Lessons in Time - A School Story

I enjoy nostalgia and walking down memory lane. I have vivid memories of school, grade one to grade 12, complete with fear, angst and joy.

• Fiction

								
Lessons in Time - A School Story

1965

Dolores doubted the pretty sky as much as her daddy’s fairy-tale description of Grade One. She knew it would probably rain, and eventually, he would let go of her hand.
When he said, "It's such a beautiful day, Dolores. You're going to like first grade, so don’t be such a worry wart!”

Dolores felt mounting doom, her small face pale with worry, while the flurry of other children only amplified her fears.

She observed mothers of all shapes and sizes, reminding her of the ladies in the television commercials selling washing machines and refrigerators, with nicely styled hair, pleated skirts, high-heeled shoes, and matching jewelry ensembles. The sweet smell of rose petals and carnations wafted through the air, which made Dolores wonder why her mother did not wear perfume or try to look nicer.

She begged her father, “Please don’t go, Daddy. I just know none of these other children will like me!”

Without saying another word, he smiled proudly and watched his little girl obediently follow the other dutiful soldiers as they marched into the classroom.

Dolores knew she was unlike the other little girls with bouncy ringlets, colourful hair ties, and vibrant dresses. Instead, her hair was an unmanageable mop-top, and her father dressed her in bibbed overalls and oxford shoes. She decided she hated school as much as she hated her mother.

So, on the first day of the next twelve years of her life, Dolores sighed in resignation and found a seat at the back of the classroom. After she settled in and scanned the room, a glimmer of hope trickled in when she spotted a boy who looked as awkward and out of place as she felt. Later, she would describe the experience to her father as love at first sight.

She discovered that the little boy’s name was Peter, and she knew they would one day be best friends.

When the first day of school arrived, Wendy eagerly dressed in the outfit she had picked the night before—a navy blue jumper, frilly white blouse, white knee socks, and her
favourite penny loafers. She adored how her ponytail flipped from side to side, like the swish of a horse’s tail prancing in a parade.

As she ran down to the kitchen for breakfast, the aroma of sweet butter and brown sugar filled the air. She ate quickly, while the sound of her father’s snoring filtered into the kitchen.

Wendy skipped to school, swinging a basket of white-sugar cookies with one hand while holding her mother’s hand with the other. The whole time, she sang ‘Hippity-hop to the barber shop to get a stick of candy.’

In the undercover area, children scattered and chattered, balls bounced, and skipping ropes smacked the pavement.

Once inside, Wendy found a desk in the front row, closest to the teacher. Front and centre, she craned her neck to keep track of her fellow Grade One students entering and finding their seats.

Growing up without a father left Nicky's heart in a constant ache, and she was never far from her devoted mother’s side.

“Mommy, instead of just dropping me off, can’t you come to school with me?” she would often plead.

On her first day of school, she insisted on wearing fairy wings—an outfit far from acceptable in 1965. As a compromise, her mother agreed to let her wear a turquoise butterfly brooch instead.

After hugging her mother for what felt like the tenth time, Nicky finally stepped into the classroom, with a heavy heart. She winced at the sight of her classmates already seated, realizing she was late. From the doorway, her eyes were drawn to the teacher, clad in a fitted white blouse and a loose black pleated skirt. She briefly wondered how the collar was not stifling every last breath out of her, and whether the tight bun on her head might give her a headache. Her attention then shifted to the alphabet displayed above the teacher's desk—each letter shaped like an animal.

For a fleeting moment, Nicky smiled.

When the room suddenly fell quiet, with tight lips and a furrowed brow, Miss Terence asked Nicky to put her lunch away and find a seat because she was holding up the recital of the Lord's Prayer.
Placing her Roy Rogers and Dale Evans lunch kit in the cloakroom, Nicky decided she did not like the teacher, and perhaps the teacher did not like her.

Once seated, she eyed her classmates and instantly spotted a little boy sitting in front of her. He had the most beautiful blonde hair, and when he turned around, his eyes shone like blue sapphires. She knew instantly that she would love him, and whispered, “Hi, my name is Nicky. What’s yours?”

Relieved, he said, “Hi, my name is Billy.”

Before she could delve into a conversation, the teacher interrupted, “Miss Warner, there is no talking during class, especially while I am speaking! I have a feeling I’m going to have a problem with you!”

At once, Nicky had a tummy ache and wanted to go home.

Miss Terence usually held off on making judgments until the first report card, but her new Grade One students stood out immediately, like a wild, unruly field of flowers growing wild. Their behaviour baffled her, making her wonder if the 1965-66 school year would be her last.

Miss Terence stumbled off her mark. She concluded that most children were as peculiar as a wooden nickel and were not to be trusted. So, she decided to straighten the rudder, steer the boat, and announce the ship's captain. Her stern facial expression set the tone, as the yardstick came down hard on Nicky’s desk with a sudden force. The abrupt silence that followed was palpable, and the classroom seemed to hold its breath as wide-eyed and shocked faces turned toward the teacher.

Miss Terence cleared her throat. "It has come to my attention that some of you are unsure about who is in charge here. Let me make it clear—I am the boss and will not tolerate speaking out of turn. You are here to learn, and it is my job to teach!"

"Now, please stand, face the front, and follow along to 'God Save the Queen.' Afterward, take out your notebooks and practice the alphabet. The first to finish will receive a star, and the last will wear the donkey tail!"

To emphasize the consolation prize, she held up a scraggly grey-tattered tail.
Markus stifled a laugh, Billy couldn’t care less, Peter rolled his eyes, Nicky decided never to return, Wendy did a silent hand clap, and Dolores assumed she would wear the donkey tail pinned to her backside.

Nicky finished first, and meekly raised her hand to indicate she had completed the task. Her printing was neat and within the lines. Wendy’s hand shot up next. “I’m done, Miss Terence. I’m first, look, see!” She continued verbalizing her enthusiasm by saying, in unison with her actions, “Pick me, pick me, p l e a s e pick me!”

Eying Nicky and noting her politely raised hand combined with a tear-stained face, Miss Terence turned her attention towards Wendy, smiled warmly, and said, “My word, it does appear we have a winner!”

As Nicky bowed her head in defeat, Wendy’s hands clapped silently while the teacher wrote her name on the blackboard in yellow chalk and placed a check mark beside it in a different colour. 

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