My Lop-sided Mom-Haircut, September 1954
I don't remember much about first grade, beyond the new box of chubby crayons, eight in a box, and the huge yellow pencil. Oh, and recess (of course), and the name tag on butcher's twine that I wore around my neck. All first graders wore them, which made us easy targets for the second-graders (who only lost theirs just three months earlier) to point at us, laughing about the tags.
The photo above is from second grade, which I remember much better. The dress, with the lace-trimmed collar that would not lie flat because my mother had starched the daylights out of it, was plaid, in shades of brown and cream and orange. Mama picked it out for me, and a green one just like it, only with a peter-pan collar. My preference was a red dress with little bouquets scattered all over, trimmed with white piqué collar and piping on the sleeves. But my heart's true desire was the pink party dress of sheer rayon, with tons of ruffles, and puffed sleeves with dark pink bows. We went home with the sensible cotton day dresses in brown and green. She did let me have the red plaid book satchel with the bright red plastic handle, though; perhaps as compensation for having to leave the party dress behind.
I remember the dark brown mary-janes that buckled on the outside edge, and the anklets with lace around the cuffs. I was so afraid Mama was going to buy those awful brown and white saddle-oxfords, or the lace-up ones like I had in first grade, which never stayed tied, causing me to trip more times than I can remember.
By second grade, the love of school that began the year before had grown into a passion, if one can have such a thing at age seven. When the weather changed toward fall, I could hardly wait for the first day and marked the calendar in anticipation almost as strong as when awaiting my birthday. I loved reading and spelling more than I did arithmetic. We were divided into reading groups named for birds, based on our skill levels. My group, the cardinals, were the top group, and our numbers grew during the year as other kids learned to read better. My teacher gave me a compliment one afternoon, telling me that I read very well, with inflection and good phrasing. When I got home that afternoon, I told Mama that Teacher said I could read with infection. (My mother loved to tell that story.)
What prompted these memories was my search for a book bag this evening, in preparation for my first day at college tomorrow. There are two or three of them somewhere in the house, maybe the attic, but my favorite is one Ex-B received a few years ago as a promotion through his company. It's constructed of tough nylon canvas, black with Microsoft's MSN logo stitched in white next to the rainbow-colored butterfly. I think it was meant for his laptop, but he gave it to me for my camera and lenses. I haven't bought my books yet, but I have put in it (so far) two wire-bound notebooks, my fountain pen with extra cartridges, a couple of pencils and trusty Staedtler sharpener, a spare rescue inhaler, about 50 paper clips, two clean handkerchiefs, my wallet with ID and lunch money, house keys, car keys, cell phone and my second pair of cheater reading glasses. Plus, all my hopes that I will do well and not be the oldest kid in class. Oh, yeah...an apple.
No crayons, though.
