How many times have I heard, "I hate school..."?
I think no one ever heard that from me. There were times when I didn't want to go to school. There were a few times I didn't get all my homework done, and then dreaded to go the next day. There were certain classes or aspects of school that I didn't like. But I don't remember ever hating school, at least not in Cecil Avenue Elementary School.
Reading was my favorite part of school. I didn't go to kindergarten; I just started in the first grade in Pine Bluff. I raced through all the beginning books... Anyone remember Dick and Jane, Spot and Puff? I learned to read by looking at the whole word, not sounding it out. Well... I probably looked at the pictures, too. But from that beginning, it was fun to figure out the story, to find out what happened next.
Memorizing was easy for me; I'd had lots of practice from singing in church and from the Bible stories Mama had read to Jim and me from as far back as I could remember. I was not really shy in front of a crowd of people; from age three I sang (solos) in church with Mama playing the piano. When I was a child, we didn't have rocking out music (!) as children do nowadays. We just had simple tunes, and words that made sense. The hymns we sang in church taught us about God, about how we relate to Him, about Bible stories and verses. There were songs of praise, too, but fewer songs that are directed TO the Lord, as the modern praise and worship music, and more songs to help us learn ABOUT the Lord; i.e., instead of "I Love You, Lord," the hymn would say, "Praise Him! Praise Him! Jesus, our blessed Redeemer..." I memorized them all. Most of the Church of God music in my childhood was hymns with a fast (but not too fast) rhythm that made you want to tap your foot and clap your hands.
So my education was not "out behind the barn" but in church and in school, and I was always hungry to learn more. I learned from many directions, singing, reading, and hands-on.
We didn't have TV, nor all the media that is available to children today. We had books. With a book you have to turn the pages. Sometimes you have to look up words if you can't make sense of it by reading further. If you get called away to another task, you have to physically mark your place. For the most part, you couldn't take a book with you to other places or activities, though I often wanted to do that. Reading was my favorite pass-time. I could get lost in a book and Mama would have to come tap me on the shoulder to get my attention.
Funnybooks... (not necessarily funny books, but comic books), I loved those, too. I used to use wax paper to lift the picture (or part of it) out of the book and transfer it to a blank sheet of paper to make my own comic.* I would write my own story, and illustrate it with stolen images. In retrospect, I'm sure that was quite illegal, but I never got in trouble or even considered that I might. Shoot! I was just a kid having fun. Another thing: in those days comics were about Superman and Lois, but also about Tom and Jerry (fictional mice) and Bugs Bunny. It was before the days of Batman and other later heroes. Of course there were comics in the newspapers for adults, but I never cared about those. I like the colored kid funnies.
The point is that in the '50's kids made up their own fun. They didn't just receive it from the media.
So there we had readin' and writin'. But 'rithmetic was more difficult for me. I remember my teacher trying to teach me the concept of zero. I remember her putting two pieces of chalk in her palm and holding it out to all us first graders, saying, "How many pieces of chalk are here?"
We would answer, "Two."
She would repeat, "Two. That's right, two pieces of chalk..." She would then take one of them in her right hand, and open out the left hand again. "How many pieces of chalk do I have now?"
Some kid shouted out, "Three!" That kid thought we were counting up. That was logical. One, Two, Three. But the teacher shook her head. (She was an old lady with her hair pulled back in a "bun". When she shook her head, the bun would wiggle.
I raised my hand, and she nodded, "Jean?"
"One," I said, "you have one piece of chalk..." I hoped she wasn't including the one in her left hand, but I wasn't sure. I was glad when she nodded and smiled.
"That's right, Jean. I have one piece of chalk. Now..." she transferred it to her left hand and I could hear it bump against the other piece she already had in her left hand, before she closed her fist on the two pieces of chalk. "Now," she continued, nodding, her bun wiggling. She held out the empty right hand that was covered in chalk dust. "How many pieces of chalk do I have?"
Everyone looked at each other. They started saying, "Two!" or "One!" or "Three!" She shook her head, wiggling the bun rapidly. I raised my hand, and Miss Weedow smiled, "Jean?"
I hesitated. Now I knew that she had in her possession two pieces of chalk. I had seen them with my own eyes. Chalk dust was all over her hands. She had two pieces of chalk; she was just hiding them from us, trying to trick us. I wasn't going to be tricked. Boldly I proclaimed. "You have two pieces of chalk."
I was puzzled when she shook her head and frowned. Everyone, including me looked dumbfounded. She placed her left hand (holding the chalk) behind her, held out the empty right hand with the chalk dust on it out to us and shook it. "How many pieces?" she repeated.
No one said anything. I was afraid to be wrong again. I just couldn't figure it out. I decided for once to be quiet. Finally, she put the two pieces of chalk back in her right hand, and said, "I have two pieces of chalk in my hand..." With her left hand she scooped them up, turn aside, and dumped them on a nearby table, saying, "Two pieces, Take Away two pieces, leaves..." she shook both empty hands, "how many pieces are in my hand?"
Still no one spoke. No one wanted to be wrong again. I was focused on those pieces of chalk. I knew they were still there, right there on the table. Couldn't she see them? Finally a little boy in the back said timidly, "You don't have none in your hand..."
"That's right, Sammy!" she looked so happy. "None. Two take away two is none. Zero."
Finally, it clicked. Okay, I would accept that. Two take away two is zero. It took me awhile, though, to get rid of my secret reservations and learn that in 'rithmetic, you just have to learn the rules, no matter what other things they are trying to keep secret from you. Two take away two is zero, no matter what else is going on. It just is. That's all.
*To transfer an image from a comic book: Put a piece of wax paper on the picture on a hard surface, and scrape it with a spoon. The image should come off on the side of the wax paper that is against the ink. Then lay it on white paper on another hard surface and repeat the scraping action. It should show up on the white paper. You have to write your own words. Try it. It's fun.
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