Welcome to Friday everyone, the 25th day of April in 2014. Hard to imagine it once again but "good heavens!" how amazing it is to realize just how fast this life of ours flies by us. It's our day to go on a field trip for all of the fourth graders at Olathe Elementary and we will be traveling the 20 miles or so up to Delta, Colorado to visit Fort Uncompahgre for the day. I've been through that part of the state many times since I arrived here last summer as it on the direct route to Grand Junction. I have always wished that I could visit the fort some time but never had the occasion to until today. It will be a learning experience for my students and an even greater one for the their teacher. That's one of the nice things about my classroom position this year, that chance for growth as not only a teacher but a person as well. I may never know as much about the Centennial State as I do the Sunflower State but that won't stop me from trying.
We are making a lot of memories together, the "18" and I are, as we wind down the last remaining weeks of a school year that I never thought would be. I find myself pausing more often than not and looking out at them, gazing into their faces and hoping above all hope that life will be good and kind to them. In the years to come, I hope that they can remember back to their fourth-grade year and know in their hearts that the woman they called "teacher", Mrs. Renfro, loved them very much and only wanted the best for them.
You know friends I think back often to my own fourth-grade year, especially now that my teaching position has been this particular assignment. I remember how hard my teacher, Mrs. Harris, must have had to work to teach the more than 20 kids she had all year long. 1964-65 was a lifetime or two ago and bless that dear and now sainted woman's heart, she did it all alone. There were no classroom aides that came in to help her ride herd over us kids, no computer to access the internet on, no Smart board or for that matter even a dry erase board. When we went on a field trip, and by the way that was the ONLY field trip for the year, it was usually to Hutch and Mrs. Harris took care of us all by herself. I don't ever remember her taking along mothers or fathers to help in the supervision of our perhaps sometimes rowdy class of ten-year olds. The really cool thing was that if we were lucky, there was the outside chance that her husband, Mr. Harris, would be the bus driver for the day. I loved that woman and how I wish that I could pick up the phone and call her this day to tell her how much of an impact she had upon the life of the shy little girl called "Peggy" who sat in her classroom that year.
I have thought back this year more than ever to my mom and with a thankful heart I realize just how many sacrifices she made for me and my six siblings, especially during my fourth-grade year back in my hometown of Haven, Kansas. It was during that year that she took a job, for the first time ever, over in the small town of Halstead. My parents wanted to build a restaurant in Haven so while it was being constructed that year, she became a waitress at one of the local eateries there in order to learn more about what it was like to manage such a business. Mom always wanted to be at home in the morning to get us kids up and out of bed, on the bus and safely to school each day. Because of that, she worked the evening shifts always and thus when we got home, she wasn't back from work yet. Our dad was there to take care of us but I can remember that I sometimes wished she didn't have to go work, that she could be there just like every other kid in my class' mom was. She had to miss so many of our school programs and sometimes I would imagine that she really was there so I wouldn't have to cry. I never told her then, nor in the years to come, how sad that made me. Mom did the best she could.
Funny how you remember things after so very many years have passed by. Ever have that happen to you friends? From deep inside the brain, from time to time, a memory surfaces that you haven't thought of in so very long. It happened to me last night as I watched our fourth-graders at Olathe perform at their final music program for the year. I looked at all the boys and girls, dressed in their finest, with hair perfectly coifed and smiles on their faces and it reminded me of a time of so very long ago. Suddenly in my memory, I was thinking back to my own last music performance as a fourth-grade kid and the night that my father had to make sure that I looked my best. When I got home from school and wondered what I would wear to the school that night, I saw that my mother had taken care to lay out my good clothing. There hanging up in our old farmhouse, right by the floor furnace that separated the living room and dining room, was my best dress. It was one that my older cousin had handed down to me and when you come from a family with seven kids in it, you tend to have a lot of those kinds of what we now refer to as "gently used attire". Mom had washed it that day in our old wringer washer and ironed it crisply to make it look as nice as she could. I can still see it hanging there and I remember most assuredly that the color was red and navy checked. It had short puffy sleeves, a little Peter Pan collar, and a belt that tied in the back. But the sweetest thing about it all was not the fact that she had laundered it so nicely but rather of something she had attached to it. At first when I saw it, I wasn't sure what it was but when my father took it off the hanger for me, I soon found out. Mom had gotten into her own jewelry box and picked out one of her pins that she felt would be a nice accent to my dress and had safely and securely attached it to the left hand collar. All of a sudden that dress that I realized really had belonged to someone else to begin with, was a better dress than any other girl in my class might wear that night. My dad combed my unruly hair, made sure I'd washed my face and off we went for the evening. Mom might not have been there in "the flesh" but she was most certainly there in my heart. I wish that I would have told her how much that really meant to me but sadly, I don't think I ever did. Perhaps now she may know.
Every day at school I see parents and teachers working together to make the difference in the lives of the children that walk through the doors of Olathe Elementary. Good people, all of them and friends it is no different in any other city or town in this land of ours. Know that when you pass by a school on your way to work or as you travel through town that inside of those walls, lots of good things are happening. When you say your prayers at night, remember us, will you? Sometimes it takes more than "a village" in fact a couple of villages some days. Teachers and parents everywhere gladly thank you for everything you do in the course of a day with the welfare of a child in mind.
There once was a little girl named Peggy and she was a fourth-grader too.
We are making a lot of memories together, the "18" and I are, as we wind down the last remaining weeks of a school year that I never thought would be. I find myself pausing more often than not and looking out at them, gazing into their faces and hoping above all hope that life will be good and kind to them. In the years to come, I hope that they can remember back to their fourth-grade year and know in their hearts that the woman they called "teacher", Mrs. Renfro, loved them very much and only wanted the best for them.
You know friends I think back often to my own fourth-grade year, especially now that my teaching position has been this particular assignment. I remember how hard my teacher, Mrs. Harris, must have had to work to teach the more than 20 kids she had all year long. 1964-65 was a lifetime or two ago and bless that dear and now sainted woman's heart, she did it all alone. There were no classroom aides that came in to help her ride herd over us kids, no computer to access the internet on, no Smart board or for that matter even a dry erase board. When we went on a field trip, and by the way that was the ONLY field trip for the year, it was usually to Hutch and Mrs. Harris took care of us all by herself. I don't ever remember her taking along mothers or fathers to help in the supervision of our perhaps sometimes rowdy class of ten-year olds. The really cool thing was that if we were lucky, there was the outside chance that her husband, Mr. Harris, would be the bus driver for the day. I loved that woman and how I wish that I could pick up the phone and call her this day to tell her how much of an impact she had upon the life of the shy little girl called "Peggy" who sat in her classroom that year.
I have thought back this year more than ever to my mom and with a thankful heart I realize just how many sacrifices she made for me and my six siblings, especially during my fourth-grade year back in my hometown of Haven, Kansas. It was during that year that she took a job, for the first time ever, over in the small town of Halstead. My parents wanted to build a restaurant in Haven so while it was being constructed that year, she became a waitress at one of the local eateries there in order to learn more about what it was like to manage such a business. Mom always wanted to be at home in the morning to get us kids up and out of bed, on the bus and safely to school each day. Because of that, she worked the evening shifts always and thus when we got home, she wasn't back from work yet. Our dad was there to take care of us but I can remember that I sometimes wished she didn't have to go work, that she could be there just like every other kid in my class' mom was. She had to miss so many of our school programs and sometimes I would imagine that she really was there so I wouldn't have to cry. I never told her then, nor in the years to come, how sad that made me. Mom did the best she could.
Funny how you remember things after so very many years have passed by. Ever have that happen to you friends? From deep inside the brain, from time to time, a memory surfaces that you haven't thought of in so very long. It happened to me last night as I watched our fourth-graders at Olathe perform at their final music program for the year. I looked at all the boys and girls, dressed in their finest, with hair perfectly coifed and smiles on their faces and it reminded me of a time of so very long ago. Suddenly in my memory, I was thinking back to my own last music performance as a fourth-grade kid and the night that my father had to make sure that I looked my best. When I got home from school and wondered what I would wear to the school that night, I saw that my mother had taken care to lay out my good clothing. There hanging up in our old farmhouse, right by the floor furnace that separated the living room and dining room, was my best dress. It was one that my older cousin had handed down to me and when you come from a family with seven kids in it, you tend to have a lot of those kinds of what we now refer to as "gently used attire". Mom had washed it that day in our old wringer washer and ironed it crisply to make it look as nice as she could. I can still see it hanging there and I remember most assuredly that the color was red and navy checked. It had short puffy sleeves, a little Peter Pan collar, and a belt that tied in the back. But the sweetest thing about it all was not the fact that she had laundered it so nicely but rather of something she had attached to it. At first when I saw it, I wasn't sure what it was but when my father took it off the hanger for me, I soon found out. Mom had gotten into her own jewelry box and picked out one of her pins that she felt would be a nice accent to my dress and had safely and securely attached it to the left hand collar. All of a sudden that dress that I realized really had belonged to someone else to begin with, was a better dress than any other girl in my class might wear that night. My dad combed my unruly hair, made sure I'd washed my face and off we went for the evening. Mom might not have been there in "the flesh" but she was most certainly there in my heart. I wish that I would have told her how much that really meant to me but sadly, I don't think I ever did. Perhaps now she may know.
Every day at school I see parents and teachers working together to make the difference in the lives of the children that walk through the doors of Olathe Elementary. Good people, all of them and friends it is no different in any other city or town in this land of ours. Know that when you pass by a school on your way to work or as you travel through town that inside of those walls, lots of good things are happening. When you say your prayers at night, remember us, will you? Sometimes it takes more than "a village" in fact a couple of villages some days. Teachers and parents everywhere gladly thank you for everything you do in the course of a day with the welfare of a child in mind.
There once was a little girl named Peggy and she was a fourth-grader too.
No comments:
Post a Comment