Last week, I had an opportunity to drive by the site where I attended kindergarten. It was actually in a little red schoolhouse, located on Mrs. C's property, right next to her home. It was a one-room building made of wood, painted in red and trimmed in white. There was a white picket fence surrounding the school on three sides, and in the backyard, a sandbox and a swing set. I honestly cannot understand how 15 students and one adult managed to fit inside of that building, with desks and chairs and drawing easels and toys joining us. I guess it was a marvel of physics...maybe it was just that we were so tiny, as was all of the furniture. And I also cannot understand where Mrs. C got the money to fund all the equipment and books and such. I don't think there were government stipends back then - or maybe there was. That's another mystery that will probably never be answered.
Nevertheless, the room was filled with inquisitive minds and mischievious youngsters. I remember on the day of our graduation, everyone was dressed up in their Sunday best. Our parents and grandparents were enjoying punch and cookies in our classroom, while the children were outside in the backyard playing. At some point, the girls turned on the boys and yes, I was involved in the great sandbox escapade! We poured sand on top of the boys, getting sand in their hair and on their clothes. I don't remember what happened next...I must have blocked it out for some reason that would probably require a great psychologist to unlock it from my neurons.
Oh well, such were the playful antics of kindergartners!
Anyway, the other day I drove by the little red schoolhouse only to find that they were tearing it down. I almost had a wreck! How could they remove such a vital landmark from the community? I thought about flinging my body in front of the man welding the crow bar, and I would have had it not been for my daughter telling me to keep driving and to not stop. She was embarrassed over my emotional outburst, since her high school friend was in the car. (Note: both are 17 and female - which brews up all sorts of emotions on any given day!). So I continued to drive, amid tears flowing from my eyes. My schoolhouse was being torn down. My memory was being destroyed.
I made a mental note to return and ask for a piece of the siding, as a nostaligic gesture...but because I am also in menopause, I forgot by the time I had dropped off my daughter and her friend at the high school.
I wonder if I will also forget the time spent within the walls of the little red schoolhouse? I sure hope not!
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5 comments:
Again, your writing is so impressive. Your memory was not destroyed, but simply moved to be stored in your your heart. Go get that piece of wood to hang your memory on.
Oh my I think I am going to cry. That was powerful. It is often hard to reflect on history and your past when you see buildings of places you have been. I drive by my elementary school everyday and I think about how it has changed. As a teacher in the district in which I was raised I have both a professional and personal connection to the education syste. I am a product of it. My elementary school has been labeled the most impoverished and unable to maintain test scores. It really saddens me. It really is a great school, but feeds in the many struggling ethnic groups to work with. I think about walking the hallways and the the errands my favorite teachers would let me run. I remember how my educational foundation was set into place, it was the time I decided to become a teacher. It amazes me how time flies, but reminds me of my roots and standards. I am proud of that little elementary school and the knowledge that I learned from the place. I pray it can continually produce many other educators and journeymen who seek to better fulfill their goals in life. It reminds me of a thought I once heard, "we have to make today count, because tomorrow it could be forgotten". Education is like this quote, some days we may only reach our students in a moment, and we must continue to look for these priceless moments daily.
Do you have any pictures of that school house? I would like to see it.
What a great story. I know how you feel because I get that feeling everytime I go to see my mom. She still teaches at the elementary school that I went to and every time I walk in those halls it is very wierd. You really start to notice how the memories get blurred sometimes but they come rushing back if you walk past the same little bathroom with the little sinks and look at the little chairs that you sat in. Also, the smell always gets me too. It is a shame that they couldn't have at least preserved the building and used it for something in the community.
Wow! Your story has motivated me to take more pictures of the things and places that I hold dear. We cannot take places for granted because what is here today may be scheduled for destruction tomorrow.
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