The old saying is: All good things come to an end. That's pessimistic, isn't it? The whole truth is: both Good things and Bad things are happening all the time, and Bad things also come to an end. Here we are living our lives and enjoying good stuff, and lo! we run out of ... sunshine or summer time or some other stuff, and we think all good things have come to an end.
Such was the summer of 1955. It came to an end, not in the weather, for that got hotter, and not in where we lived, for that was still in Earlimart out on the edge of town, but in ... the kittens grew up and ran away, and the kids were taller, tanner, and older. They were now old enough to be in the next grade in school, and their attitude was "Bring It On!"
Really, I was excited to go to school in California. I had heard parents didn't even have to buy pencils and paper and crayons and other school stuff for kids. Someone said they were free. At the school. I couldn't wait to experience school in California. (In Arkansas parents had to pay for their kids' school materials, even for books when they were bigger.)
But what to wear? I, along with my brothers, had grown measurably taller, and my Easter dress was now too short, and since it was a big circle skirt, it couldn't be let out. There was not enough hem there. Mama had always made most of my clothes on her treadle sewing machine, but that had stayed in Arkansas with the aunts. Now she no longer worked in a cotton mill where she could obtain sizable scraps of pretty cotton (with maybe a few grease stains from the looms, but she could cut around it) and sew really cute dresses for me. Girls wore dresses to school in those days. Even in California girls did not wear long or short pants to school, except perhaps for special sports events or as a costume in a play. And certainly Church of God girls did not.
The boys were in like circumstances. They needed longer jeans and bigger shirts. Except Richard. He was still too little for even kindergarten, and anyway he would have inherited Ray's old clothes, just as Ray was inheriting Jim's. So what to do?
Well, remember, we had us a Daddy. He had been lathing off and on all summer with some of the Church people, nailing up "button board" for, I think 45 cents a bundle. He had learned to do it very fast; the faster one worked, the more bundles could be nailed on the wall studs. And Mama had skimped and saved so that they had enough money socked away to buy some new school clothes for the kids.
For me, it was a store bought blue and green plaid dress with a little white collar. I thought I had never seen a garment so beautiful. I had always loved fabric, especially with intense colors. That particular kind of plaid was very popular that year, but I didn't worry about whether some other little girl would wear the same thing. Had I encountered that, I would have considered it a sign she was to be my friend; we would have something in common.
The school was in Delano, seven miles south on Highway 99, and had been in session already a week before we showed up. Mama took Jim, me, and Ray. I think four-year-old Richard stayed behind with neighbors. We went to the office of Cecil Avenue Elementary School in Delano, and Mama gave the Secretary the necessary information about our names, ages, and grades. I'm not sure how Jim was taken to his seventh grade class, but I remember Mama taking me to my fifth grade class and just dropping me off before she and Ray walked away to his fourth grade class.
The school seemed enormous to me. In Arkansas our school had been just first through sixth grades all in one not-too-large "L" shaped building with playgrounds on two sides. Cecil Avenue Elementary housed kindergarten through eighth grade on a big campus with several rows of original stucco buildings for the higher grades, a huge autitorium, and on the other side a giant cafeteria building followed farther out by maybe a dozen "temporary" buildings surrounded by acres of flat sun-baked playground. That's where Mama headed with Ray and me.
Those fifth graders had just finished recess and were lined up at the door of the class, two lines, boys on one side, girls on the other. The teacher was standing on the steps about to allow them to file inside in an orderly manner. As we approached, I felt suddenly shy; perhaps it was because they all turned to look at us. Mama walked right up to the teacher and handed her the paperwork from the office.
"Are you Mrs. Moore? Fifth grade?" Mama was a little uncertain as the temporary buildings each housed two classrooms, and the other side also had a teacher and two lines of kids waiting to enter their classroom.
"Yes, Ma'am," replied Mrs. Moore. She reached out for the piece of paper Mama was offering.
"And where will we find the fourth grade?" Mama asked.
Pointing, Mrs. Moore directed Mama and Ray farther down the row of temporary buildings. After they walked away, Mrs. Moore smiled kindly at me and then looked down at the paper in her hand. "Norma Lusk?" She looked at me for confirmation of my name.
Now that was a bit of a problem, but I did not feel one bit like explaining to her in front of all those ten-year-old staring eyes that my name was Jean, and no one ever called me by my first name, Norma. I felt I could correct that later; now was the time to just nod and get in line.
"Class," Mrs. Moore's voice called out clearly, "this is Norma. She is a new student in our class. All right. Girls. You can be first today. You are being quiet and respectful. And boys, you can come in after the girl's line is inside."
I never did get around to correcting the name thing. From that day on, I was Norma in school in California, but Jean at home and at church. Years later when I entered the working world, I remained Norma except at home and church. In my latter years I have settled into being Norma Jean. Even so, it is still difficult to combine the two identities.
The desks were lined up across the room in front of the teacher's desk. There were five or six rows. She took me inside the classroom and had me stand with her until everyone was in their seat. Then she found me an empty desk right in the middle of the front row, two feet from the teacher's desk. Everyone was either behind or beside me. I couldn't really see the other kids. And I hadn't really looked at them outside, at least not individually. Gradually, I began to relax a little, and focused on what was going on. I had always been a good student. I knew I would be all right.
I soon decided the good thing about free paper and pencils in California schools was that if you lost a pencil or sharpened it too short, you could get another one. And everyone's supplies was alike; no one "showed off" their stuff. It was an equal playing field. I liked that.
It was far too hard for Mama to drive us to school seven miles each way every day. Within a week we moved to Delano. But that is another story...
No comments:
Post a Comment