed,

Finger Counter

***

Dear School Bus Driver,

You screamed. And I saw the black cat catapult through the air. It was my first experience with death. I cried. No one comforted me. That’s all right.

Signed,

Thumb Sucker

***

Dear Hallway,

Did you think we were small barbarians? How many fights did you witness? Flying fists attached to angry boys, surrounded by children chanting, “fight! fight! fight!”

Until…A frantic teacher ran to break it up.

I pray you also witnessed compassion, friendship, and the occasional hug. And at the end of the day, we left you with hope for humanity.

Signed,

Tomorrow is Another Day.

***

Dear Cafeteria,

I remember long tables, rectangular trays, and the smell of slightly soured milk.

Signed,

There is such a thing as a free lunch.

***

Dear Boy, Who liked my Pretty Friend,

One day during lunch, you told Kara to either lift her shirt up or to take off her doll’s dress. Kara removed the doll’s clothes and showed its boobs to you.

“Why did you do that?” I asked her, genuinely shocked.

“Well, it was either that or lift my shirt up.” She replied.

Maybe you were simply curious about the birds and the bees.

I don’t know.

Signed,

Boobie Blocker

***

Dear School Librarian,

Once in the third grade during recess, your son punched me out of the blue. I didn’t tell anyone. But my black and blue told the story. That night, my dad picked me up for his every other weekend custody arrangement and asked me how I got it.

“Someone punched me,” I said matter-of-factly.

He demanded to know who, but I refused to tell him. He insisted, and I relented. Why did I want to keep other people’s secrets? If only I had told him a horrible secret that day.

How different things might have turned out. I carried it with me for a long time and it all but destroyed me. Anyway, bright and early on Monday morning, he drove me to school, marched me into the library and made me tell you what happened. I felt wretched because I was supposed to be the keeper of secrets.

You didn’t seem surprised and made your son apologize.

And that was that.

Signed,

Black and Blue

***

Dear Playground,

Arms out, Kara and I skipped across your wooden posts like tightrope walkers when my ankle twisted into itself. It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized something was wrong.

“I can’t walk.” I told my mom.

She called my dad, and he took me to the hospital.

Turns out I’d fractured my ankle and was now the proud owner of a cast and crutches. I felt like a rock star because everybody wanted to sign my leg cast. During recess, I sat on a bench and watched Kara play. She completely ignored me.

It was like I’d ceased to exist.

Signed.

A Friend in Need is a Friend Indeed.

***

Dear Joey,

That morning on the bus, I witnessed an older kid giving you something to hold for him. Later that day, I was pulled out of class. Your teacher dragged you by the collar and asked me if so and so had given you a pack of cigarettes.

“No,” I lied.

Your look of utter betrayal is seared into my consciousness for life. Why did I lie? I NEVER forgave myself.

Never.

Signed,

Wretched

***

Dear Fourth Grade Teacher,

I wrote the answers to the spelling test on a tiny piece of paper. Without a word, you walked up to my desk and took it away. You didn’t inform the principal, my classmates, or my parents. Thanks for that. I still suck at spelling, but I never cheated again.

P.S. That year, we put on a school play. You put all our names into a bowl and picked mine first. Imagine my surprise when I learned I got the lead role… a skunk!

Signed,

Stinky Hannah

***

Dear Boy, Who Liked My Pretty Friend,

During recess, you kept asking Kara to kiss you.

Kara asked me what she should do.

“Tell him to close his eyes and instead of giving him a kiss, slap him.”

She slapped you hard.

Yikes!

Signed,

Think Before You Speak.

***

Dear Redheaded Boy Who Liked Me,

I don’t know why, but I didn’t like boys back then. Sorry I said “yuck!” whenever you were around.

Signed,

Hannah

***

Dear Swimming Instructor,

I may have thought boys were gross, but I had the biggest crush on you. Go figure. I stood in the pool looking up at you, all googlely-eyed. When you asked me if I felt okay, I felt my face flush from embarrassment. Anyway, thanks for teaching me how to swim. It has given me endless enjoyment. I didn’t realize it then, but I was fortunate to go to an elementary school with a swimming pool.

Signed,

Against the Tide

***

Dear Norse Goddess,

Golden hair. Powerful body.

“I’m going to beat you up, tomorrow,” you threatened.

Terrified, I skipped school the next day and the next and possibly the next day after that. It wasn’t the first time. I’d walk to my bus stop and give my mom enough time to get ready for work. When I was sure she was heading downtown on the green trolley, I walked back to our apartment. It was one advantage of being a latchkey kid.

By that time, my half-brother attended a boarding school for troubled teens. His secret was still safe. But I was alone, and that was good. Anyway, when I finally showed up, you said, “You skipped school because you’re afraid of me.”

Yep. You got that right. Thanks for not beating me up.

PS.

After that, you were super nice to me, and we became good friends. We even did a dance routine to the song Your Smiling Face for the talent show.

Hand on hip.

Shake, shake, shake.

Jump and turn.

Shake, shake, shake.

After the show, a girl came up to me and said I was a better dancer than you. I didn’t want your feelings to get hurt, so I said, “Please don’t tell her that.”

Besides, she was wrong. You were definitely the better dancer.

Love,

Hannah

***

Dear Mr. Z, My Fifth-Grade Elementary Teacher,

You read Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH to our class and assigned us to write the “sequel.”

I used what I thought was flowery language and discovered I enjoyed writing. I thought you’d only be concerned with the mechanics of writing and not the story itself. So, when you were about to hand my story back, I looked at my shoes and said, “I can’t spell.”

Your response? “You’re a terrific writer!”

In the years to follow, I wouldn’t get a lot of positive feedback, but your encouragement stuck with me.

Thanks! Writing would be what saved me.

Signed,

Hannah

***

Dear Hennigan School,

Unexcused absences and undocumented bus incidents might be a thing of the past, but back in the seventies, you were all about A’s, B’s, and self-esteem. So, imagine my surprise when I attended a new school and discovered I had learning disabilities.

My report cards went from nearly perfect to failing. I skipped school more than ever. Until…

I got caught.

Toward the end of eighth grade, a teacher called my father and asked if I was okay, and could I please return my science book?

My dad was furious.

But really, how uninvolved were my parents that they were unaware I’d been skipping for almost five years?

Life went downhill from there. `

Turns out a child should not have to be a keeper of secrets. When I reached adolescents, the secret nearly crushed me, and the truth came out. Except it came out all wrong because after years of pain and confusion, I mingled it with lies.

Nobody tried to get to the bottom of it.

Nobody believed me.

Nobody. Even after I explained what was and what wasn’t.

That’s okay. It’s my fault and I will carry the burden until I die.

I learned to live with it and write through my pain and discovered that even though I still struggle with the mechanics of writing, I’m not so bad at it after all. And with it, I hope to bring some light into the world.

Sometimes I wonder what life would have been like if I stayed in the Boston Public School system and never discovered I had learning disabilities. A Tinker Bell in Neverland if you will. No labels to weigh me down. Would I have found my voice earlier if I had been encouraged to write my stories?

The day our class graduated 5th grade; we sang the lyrics to Those Were the Days in your auditorium. A song about how people think things will never change. But time marches forward and we must walk through fire to become who we are meant to be.

I’ve come to terms with the past and the present and put all my hope into the future. A future where children have no secrets. A future where all children have a voice. Because the only thing a child should have to carry around is joy, light, and laughter.

And that is that.

Love always,

Hannah