Daily Prompt; We Can Be Taught
Daily Prompt; We Can Be Taught
I was in the third grade. I was a chatterbox. When I look back at past report cards for elementary grades I can see all the boxes checked for talking too much. I couldn’t help it I guess. I had lots to say.
Now that I am much older I know that even back then I was craving what I was lacking at home. I needed to be validated. I wanted to be noticed. I suppose that even now I still have some of those feelings that will pop up now and then.
My teacher, was a short, plump woman, who wore stockings and pumps and a print dress every single day. Her hair was orange/red. She had more freckles on her face and arms than anyone I had ever known at that time. When she smiled around her eyes formed wrinkles and she reminded me back then of Mrs. Clause with those tiny eyes that danced.
She moved me several times for talking. I sat in the front rows. I was moved to the back rows. I can remember standing out in the hall a couple of times. I also tattled. I think people tattle for attention. Tattling draws attention. Whether good or bad we need it, we think.
She was a strict teacher and molded me into what I am today.
I didn’t like her much at the time, but she helped me to start the process that I was worthy. She helped me see that bad attention was not the only choice I had in drawing others to me.
For the lack of confidence part, I had to teach myself through tough lessons in life. Good friends sitting with me and talking. Tears being poured, and accepting. Yes, this is the toughest teaching job of all. Accepting myself for who I am.
I am never going to be any other than who I am. The TV media can destroy us. It makes us ponder on what else is out there. Why can’t I look or talk, or have what she/he has. The bottom line is God made me who I am for a reason. I am no one special in the outer world. But I am a writer, a good mother, and a woman who has a right to stand here living on this land.
Another school semester will soon begin. If you’re in school, are you looking forward to starting classes? If you’re out of school, what do you miss about it — or are you glad those days are over?
Photographers, artists, poets: show us LEARNING.
I did plenty of work back in the days getting myself just right for the grand entrance of school.
I would lay my clothes out after rolling my hair and lay them across my desk chair.
I slept with the dryer on my hair. I loved the hum of the motor and lulled myself to dream land. I think this is why I need a fan 365 days a year now. It is difficult turning it on low because the motor is too soft but I could not hear Al if I turned it up full speed as I wish. Maybe this is why I am always so tired, I don’t sleep well anymore.
I liked boys better than school grades, although I didn’t do bad in school; but I could have had mainly A’s if I would have worked a tad harder.
What was the hurry for heaven’s sakes? It only ended up in divorce.
Both times I had to drop out because of Al’s health. I always thought I would go back. I would like to go back again some day.
I could sit here and go on with should have’s and could have’s but what good would it do. Those chapters are closed. Do I miss my school days? Yes, to a point. The freedom of thinking. The fun and laughter I shared. The phone ringing off the hook.
But alas, I have them all tucked neatly in my memory box. I take them out and sort through them sometimes but they tend to make me a little sad. One fear I have that I can’t shake is getting older and dying. Going back to school days reminds me I am getting up there in age.
I will admit that going through the chapter of nearing death with Al has opened my eyes and helped me to see that heaven is all that it is said to be. Tranquil, calming, all-healing, and beautiful. How can I fear that?
Now for you younger ones that are in school, or technical schools here is a piece of advice from the granny era.
Have fun, in fact have a blast, but study hard, learn all you can. Be somebody. Don’t wait for someone else to make you someone. And remember boys and girls, life ticks by quicker than you can blink your eye. And keep watch on that school room door techies, because one day I am going to be walking through that door and sitting my butt right down next to you. I will get that nursing diploma.
Today I am writing for Kellie, over at
http://kellieelmore.com. Each week she gives a writing prompt, and then I need to do something with it. So now I will give it a try!
Kindergarten. I have a couple of memories of Kindergarten that stick out in my mind. The school I attended had been just built, so our class was the first one to attend and graduate on the front porch. Now the school has been added on many times, and there is no longer that special porch, that I have proof of with my little cap and gown, anymore.
I remember my grandma walked me to school the first couple of days, and now looking back I know why she did it in the first place. I am terrible at directions. Now you are going to laugh at this, I am sure, but from my house, all eyes could see the red, big brick building, and yet my first day that I walked home from school, I had gotten lost. Isn’t that so pathetic? A block a way, and I lose my way. Sort of like Little Bo Peep! To this day, I have to use a GPS, plus make that same road trip a few times, before it is lodged in my head forever. Some things we do carry through out our lives, I am living proof!
I remember that inside the school-house there was a very big doll house, that stood taller than us kids, and you could go inside of it and play or talk with other classmates during recess times in the winter. Back in those days, you were not shoved out into the cold, just because it was recess. There were alternatives.
I had a six-year-old crush on a boy named Timmy. He must have had a baby crush on me also, because he and I would go inside the house and sit together on the benches and hold hands. Oh, if my mother only knew what I was doing at recess, she may have blown the whistle on my innocent flirting! lol. The teacher must either not have noticed that we did this, or she thought nothing of it. Back then words like molesters, rapes, child endangerment, were not part of our home vocabulary. If these crimes were being committed, it was always in the bigger cities. Our little town was safe!
We also had to take our rest mats and lie down either on the floor, or we could choose to rest our heads on our hands on top of our desk. Either way, Timmy and I always managed to be near enough to each other, so we could wink or smile or wave at each other.
As far as learning goes, which is what we are to do in school, I only know by going back to my report cards, what kind of student I was. I got all S’s, so I must have been keeping up, but I could find one thing in common all through my elementary years, and that was the comments made under the conduct section. Grades K-6, always stated that I talked out loud, and talked too much. One year I saw a comment, where the teacher had left my parents a little note, stating she, the teacher, had moved me several times during the year, and could never find me a seat where I would remain quiet.
This also has carried on through out my whole life. If my situation was different, and I was out in society more, I can be known to talk your leg off. I am sure that one of my friends looks at her watch, when she calls me, to make sure she has the abundant time to talk to me, because we are usually on the phone for an hour. My excuse is to her that I don’t see her often, so I have lots to say, but the truth is, I love to talk. Life, thoughts, dreams, my life as a caregiver, you name it, I talk.
I do remember learning how to count and learn the alphabet and tying my shoes according to the singing directions of Captain Kangaroo. Now a days, you have to know all of this plus your address, phone number etc. I wonder why they have kindergarten anymore. What do they teach, first grade?
The last day of school for kindergarten came, and when Timmy and I were sitting on our oh so familiar bench, we both heard the teacher say that recess was over and to all return to our seats. It was like Timmy knew that he would never be coming to this school again, because he quickly gave me a kiss on the cheek, and then ran out of the doll house, and I never did see him again.
Oh for those innocent fun days of learning again. No bills, no cheating lovers, no time clocks, just fun and learn, all combined into one!!!!
Dahlia put all day dreams aside and buried her head in to her studies. Every free moment from chores at home or not in school, she studied. She even gave up her time with the television viewing.
Her teacher was so impressed with her, that she helped Dahlia fill out forms to enter the college for arts, in the city next door. The teacher came to Dahlia’s home one evening, and was invited to supper. As they sat around the table, the teacher gave the good news of acceptance into the college. A squeal of delight came out of Dahlia’s throat, but her parents were not all that impressed with this news. Who was going to help around the house? Who was going to prepare the meals? The four of them sat in discussion, each giving their own points of view on the topic, but in the end the parents could see only their own. Dahlia walked the teacher to the door to bid her goodbye, and as she lay her hand on the door knob, the teacher leaned in and whispered in her ear, that together, they would make this work. She explained to Dahlia, that a talent was here, and it should not be wasted.
It seemed from that night forward, there were more chores put on her list. More time-consuming, making Dahlia almost too tired to even dream, but she didn’t give up. She was bound to make her journey in life worth living. She dealt with all the extras in her life, and still managed to keep her grades up. Her parents saw her determination, but theirs was also a match to be contended with.
Dahlia was in her last year of high school, and was still setting her goals. She wanted to be a dancer, and nothing was going to stop her. Although, her parents saw this desire in her actions and eyes, they were unwilling to give up their daughter-maid.
Two weeks before graduation, college doors were waiting to be opened for her future. Her tuition had been paid for the first year. She had two things stopping her, one was transportation and the other was her parents blessings for a better life.
The teacher without invitation paid a visit to the family home and one more time tried to convince the parents to look at their child as an adult, to see the potential, but there was no movement. After taking a deep sigh, the teacher announces that Dahlia will come live with her through her college days, and she will be able to walk to school or ride a spare bicycle. The parents stood up and left the table, and retired to the living room, and turned on the television to watch their variety show. The teacher looked Dahlia straight in the eye, and told her, that in the end it was her decision. She could stay home and humor her parents or she could grab hold of the opportunity given to her and run with it. They both sat up, and walked together into Dahlia’s bedroom. Whatever they could grab and pack and carry in one trip,they did. With all packed and sitting at the front door, Dahlia walked into the living room, and told her parents she had decided to go. She explained for the last time her desire to be a dancer. With no expressions or words being muttered, she walked to each parent and gave each a peck on the cheek, and told them both, that she loved them,and she was sorry she was hurting them, but she must go, and she did. She turned around, without looking back, and the teacher and Dahlia walked out the door with her bags and it was a long time before she ever stepped through that door once again.
By the time they made it to the teacher’s home, it was getting dark, and both ladies were tired from the whole day, but yet when they looked into each others eyes, there was a twinkle of excitement. A new beginning, a new adventure was about to begin in a few days. With smiles on both faces, the teacher showed her to her bedroom, that would be hers for the next year.
After leaving her to herself, Dahlia looked the room over. She ran her fingers over the table tops and could almost see herself in the shine that reflected back to her. She felt the crisp, line-dried sheets on the bed. The bathroom she would share with the teacher was right across the hall, and the teacher’s bedroom was one room down from the bathroom.
The bedroom walls were a creamy yellow, and their were white flowing curtains framing the windows, with white blinds that could be pulled for privacy. Dahlia walked over to the windows, and pulled the blinds down, blacking out the unknown and thoughts of her parents. She walked over to her bags, and began to unpack the clothing and accessories she would need for tonight, and proceeded to get ready for bed. In no time, at all, she was fast asleep, dreaming about the doll, with stiff body, who had been twirled round and round.
The next morning brought a knock on the door, letting her know that the teacher was up. After admitting her into her room, the teacher walked over to the window, and rising the blind, let in all the bright sunshine, and a lift of the window pane, allowed birds to be heard. It was a beautiful day. The teacher told her to get dressed quickly and come to the kitchen, where she would be preparing their breakfast for them. Dahlia nodded and got up off of the bed, and unpacked the rest of her clothing, hanging some of the pieces in the closet, and placing others into the drawers of the dresser. She got dressed and went across the hall to the bathroom, and splashed cool water over her face, and brushed her teeth and her hair. She gazed at herself and was proud of all she had accomplished so far in her life. She thought of her parents in the city next door, and felt a sadness for the lack of their emotional support, but had to let it go, and turned around walking out of the bathroom, made her way to the kitchen.