Columnists
Scribblers and combination locks
September always brings a flood of emotion and memories for me and, likely, many of you. When I was a pre-schooler, I really wanted to go to school. I remember watching, tearfully, as my older sisters trudged across Strathburn Park to the corner where a big Greyhound bus picked them up and whisked them off to school. I could hardly wait to be old enough to get on that bus. Soon though, I was old enough to get on the bus. I happily spent the last weeks of August getting ready for my second favourite day of the year. After Christmas Day, the first day of elementary school was the best for me. It meant new scribblers to scribble in, new pencils to scribble with, new books to scribble about and new shoes! Life was pretty simple, then. I loved elementary school. Reading, writing, social studies, art on Fridays, recess, jump rope, “move-ups,” lunch in a lunch box and my friends.
And then? Well, before I knew it, I was old enough to go to high school. I traded the Greyhound bus for the TTC. I did look forward to the first day of high school the same way I had anticipated my first day of elementary school. But, believe it or not, I didn’t enjoy my time in high school. Nope. Actually, grade nine was spent in a junior high school, connected to the high school. In grade nine, there were 75 kids in my homeroom class. A room designed to accommodate 35 was overcrowded on day one. I knew only one of those kids in my homeroom. She was from the same Catholic elementary school I had attended. Seventy five kids and I knew only one. Instead of dealing with one teacher with one set of expectations, suddenly there were eight teachers. My belongings were stored in a locker. I had to remember the combination of the lock. I had to go to gym classes where I was expected to change into a hideous blue “romper” in front of a bunch of people I didn’t know, except for that one girl from St. Jude’s. The three-minute warning bell, between classes, sent a shiver down my spine. At home, I dreamed of being late for class. I dreamed of not being able to remember which class was next or where, indeed, that classroom was located. I dreamed of forgetting my lock combination. As crowded as my mind was, I was determined to finish high school and get the heck out of the system, for good. Ah, those good old golden rule days. High school and I were not friends. I wasn’t cut out for the structure. And, where was recess? No wonder kids skipped classes. What the H-E-double- Dutch happened to recess? My only defence was to ace things from the beginning and not have to repeat a year as many of the kids did. My strategy was to get in, get out and get a job. I didn’t want to spend one extra minute in high school.
So here we are in September of 2016. The birds are making those “fall” birdie noises. The air is a bit fresher in the evening. The farm stands are lusciously laden. The local kids aren’t looking as carefree as they did in June, which I completely understand. And, while I often brag about my life being “all holiday” now, the last week of August and the first week of September still put me into a cold sweat. I still have dreams of missing the bus, getting lost in the halls, losing my homework, forgetting which class is next or (and we’ve all done it) calling the teacher “Mom.” Did I mention the nakedon- the-bus dream? Geez! Who hasn’t had that dream? I, for one, have had that dream more often than I care to count. This year, as the kiddies head back to class, I’ll rejoice. No lockers. No combinations to remember. No class schedules. No homework. No scribblers. This year, on the first day of school, I’ll work out with my trainer in the morning and head home to sit on the patio with LOML and sip a glass of Prince Edward County wine. The only new shoes I’ll be excited about are the ones I’ll wear in the gym!
Stay the course, kiddies. And don’t forget a local apple for the teacher.
Comments (0)