The first day of school was always a time of great excitement sprinkled with a bit of low—grade fear. There was the pride of having a new “Big Chief” tablet and perhaps some new jeans and tennis shoes, and the smell of the class room and meeting a new teacher and classmates. It was my first day of 2nd grade. I had no more than taken my seat when some important adult came and told me I was in the wrong class. I remember saying “But my name is on the list in the window”. “No, you are supposed to be in the 6th grade”.
I was walked to the other end of Ben Franklin Elementary. Somebody sat me at a desk. I remember thinking as I saw the letters displayed around the room written in cursive, “That’s how my mom writes”. I was clueless. I also remember thinking “Well, I guess I am in the 6th grade”. As I perused the room I noticed that these kids were big. Yes, I was always the tallest and biggest kid in my class but heck, I could barely do two—digit addition. I did tell the teacher, “I am supposed to be in the 2nd grade”. It was not long until someone came and retrieved me and took me on the long walk back to a 2nd grade classroom.
What I remember about 2nd grade was that Miss Hale my teacher did not appreciate my commentary… which was ongoing. On every report card I got the same comments. My grades were great but in the “deportment” columns I always got the: “Mark talks too much, does not pay attention, does not remain in his seat”.
Kids are pretty smart and I could tell she did not really appreciate my outgoing personality. One time she took me in the boy’s coat closet and buried her fingernails in me to the point that it left some serious dents in my bicep. I don’t know what grievous act I had committed—but I got the point when she started crying… yes crying.
It was not an easy year, the second grade. Well, next year for 3rd grade I got Ms. Verbeck and she was great. She was a seasoned teacher who recognized my verbal skills and always had me doing some kind of acting in our little one—act dramas. Once, I was a king looking out a tower window, who was reviewing my subjects as they paraded by. It’s great when academia recognizes one’s value.
I have occasionally thought of that time I made Ms. Hale cry. My year in the 2nd grade was not easy for either of us. Perhaps I should have stayed in 6th grade.
Onward and Upward,
Mark
Lyfting Me Up 