This is the day to send the blog out into the world to various of my friends as a test balloon. I hope everyone will consider contributing in order to make my creature live. (Yes, I've just finished teaching Frankenstein--or rather my student teacher did! [head hanging in teacherly guilt]) How many brackets did that take!
Anywhoo! I dig good conversation based on a relatively engaging prompt. In order to properly launch this blog, I will now pose the first topic for discussion:
What is the one story your family members used to or still do tell about you?
Here's mine: When I was in second grade at Highland Elementary in Lincoln County, we had nap time after lunch every day. I have since realized that second graders are far too old for such loveliness and, given my experience in the field of education, I now understand that the nap was merely a ruse to allow the teacher some quiet time to actually accomplish something--like sustaining one's sanity. No matter what the intention, we were required to "bed down" every day on mats or towels. (I do remember that my towel was an ugly deep olive color with textured flowers sewn into the weave of the towel itself--an embarrassment!)
This particular day in second grade was fraught with tension--at least for me! As a curious and precocious young lady, I was one of the few tykes in my class to know about how horribly wrong the Apollo 13 moon mission had gone. It was all I could think about. The thought that those intrepid astronauts (Now I know they bore an uncanny resemblance to Tom Hanks, Bill Paxton, and Kevin Bacon.) were floating through the cold and dark of space, perhaps never to return, intrigued me and horrified me. Given that quiet moment after lunch to nap, I reflected upon the dire situation, and when the teacher left the room while we "napped," I roused my towel-mates and described the astronauts' perilous situation, encouraging my little companions to pray for their safe return. Imagine Mrs. Clark returning to the classroom, safe in her assumption that all of us were curled up on the floor in secular sleep, only to find that a good third of the classroom was kneeling in prayer.
To this day, I don't know how she figured out that I was the ringleader, but the story was promptly relayed to my mother, having made the top ten "Guess, what happened in my classroom today?" list in the teachers' lounge. My mother was amused and bemused which is why she still tells the story.
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6 comments:
When I was in second grade, I used to lay down by the teacher's desk, watch her cross her legs, crinkle her "go-go" boots--and pretend I was wearing them.
That is mildly disturbing, Mike, in so many different ways....
You have no idea.
Ever so charming, little O.
When I was 5, I was playing under the dining room table while my mom sewed curtains (or something).
I was pretending the table was a ship and decided to stick my head through the porthole, which happened to be an opening a little smaller than the size of my melon head between the double tressles (sp?) of the table.
My head was promptly stuck, and I said, "Mom, I sure wish I could get out of here."
Mom tried to get me out with no success and started to panic. She called my grandmother (her mother-in-law) figuring that she might have some experience having raised 6 kids. She came right over and also had no success.
Grandma called a man named Pat Long...the chief of the local fire department.
Still stuck. Now crying. Insisting that she call my daddy...who was teaching 30 miles away. Meanwhile, Grandma tries to make my head slippery, by greasing it with Crisco. I still blame that woman for my poor complexion.
Shortly after Mom called her dad to come and help Mr. Long saw the legs off her beautiful dining room table, I stopped crying, shut my mouth, and slid my head out.
Grandpa arrived with the saw, and we were all laughing on the floor of the dining room.
Ah, the Crisco, good for much that ails you! That is one hysterical story. I can see you becoming determined to end the DRAMA!
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