August 28, 2001 - 18:01 MDT

THE WONDERING JEW

Elementary Memories

Grade school was such a step up into the world for me. My eyes beheld wondrous colors, my nose smelled many new smells and I became accustomed to being with other people -- many other people, large and small.

It was probably the third and fifth grades I remember the most, although many of the things I remember were present in some degree in all my elementary school days.

It was in a similar manner that the activities went down throughout the entire school. At the start of school in September we would embark on a study of something pertinent to our age group, toward the end we were taught how to make a book from cardboards, about 8 1/2" x 11" I covered mine with blue construction paper and the inside of the cover with that beige, rough art paper that would take crayon well, with a repetitive design on the inside. There would be a page of what I had learned accompanied by a page of drawing. One I remember was a drawing of a Chinchona tree, drawn as near as a picture in a book telling about Quinine and where it came from. Another was about the habitations of the native people and my picture was probably a childish idea gathered from movie cartoons I had seen. So went the book.

We all had worked hard, carefully and did the absolute best we could, and were proud of the work we did. Teacher wouldn't let herself be cozzened into picking the, "best," book but found ways to praise each of us and made sure we could and did look at each other's books. What a gem that first teacher of art and applied study was, an inspiration to us all. We spent a great amount of time on this project while sneaking tastes of the white library paste along the way.(can't pick your nose with pasty fingers)

I am sure there was a lull in those, hands on, projects but I don't remember any. It seemed our books hadn't been finished very long before we were deftly given the idea that Hallowe'en was nearing, almost as if we had thought of it. Then, out came the Black and Orange construction paper and with teacher instigated inspiration we got happily busy on art like projects again. Black cats, witches, witches on brooms, bats, and it seemed that there were millions of different things cut out of the orange and black paper. All different ideas of what each of us thought they looked like. The witches usually had the peaked hat and hooked noses. all else was of each pupils imagination. Our teacher brought in a real jack o' lantern to marvel over as she lit the candle inside.

I vaguely remember a field trip out to a farm to see corn shocks and pumpkins as well as other farm produce in season. After that it seemed as if Thanksgiving excitement rose to a fever pitch. We were given batches of orange, brown, red and yellow construction paper. With visions in our heads as well as stories remembered we set to work to make all the pumpkins we could of all different sizes and shapes, corn shocks of yellow and brown paper. And Turkeys, many of which we used our hands as patterns for the tail. But each one showed the originality of the pupil building it. One of our very artistic students did cutouts of Squanto, Pilgrims and log cabins. There was once more a grand show and tell, I think our parents could come and see this one.

Phew ! Then Santa Claus, his elves and reindeer stories entranced us. A Christmas Carol with Tiny Tim, tales of the Yule Log pumped us full of excitement. The class would sing Christmas Carols, jeepers I was even allowed to sing, but softly, softly not to be discordant, but to feel a part of it. Along with this activity came the red, green, white and other color construction paper which we started cutting up into fancy pine trees with patches of snow on the branches, another surplus item was pine trees. All kinds of Santa's were cut out, some quite good, others obviously someone's best effort. His sleigh, his reindeer, elves and giant present bag were all rendered by us. The last bit of time before we broke for the Christmas holiday the Teacher would bring out pretty paper and fancy paper doilies, we were urged to bring the tinfoil from cigarette packages also. We became artists of the world as we made ornaments to hang from the tree at home. Each one having a loop of thread built into it for hanging. Most of us got them home undamaged, to be praised by the folks at home.

It seemed that scuffing through the snow for a while led us up to a very high point of our year. St. Valentine's day, the one day a year that boys didn't think all girls had cooties. We each had a favorite girl and brilliant ideas of just how each of us would make the most fabulous Valentine ever seen to give to that special girl. This was another occasion where a lot of fancy paper, foil and paper doilies came out for us to use in the construction of Love ! We barely knew what it was, for the most part. I guess we would each like a certain girl to the point of wishing she could be our favorite sister or a well loved girl cousin. That was before steamy TV. One day near the time our teacher would bring a fairly large box in, covered in fancy wrapping paper with a ribbon and a bow on it and place it on the corner of her desk and tell us what day we should put our Valentines in the box. On THE day we all put our valentines in the big box, we boys slipping comic, insulting Valentines in the box with another boy's name on the envelope, but unsigned.

Such bodacious formalities the teacher would go through in the handing out process. It was really a grand occasion, a highlight of the joyful part of the School year.

Then the last grandiose occasion of the year in school was Easter. Wow, all colors of construction paper for Easter, blue for sky and flowers, green for leaves, yellow and red for flowers, beige to make eggs that we decorated with patterns of color with our crayons. Easter Bunnies of all sizes and descriptions, some with fancy jackets and top hats, others were just gray silhouettes and yellow chicks, the girls would turn them out by the dozen. We proudly bore some of the fruits of our labors home to Mom and Dad.

It appeared to us that the school year was fizzling out to the long haul until School's out in June.

Oh, but we forgot ! We forgot Mother's Day. Mother's Day in May ! Not too long after Easter would come histories of great Mothers, stories of Motherhood and raising children.

It seems as if we had been in training the whole school year for Mother's Day. We made drawings of what we wanted to take home to our beloved Moms. Drawings of our first, second and third choices of what we proposed doing. With diplomatic counseling by teacher all the choices were narrowed down to one for each pupil -- His or Her best one. Then came an avalanche of beautiful paper, pots of librar paste, silver and gold colored crayons, scissors, ribbons, gold paste on stars, the girls did some sewing on theirs. What a magnificant display of beautiful elegance and splendor. Each of us proud of what we had made for Mom and folding real true love into the very fabric of our self imagined, tender, wonderful demonstration of our feelings, we took them carefully home.

Heck, I never heard the words, "self esteem," paired together, until recent years. That was back in the days I think that there were three professions requiring a call from above according to the elder folk we respected, Preachin', teachin' and doctorin'. To my way of thinking, it is as true today as it was then. But back then it was evident that those people were truly called . . . . one thing I thought should be included is nurses, the most underpaid and overworked women in our country, who for the most part took care of the cranky and desperate sick with love and compassion.

It is pleasant to sit here tonight, sorting in my thoughts the happy, joyous times we had when our sight was sharp, our ears could hear the drop of a cookie on the counter and our noses sorted the good from the bad smells. The bad ones allowing us to really appreciate the good ones. The elan of our childhood can never be recaptured or the longing to be grown up someday.

I can relive my early life only in my Elementary Memories . . . . . . . .

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