It’s the last week of August. This was just about when the nightmares would begin. Bolting awake, I would find myself gasping for air and drenched with sweat.
What day is this?
I’d be terrified that I’d slept right through the end of summer vacation, and that the return to school was a single sunrise away. Stumbling from my room, legs tangled in sheets, I’d shuffle down the stairs with my feet spread apart, careful to avoid the squeaky section in the middle. I’d sneak into the kitchen to check the calendar hanging on the side of the refrigerator.
The page hadn’t been changed to September. That meant we were still cocooned in the storage tank of lazy, undemanding freedom that in June had seemed so inexhaustible. We were down to the dregs, but at least we had that, and every drop – every moment – was now precious. Breathing again, I’d climb the stairs and crawl into bed, clutching the cool pillow as if it were the summer itself and I were hanging on for dear life.
It wasn’t that I disliked school. It was that I hated school. But I also knew about setting goals, and so once back in class, I quickly turned my attention to finding out how many more days we had left before the Christmas break. As a math exercise, I’d convert that figure into hours, minutes, and possibly even seconds. Then I’d stare at the clock and watch the time tick by.
I carried all the required supplies and materials. Notebooks, binders, index cards, twelve-inch ruler, and compass. Loose-leaf, construction, and graph paper. An assignment book. And a bottle of white glue that would be used once, then clogged and dried shut forever.
Pencils were lined up in a zippered case, all sharpened and aimed in the direction of some concept I had not yet begun to struggle with. Their erasers were still perfect pink cylinders, unaware of the beating they were about to take as they once again endeavored to outlast the chiseled graphite points at the other end.
But those erasers would soon be reduced to impotent bumps, barely rising above the green metal band circling the yellow wood. Meanwhile, the pencil points would still be forgetting to carry the two, and putting the I before E in all the wrong words. I’d be forced to hold the pencil exactly perpendicular to the paper if I were to have any hope of removing the latest in a relentless series of mistakes. Worn out, defeated, and all but obliterated, the blackened and concave rubber tips would plead for forgiveness: We’re sorry. We did all we could, but long division was just too much for us. And that outline you had to do for your English teacher, the one who insisted that you use Roman numerals, that was a real killer.
My classmates were the most difficult to deal with. There was the girl who carried on before every exam, test, and quiz, wringing her hands and whining about how she hadn’t studied and was definitely going to flunk. After we handed in our papers, she’d start in all over again, shaking and crying and terrified that her parents were going to lock her in the closet. Then we’d get our grades back and she’d gotten a hundred. She always got a hundred. That was her average. She’d announce it with astonishment, the way you might report on Martians landing in the soccer field. Then she’d shrug her shoulders up to her ears, as though she were trying to hug her own brain. Her parents didn’t lock her in the closet, but we never stopped wishing someone would.We also had the confident genius, the one who showed no emotion whatsoever and took every perfect score in stride. Even in the fourth grade, everyone knew he’d grow up to be a famous scientist or a heart surgeon. It was like going to school with Aristotle. Not that the rest of us knew who Aristotle was.
There was the frantic hand-raiser who wanted desperately to respond to every question the teacher asked. She’d bounce in her seat and wave her arm like someone having a seizure. When she wasn’t acknowledged, she’d keep waving anyway, as though she knew darn well that the dumbbell who’d been chosen was going to blow it. Eventually, she’d grow tired and have to switch arms, using her other hand to hold it up. Those of us who didn’t know the answer would take the opposite approach: we’d look down at our desks, or pretend we had to tie our shoe, or that we needed to scratch something. Somehow, though, we were usually the ones who got called on. The know-it-all got her chance only when the teacher herself had lost interest in education, and was just hoping to get through the lesson.
And in every class, there was a boy who seemed to not know anything. I used to pray some teacher would spot him an easy question – like “What color is your shirt? – just to let him off the hook, or build his confidence. But nobody ever did. Instead, they’d ask him to ascertain the cube root of a nine-digit number, or define a word he’d never seen in his life, or explain the symbolism in chapter six of a novel he had no idea we were reading. It was excruciating, especially because this would always happen right before recess, when my bladder was about to explode.
I’m grown up now, but the nightmares continue, triggered by the very sight of those back-to-school sales. The racks of spiral notebooks and the stacks of paper, all as yet unblemished by careless computations and sloppy penmanship. Boxes of pencils, unsharpened and ready for brilliance, their clean erasers staring skyward in unknowing bliss.
I still awaken, gasping and drenched in the middle of the night. For a few frightening moments, I’m in the fourth grade again, seated next to the frantic hand-raiser and directly behind Aristotle, the heart surgeon. Then I realize that I’m almost fifty-eight, which makes me much older than the teacher. I also remember that the calculator has been invented, and that with the push of a few buttons, I can figure out how many seconds there are between now and Thanksgiving. But the most important difference, I guess, is that I finally understand how precious those seconds really are.
thisihumblyspeak
August 23, 2013
This, by far, is one of those posts that triggers similar memories entwined with similar emotions to all regardless whether one is 38, 48, 58, 68 and on. GREAT POST. Made me smile and laugh and breathe a sigh of relief to know when I checked my calendar this morning that I still have a few days before that pesky eager always home improving projects that put your house to shame neighbor returns from his vacation.
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bronxboy55
August 24, 2013
So you have your own reasons for dreading the end of summer. But maybe he’s fixing up the house because he’s getting ready to sell it. (I have similar dreams about my own neighbors.)
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Patti Kuche
August 23, 2013
A brilliant fine-tuning of so many memories and feelings! I could put names to most of these classmates – I was the tubby one, down near the back, “whatshername again?” !
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bronxboy55
August 24, 2013
You’re making a name for yourself now, Patti.
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rangewriter
August 23, 2013
What’s with DJ above? A knucklehead or is he trying to out-jokester you?
Once again, you nailed elementary (and secondary) school right down to the scent. It seems like the school supplies show up earlier and earlier each year. This year, summer hadn’t even begun yet when they showed up in my town.
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bronxboy55
August 23, 2013
I’m not sure, but I deleted the comment and replied directly through email. Any idea how to stop those notifications to someone who no longer wants to subscribe?
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rubberbootsblues
August 23, 2013
Your thoughts bring a smile to my face. All the memories of my school days are suddenly back. Just great!
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bronxboy55
August 24, 2013
Thank you, Marie. But if I really brought back all of your memories of school, you probably wouldn’t appreciate it.
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mariceljimenez
August 23, 2013
I got this for about a week before school re-started. I’d wake up in a sweat, terrified that I had slept in and inevitably made my kids late for school. The cycle repeats itself. I had it. My kids now have it. And now I have it again… as mommy! I wake up shaking and screaming “I forgot to buy erasers!!!” And somewhere in a far off book bag, a pencil weeps.
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bronxboy55
August 24, 2013
I wonder if there’s a therapy to treat these grade-school flashbacks.
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Martin Tjandra
August 23, 2013
A nice depiction of your childhood! I’m sure it can be blown up into wide screen!
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bronxboy55
August 24, 2013
Or maybe just blown up.
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beingnenne
August 23, 2013
Ha ha! Great post. I’m 29 and I had the same stereotypes in my class and my 16 year old niece tells me they are there in her class too. I guess they never run out of style, them stereotypes. There are days I still wake up terrified cause its the day of the Maths test and I have not learned a thing, and then I remember I am no longer in school. Its most definitely Post Traumatic School Disorder. What worries me now is that my little one will start school soon and I will have to revisit all those emotions all over again..*Sigh*
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bronxboy55
August 24, 2013
I have the dreams frequently, and am always amazed at the sense of relief I feel when I wake up.
Good luck to your little one.
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She's a Maineiac
August 23, 2013
Thanks for bringing me back, Charles! Back to all those math classes where I’d be the one unable to answer the questions. This explains why to this day I have recurring nightmares I’m in school. Either there’s a test I didn’t know about or I’ve forgotten to get dressed or I have to really go to the bathroom. Usually, it’s all three at once.
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bronxboy55
August 24, 2013
Sorry, Darla. In my dream, I’ve missed every class and have arrived on the day of the final exam. I’m pretty sure I’m dressed, but I’ve forgotten my locker number. And, of course, I have to go to the bathroom, too.
When do your nursing classes start?
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subodai213
August 23, 2013
Ah, yes, the glue. I don’t know why we had to have glue, as we didn’t do crafts things in Catholic school. And the compass……..why in the world did we have that miserable thing, (other than as a way of impaling oneself)…a stupid golf pencil on one side, a steel stiletto on the other that these days could easily be termed a weapon. I don’t ever remember actually USING it.
Thanks for the ‘way back’ machine ride. I am so glad to be done with those days….
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bronxboy55
August 24, 2013
Did you have to get those hole protectors for your loose-leaf paper?
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subodai213
August 25, 2013
YES! Oh my gosh, yes. We called them ‘reinforcements”, although I’ve also heard them dubbed ‘paper lifesavers’.
The darned things were hard to work with. They tasted nasty, had a habit of curling up when wet, and you had to get them precisely aligned or they would just muck up the whole page. And the residue left on your fingers was even stickier than the reinforcements.
It was odd that we had to use them. Were spiral bound notebooks uncommon in the early 60’s? Once spiral bound notebooks became available, I believe I stopped using ‘binders’ altogether.Either that, or I just stopped taking notes in class anyway.
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bronxboy55
August 26, 2013
You’re right: they were called reinforcements. They came in a little, square cardboard box, and if you didn’t match them up perfectly with each hole, they caused their own problems. I always wondered why the paper didn’t come with them already in place. Then they could have called them preinforcements. (I just thought of that.)
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cat
August 23, 2013
I changed schools and friends so much, it makes my head spin to this day … still have 5 friends left in good old Europe though … after 40 some years … thanks for bringing back memories, Bronx Boy 55 … Je t’aime … c.
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bronxboy55
August 25, 2013
Changing schools and having to make new friends even once can be difficult. The fact that you still have five friends in Europe says something, cat.
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reinventionofmama
August 23, 2013
Loved it! My flashback nightmares are usually about finding out last minute that the cheerleaders from the late 90s are expected to once again take the field. I don’t remember any of the cheers but the other b**tches do. My skirt is so snug I can barely get it zipped but they are all ready to go, ponytails and ribbons in place. Oh the agony!
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bronxboy55
August 25, 2013
I’ve had a lot of school-related nightmares, but I hope I never have that one.
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throbbingsofnoontide
August 23, 2013
I’m a teacher and I do that exact same thing with the bed covers and the calendar. Several times through the whole of August.
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bronxboy55
August 25, 2013
And aren’t you extremely grateful for that last weekend?
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throbbingsofnoontide
August 25, 2013
I’m IN that last weekend right now. How it feels… erm…. like I’m in a tank of mildly corrosive liquid up to just above my elbows and slowly sinking. Poor teachers and pupils. We should all go on strike, go outside, sit under a tree and do some real education.
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bronxboy55
August 26, 2013
You might like this:
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lostnchina
August 23, 2013
I don’t think there’s anyone who can’t empathize with your schoolhood memories. “But those erasers would soon be reduced to impotent bumps…” – loved that one. There should’ve been a movement to make the erasers on the pencils as tall as the pencils themselves. And that girl who always thought she’d fail but pass with flying colors – wonder what institution they have her locked up in now. I’d like to send her a bouquet of pencils with very stubby erasers.
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bronxboy55
August 25, 2013
There were always a few students who were so completely lost that they didn’t know they were lost. They’d take the test and come away sure they’d killed it — only to be crushed a few days later by a failing grade. They’re probably billionaires today.
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mybittersweetparis
August 23, 2013
As a schoolteacher with only one more week of vacation: I feel you!
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bronxboy55
August 25, 2013
Except you’ve apparently had too much vacation. If that’s possible.
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earthriderjudyberman
August 23, 2013
Like you, Charles, at one time I was the kid at the other end of the desk. Now, I’m the big kid at the head of the class. I’ve woken up from nightmares where I’m on a school bus and the passengers are from my school days and present life. Wow! I wouldn’t want to go thru that again. (By the way, our students returned to school Aug. 14th.)
I recall being an indifferent student unless I liked the teacher and/or the subject. Now, I hope to inspire students to read … and to motivate themselves, to set goals and determine what they have to do to overcome any obstacles.
Wish me luck. I want to give all my students the best that I have. In return, I want them to do the best they can … for themselves – academically and socially.
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bronxboy55
August 25, 2013
Judy, I have no doubt you put everything you have into teaching, and that your students are benefitting in ways you can’t imagine. I hope your year is off to a great start.
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earthriderjudyberman
August 25, 2013
Thank you for the best wishes, Charles. I am never sure of the impact I’ve made until some of them return to visit me the following year … or we bump into each other years later. What I’ve gotten from our conversations is very heart-warming.
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bronxboy55
September 4, 2013
I’m not surprised. For every one who comes back to visit, I bet there are a hundred more who feel the same way.
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Elyse
August 23, 2013
Charles, you tapped into my memories again. Isn’t there some sort of law against that?
I can remember being the kid who didn’t know any of the answers. However, I sometimes tried to fake the teacher out. I’d look like I knew the answer, and raised my hand. Trouble was, sometimes the teacher called on me …
Fourth grade was the worst. That’s when I started skipping school …
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bronxboy55
August 25, 2013
Fourth grade? I guess you didn’t go to Catholic school.
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Agent 54
August 24, 2013
Get a job you bum!
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bronxboy55
August 25, 2013
Believe me, I’ve tried.
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1of10boyz
August 24, 2013
Reblogged this on middlekingdom1of10boyz and commented:
The worries of school. Not for me. Wait, isn’t that my Chinese tutor calling me asking about when he can come over?
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bronxboy55
August 26, 2013
Now I’ll probably have nightmares about that, and I don’t even have a Chinese tutor. Thanks for the reblog. Glad you liked it.
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Allan Douglas (@AllanDouglasDgn)
August 24, 2013
I do so remember those poor abused cylinders of pink rubber who were so hopelessly out matched by the ground and honed graphite ends. It got to where a large block of crepe rubber was added to my school supplies list and the floor under my class chair was awash with the debris of said rubber block.
Thanks for another stroll down memory alley (In my brain, memories don’t reside in neat homes along a manicured lane, but tenements off a back alley).
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bronxboy55
August 26, 2013
I remember those blocky rubber erasers, Allan. I usually relieved the outgunned pencil erasers with those long, flat, pink ones. At some point, the stores began selling little eraser hats for the pencils, but they were too cute and only the girls used them.
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micagaleano13
August 24, 2013
Reblogueó esto en micagaleano14.
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bronxboy55
August 26, 2013
Thank you, again.
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Snoring Dog Studio
August 24, 2013
It’s what I go through every Sunday evening, alas. Work is really so much like school – just with bigger kids. Still, I wouldn’t do over those grade school days for anything. We learned early that summer vacation was code for a last-minute reprieve from the governor.
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bronxboy55
August 26, 2013
Waiting to find out if school had been canceled because of snow was exactly like hoping for a stay of execution from the governor.
Hey, maybe you’ll have a great week at work. It could happen.
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bitchontheblog
August 24, 2013
I thought you WERE Aristotle, Charles. Only funnier.
I loved school. Even when I didn’t. Grand place. Sets you up for life. Particularly if you are thrown out of class (for laughing at the wrong moment), sitting in a very quiet corridor wondering how you are supposed to learn anything. Still, just when I thought 8 to 1 not exactly what it should be the school’s janitor would pass by.
A few years ago, accompanied by the then still small Angel, I visited my old grammar school. Most gratifying that, a couple of decades down the line, I was instantly recognized by those teachers not yet dead.
Other than that I reserve a particular disdain for my geography teacher. That none of us ever dislocated our jaws (yawning) is a miracle. Mind you, in all fairness, it wasn’t his fault that geography was a sort of afterthought on the timetable (last lesson of the day).
U
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bronxboy55
August 26, 2013
I remember being banished from class a couple of times, and not really knowing what I’d done to deserve it. Then, while I was standing out in the hallway, the principal would inevitably walk by and ask me what the problem was. Not knowing what you’re being punished for almost always makes things worse.
Too bad about geography, Ursula. It could be an interesting subject, but almost never is.
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unsolicitedtidbits
August 24, 2013
Every time your blog post pops up in my news feed I know it’s going to be a delightful and charming read. I love the description of the school supplies and your fellow classmates. Brings back memories!
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bronxboy55
August 26, 2013
Thanks for the kind words, Gwendolyn. It’s always nice to hear that some of these experiences may not be as weird as I thought.
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shoreacres
August 24, 2013
I loved grade school – every single minute of it. Well, maybe not the day I fell down at the track meet and ground cinders into my knee, but otherwise it was good.
I loved my first-day-of-school dress, and the pencil box with the protractor and the colored pencils. In 3rd grade, we got to add an ink blotter, because that was the year we learned to write in cursive using a real ink pen and a real bottle of ink. I still have my Palmer Method award buttons somewhere. No wonder I sometimes feel as though I’m from another planet.
Not only that, we walked to school, and we walked home. We went out for recess twice a day, and ran ourselves silly doing whatever we wanted to do. In the winter, we’d come back in, put our mittens and such on the radiators and go back to class. We could bring our lunch, eat “hot lunch” or go home for lunch. The school was responsible for our education. The rest was up to us.
Not everyone in my class liked school. And I suppose there were things I didn’t like. I know by the time I hit junior high, there were times I would have done anything to avoid school. But those early years? It was the best thing going, and the fact that I can remember every teacher except 6th grade is quite a testament to their dedication. I just wish I’d had more of a knack for math. Maybe I wouldn’t have had to resort to changing banks to balance my checkbook when I hit college.
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bronxboy55
August 26, 2013
We walked to school, too. It was four blocks, and we also had the option of going home for lunch. The hot meals served in the cafeteria were frightening, but not as much as the nun guarding her post at the tray return, where she’d make sure you weren’t throwing food away. And I still remember when we began using fountain pens. Ours were the ones with replaceable ink cartridges. We had blotters, as well. I actually liked junior high school, but for some reason my memories of that time are much fuzzier. That “other-planet” feeling has never faded, though.
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souldipper
August 24, 2013
I still shudder when I smell Fall.
I am not an oral learner. I need to see and, even better, experience it. Obviously, I wasn’t much good at history.
So this teacher’s kid went through school loving learning but dreading the process. The best thing that could have happened, our high school adopted a semester system – 2 1/2 months of two major courses, then the exam. After the exam, I’d forget about the subject until sometime the next year. However, I signed up for math in September one year and in April a year and a half later. Oops.
Funny that my career ended up being financially based. I learned not to express interest in creativity when discussing financial statements!
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bronxboy55
August 26, 2013
“…went through school loving learning but dreading the process.” That pretty much describes it, Amy. It hit me even harder as I watched my own kids trying to propel themselves through school. So many potentially fascinating topics, mostly reduced to boring lectures and pointless tests.
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jeanjames26
August 25, 2013
Yes the glue that would clot off never to be seen again! I’m so glad my school days are over. Now I have to relive them through my children, at least they have glue sticks. Really fun read, you really captured it all!
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bronxboy55
August 27, 2013
The glue stick is definitely an improvement.
Thanks for the comment, Jean. I hope your kids have a good year.
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Lady from Manila
August 25, 2013
“It wasn’t that I disliked school. It was that I hated school. But I also knew about setting goals, and so once back in class, I quickly turned my attention to finding out how many more days we had left before the Christmas break.” 😀
“As a math exercise, I’d convert that figure into hours, minutes, and possibly even seconds. Then I’d stare at the clock and watch the time tick by.” 😀
I felt the same way about school. And I did that, too, when I was still in school. You’re probably my soul brother in a parallel universe. =)
BTW, have you considered automatically filtering your Comments section to protect your blog from odd (or previous) subscribers popping up – who get a kick out of posting inane comments at your expense? Your blog posts are too well-written and respectable to deserve such thoughtless remarks.
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bronxboy55
August 27, 2013
There was a time when those comments would have bothered me. But I’ve seen the kinds of things other bloggers have had to endure, and I consider myself fortunate. I appreciate your concern, though. (It’s possible that in a parallel universe, I’m responding differently. Or maybe I’m the one sending them the inane comments.)
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Lady from Manila
August 27, 2013
🙂 It’s just that I’m not happy seeing your blog quite vulnerable to inconsiderate commenters who gun for attention through some shock tactics. Better yet, just send their kind my way and I’ll show them the price they have to pay for messing with my dear co-blogger. =)
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subodai213
August 27, 2013
Lady, if you’re an enforcer or a troll hunter, you can hunt the ones that pester me, as well!
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bronxboy55
August 29, 2013
You definitely want her on your side.
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Lady from Manila
August 29, 2013
Much like I would always want to be on your side, Bb.
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Rayora Hartman
August 25, 2013
Oh, my stars! I must admit to being the frantic hand-raiser who spouted the answer the moment the one called showed any sign of weakness. Until 2nd grade, that is. Twas then my teacher had enough and banished me to the hall to contemplate my wicked ways while staring at the lunchbox rack until lunchtime. Alas, I don’t think I ever truly recovered. And yes, I joined the I Hate School team long before ending my formal education. Imagine my surprise, then, when in adulthood I discovered the joys of self-directed education. Life is just full of shock and awe, isn’t it?
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bronxboy55
August 27, 2013
I was always confused by the teacher’s negative reaction to a correct answer that wasn’t preceded by a raised hand. It seemed preferable to raise your hand and give an incorrect response, rather than yell out the right answer. I concluded that proper behavior topped learning on the list of priorities. But I’m with you on self-directed education, Rayora. It’s what still causes me to wonder why school was so boring.
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subodai213
August 25, 2013
Charles, you weren’t alone in hating school.
I have no idea why, other than I stubbornly resisted the catholic propagandizing, but I sometimes had to stay ‘after school’. This form of punishment was termed “Jug”. I don’t remember getting in trouble, but I wound up in Jug a couple times.
Jug was a form of punishment, but as the students in it came from all the grades in elementary, and the nuns total strangers, I don’t believe the nuns knew why you were there. I don’t recall, either, roll being called, or any attention being paid to you once you got there.
The nuns running jug would punish you by putting a number up on the board..I recall it being something like 999,999 and one had to subtract one hundred from it until one reached zero, turn in the paper, and then one was released. Being that I was horrid in math, and resentful that I was being punished for no discernible reason, …but also being obedient, I tried to do the math. The classroom would be full when I got there, and I would often be the last one, doing the math and screwing it up.
That’s were I learned that a child can mulishly outlast the nuns. I’d be there yet if the nun hadn’t finally said, child, go home.
The bad part was, by this time, it was dark. Walking home (I know now we lived about a mile from school) in the darkened streets of Detroit wasn’t as dangerous as it is now, but I still get angry when I think of it. How totally irresponsible of the nuns to put a little girl out there in the dark.
All it taught me was to hate school and nuns even more.
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bronxboy55
August 27, 2013
I hope your memory of the initial number isn’t accurate. Wouldn’t that computation have taken days?
You know, I’ve never thought about it, but in early winter, it would have been getting dark at four o’clock. Staying after school could have been treacherous for a child walking home alone. As in Detroit, the darkened streets of the Bronx were a lot safer back then.
Do you have comments turned off on your blog?
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subodai213
August 27, 2013
I may be wrong about the number, but it seemed astronomically long. I don’t believe I ever reached zero. I think now, the nuns looked at how many pages (looseleaf notebook) you had accumulated and guaged your release date by that.
Detroit-as is New York-is far enough north that, in November, it gets dark by 4. I wasn’t a fearful child, nor am I fearful adult-…but now, I know that monsters of our own species exist, and they specialize in children.
The depressing thing that I don’t care to dwell too deeply on is my parents rather blase response to a child getting in so late. I’ll allow myself to think that the school had called and said why I was being held. Nevertheless, forcing a child to walk home in the dark-even with street lights…was so utterly irresponsible I get angry all over again.
I will turn comments back on, if they’re off. I had a number of spams and commenters who, like the idiot that spouted that you need a job (you have one. It’s called “blogging”) and decided to shut off any commentary for a while. Thank you for reminding me.
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Diane Henders
August 25, 2013
Wonderful post, as always, Charles! Loved your line “It wasn’t that I disliked school. It was that I hated school.”
I didn’t have strong feelings one way or the other about school, and I loved getting new pens and pencils and notebooks in September. But after the first week, they weren’t new anymore, and then school was just drudgery punctuated by the feverish hope for snow days.
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bronxboy55
August 27, 2013
When I was in junior high, the consensus was that the superintendent of schools lived on the second floor, and he’d only cancel if the snow reached his windowsill. The theory seemed to be pretty accurate.
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ShimonZ
August 26, 2013
Always a pleasure to read your memories of youth… turning suffering into amusement. To me, one of the greatest inventions of these modern times, is the way Word corrects my spelling mistakes as I write. And I hear that youngsters today have their computers to protect them in class. How the world has improved.
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bronxboy55
August 28, 2013
The world has certainly changed, Shimon, and improved in many ways. But sometimes it seems as though we replace quality and efficiency with pure novelty. Some things should just be left alone.
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Mrs. B
August 26, 2013
Great post as always. Obviously, it worked out for you. I wonder what those other kids thought of you. My guess is they were envious of your quick wit and ability to tell a story.
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bronxboy55
August 28, 2013
I’m pretty sure they thought something of me, but I doubt it was that.
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silkpurseproductions
August 26, 2013
Did you use book covers? The paper ones that were folded meticulously around all the hard cover text books that were already 111 years old to “protect” them from damage and doodling. That was my favourite part. I fancied myself quite the designer and loved to decorate them with drawings and cutouts, etc. I would even venture to say I used some of that glue.
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bronxboy55
August 28, 2013
Yes, we had to cover our books. The kids with money bought shiny, printed book covers, but we used the brown paper bags from the grocery store. At the end of the year, we would take our textbooks up to the teacher and she examined them for damage. The pressure never stopped.
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pegoleg
August 26, 2013
I was the frantic hand waiver. But it wasn’t because I knew all the answers – I just had to go to the bathroom.
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bronxboy55
August 28, 2013
Did you go to a Catholic school? We had more than fifty students in the class, and we went to the bathroom one row at a time. If you were in the last row, it was tough to pay attention.
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icedteawithlemon
August 26, 2013
“It wasn’t that I disliked school. It was that I hated school.” Although I can’t relate to the sentiment, I love those two sentences. I was the nerdy bookworm who looked forward to every new school year–maybe it meant an end to summer freedom, but it also meant ready access to a library of adventures waiting to be discovered. I was also the quiet girl on the back row who prayed the teacher wouldn’t call on me–not because I didn’t know the answer but rather because I usually did, and I learned early on that most boys (especially the cute ones) weren’t particularly fond of smart girls. Playgrounds and hallways could be rough–and even more so after a clueless teacher would announce that I was the one who set the curve.
I enjoy all your post, Charles, but I particularly enjoy the ones in which you share your childhood memories (although I have a sneaky suspicion that you weren’t nearly as backward, baffled and bewildered as you let on). And now that those childhood years are long gone–and you’re almost 58–may you always “understand how precious those seconds really are.”
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bronxboy55
August 28, 2013
Karen, somehow I’m not surprised that you liked school, or that you set the curve. I’m sure that years later, you helped a lot of your students get the most out of their time in school. As for the three Bs, I wasn’t exactly backward, but baffled and bewildered would be a fair description. And I like the alliteration.
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Bruce
August 27, 2013
What an excellent read Charles. You put me back in the classroom and in particular reminded of the frantic arm raisers who switched arms, doggedly waiting to have their moment. I wonder if that determination served them well after leaving school.
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bronxboy55
August 29, 2013
Bruce, I think a lot of those hand-raisers are still at it — only now they’re using things like Facebook and Twitter to attract attention. And maybe a blog, too?
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happykidshappymom
August 27, 2013
This was so refreshing to read. This line was perfect, “That meant we were still cocooned in the storage tank of lazy, undemanding freedom that in June had seemed so inexhaustible.” It’s funny to think of young Charles back in grade school as an ornery old man who forgot his locker number and had to use the bathroom. I think we all were “young Charles” at some point, and that’s why your posts strike home.
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bronxboy55
August 29, 2013
Melissa, I sometimes fantasize about being back in school and responding, as an adult, to the things that happened when I was a child. I wonder if everyone has that fantasy.
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happykidshappymom
August 29, 2013
You should pick one of those moments and write a post about it. (Then we’d get to read another great post and you’d get your answer in the comments.)
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genusrosa
August 30, 2013
This was a delight to read. I remember ‘the frantic handraiser’ well! By the way, I’ve been looking for that dried out bottle of glue–now I know it’s at your house!
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bronxboy55
September 2, 2013
The bottle of glue and a lot of construction paper, Rebecca.
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kalabalu
August 31, 2013
I still feel sad..when vacation ends..child never dies inside us and smarty pants are now colleagues..nothing could be worse right 😉
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bronxboy55
September 2, 2013
Me too. I get depressed when I see the back-to-school things in the stores — especially when they appear in early July.
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kalabalu
September 4, 2013
early July ?
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bronxboy55
September 4, 2013
Yes. I remember seeing all the notebooks and pens and saying, “They just got out last week!”
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kalabalu
September 4, 2013
I always got , mine in August.
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kalabalu
September 9, 2013
Hi.. I would like to nominate you for bunch of awards..
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bronxboy55
September 12, 2013
Thanks, kalabalu. I just left a comment on your blog.
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kalabalu
September 13, 2013
okay 🙂 better read that
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reneejohnsonwrites
September 1, 2013
Oh Charles, you will hate me for this. You may even label me with the inane commenters. Are you ready? Ta – da….I loved school. I still like the atmosphere of learning, the smell of crayons and fresh pencil trimmings, pristine notebooks. I put more thought into choosing my ‘book bag’ than most people put into choosing their wedding gown. I won awards for reading the most books and my family called me ‘book worm’ – well, among other things. There was a brief stint of my education in biology getting sidetracked by the football players whose table I was stuck at in order to be a force for good. It backfired. They corrupted my studious efforts. Now I’m off on another thought tangent, but even that happened at school. Gotta love it.
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bronxboy55
September 2, 2013
Renee, I’m not at all surprised, and could certainly never hate you. I would love school, too, if I could go back now. But as with all learning, I just figured this out too late.
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Philster999
September 2, 2013
Only you can anthropomorphize the experience of a school boy’s pencil with such convincing resonance! Great post.
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bronxboy55
September 2, 2013
Thanks, Phil. Your feedback always means a lot.
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architect of the jungle
September 2, 2013
This post inspired me so deeply, my response to you turned into an actual post. Today I actually published it, which is saying a lot as I haven’t done that in some time. Thank you Charles/Bronx Boy 🙂
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bronxboy55
September 3, 2013
I visit your blog periodically, hoping to find a new post. Thanks for letting me know.
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thomascmarshall
September 2, 2013
School supplies are my downfall. All those sales with things half off, like index cards for $.50 cents a hundred. One can easily buy 900 notecards, enough for several books, and spend no more than $5.00. Why can’t gas be that cheap? And then there are Bic pens. I bought three packs of 10 (two black and one red). I would have got one blue pack but they were sold out. A Bic pen could last a long time but for some reason they disappear before you ever empty one. I can only think of one time running out of ink. It was hard work keeping it in sight because they just vanish like some alien abduction. But I made it once. And it was even harder keeping the cap on because it had worn so much the cap came off easily. But I made it to the end of the ink.
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bronxboy55
September 3, 2013
My pens run dry all the time, Tom. Sometimes entire unopened packages of them, all useless. Maybe I’m not storing them properly. Do they need a cool, dry place? I’ve been keeping them in the desk drawer right next to me, between the stacks of post-it notes and the huge box of paper clips.
Let’s meet at Staple’s sometime!
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