A memory

[miladycarol]

I was just sitting, reading a book, when I suddenly experienced a minor time-warp. I was completely transported to the first day of school in second grade. I was dressed in a plaid jumper (the American jumper, not the Australian kind) with a golden yellow frilly blouse, knee socks and my new Buster Brown school shoes. I remember sitting at my desk in that corner classroom. The room had that newly scrubbed and sanitized smell. The blackboards had not a hint of chalk dust anywhere about them, brand new sticks of chalk lay along the ledge interspersed with pristine erasers. All the student desks were neatly arranged in rows, the windows and walls were empty in anticipation of student schoolwork to be pasted upon them.

I remember the brand new supplies Mom and I had just bought. As I settled into my desk, I brought out my new pencil box with the pink plastic 6” ruler, the box of 16 crisp, new Crayola crayons whose tops still held that perfect unused edge. I remember the fuzzy feel of the paper wraps that coordinated with and explained the colour of each crayon in creative terms like “cornflower blue” and “burnt sienna.” I recall the waxy odour and the feeling of unrealised power they contained, the anticipation of great future works of art in blazing colours.

Then I brought out the first pencil of the year, a Ticonderoga number two pencil. I took the little pencil sharpener and shaved the graphite to a point. Oh, the lessons we would learn together, this pencil and I. It would be resharpened repeatedly until when I held it, it was too short and no longer reached the blades in the pencil sharpener on the wall of the schoolroom. Then, a brand new pencil would emerge from the pencil box, ready for action.

The sweet smells of graphite and wood mingled with the sharp paint, the tinny metal of the band and the pungent rubber of the eraser. Each part of this mighty utensil had its distinct smell. I loved to shut my eyes and run the pencil under my nose from one tip to the other and let all the scents slide by in sheer olfactory delight. Ah, the scent of a good, sturdy pencil.

Then, I opened my eyes and I was sitting with my book again. Just a momentary flashback of a time long gone.

I think I’ll run to the cupboard, grab a pencil and give it a good long sniff.

Comments

[gwyd.livejournal.com]

It's so weird to imagine someone enjoying primary school. Ours was so well designed for creulty it's hard to imagine what it was like for normal people. When I think of second grade, I always think first of the guy who used to stand on his desk and scream about genitalia. I also remember the organized sadism and the three or four classmates who went mad under the weight of it. Teachers who refused to let students go to the bathroom until they wet themselves. Sixteen or seventeen kids used to gang up against one and do horrible things. That was the year I learned that adults would lie to make themselves look better or save their jobs. That was the year I learned that no one ever believes a child when it's their word against the adults. I was in teacher school before I learned that you are suposed to punish the tormenter and not the victim. I hated that policy ever since first grade, but I always just assumed it was a deliberate thing that teachers all did. I was surprised to discover that current theory advises against it. I forget otther people enjoy school at that age until I'm suddenly reminded by things like your posting. It's nice to know that all primary schools aren't factories designed to crush spirit and creativity in the young. When I first saw the Wall, I identified so strongly with the meat grinder scene. No wonder everyone was singing "We Don't Need no Education" at my elementary when it first came out.

Re:

[miladycarol.livejournal.com]

Actually, I really hated school. I was the most unpopular girl, I was below the poverty line in a school full of doctor's and lawyer's children, my parents couldn't afford the tuition so I was on church aid. Since my parents weren't powerful or popular, they couldn't grant gifts and favours to the teachers and priests so I was not liked by the teachers either. I wanted to go to school in the morning, but I hated being there.

The flashback was just of a happy moment. I thrive on the little things in life. It's what helps to keep me sane when the big stuff smells sour. I realize in hindsight that I really liked learning, I just hated the environment. I think that is why I loved the tools of learning. I love the look of the blackboard, the smell of the pencil, the sound of written upon notebook pages being flipped through. It's about the learning. If I had had a positive environment, perhaps I would have learned better at a younger age. I find myself constantly having to relearn what I remember being taught when I was young. Very sad. I am hoping to find a really positive environment for my child. I want to make learning enjoyable and effortless, if possible. Once you know how to learn, and find the ambition to reach your goals, very little in this plane of existence can stop you. Something about indominable spirits. *smile*

Sorry to crush your illusion, but I thought honesty was best. I couldn't let you suffer under a false image of me. If it makes you feel any better, I still love the tools of learning. I buy pens that make my hands happy to hold them, I love a quality ruler and the smell of a crisp new notebook, college ruled, bound at the left by a spiral of metal. I love to learn and purposefully surround myself with the materials I need to make it spontaneous and easy. So, even a miserable school experience couldn't keep my desire to learn at bay. Some fires can never be quenched. Look for me in your classroom. It only takes one good teacher, even as late as high school, to capture me and make me a life-long scholar... despite all the other crap.

[gwyd.livejournal.com]

I only began to enjoy learning in a formal setting towards the end of high school. It was in college that I discovered my brain's deep thrirst for education. The darkness of my experience of middle and elementary school is why I care so much about reulty free education. I remember that the rare good teacher was like a life preserver to the drowning souls of students.

Re:

[miladycarol.livejournal.com]

Blessed be, Sister!