Stories To Tell Part II

Small Town, Big Ideas

BFF

I met my best friend in first grade, Mrs. Mason's class,  at John L. Hurt Jr. Elementary School. Her name is Whitney, or "Whittle" as my Mama has called her for as long as I can remember. Mrs. Mason thought we'd be fast friends because we were both small in stature and only children.  She was right. Whitney was as petite as I was.  When I met her she had blond hair that flowed all the way down her back and when in a ponytail it was as thick as my fist.  Seriously, it was the hair that most grown women dream of.   We basically had the same size clothes and the same size shoes (still do).  We rode the same school bus and shared a love of country music.  In fact, her grandparents didn't live too far from my house. I could get their easily by cutting through the hay-field and a couple of the neighbor's yards.

It wasn't long before we were spending weekends at each other's houses.  One week at mine and one week at hers. We'd play Barbies or house in the early days.We would sleep on blankets on the floor of her room and talk and giggle until we heard her dad come home from his shift at 11.  Then we'd play opossum--which really meant that we finally got quiet enough to drift off to sleep. Her favorite movie was Top Gun.  Did I have a favorite movie back then? I don't remember.  I do remember loving the country band, Highway 101, and I would listen to the tape repetitively. I am sure my parents loved that.  Anyway, both got off the school bus at our grandma's houses and we would then get on the telephone and talk for ages.  What did we talk about? I have no clue.

As we got older we both developed a love of history and our parents would take us on trips to historical places.  I remember Jamestown, Williamsburg, Mount Vernon.  We enjoyed the school field trips to places like Point of Honor and the Lynchburg City Museum. It's funny to think about because now Whitney works for those places. She is in charge of the education programs.   I dreamed about going to college at William & Mary and working in Colonial Williamsburg.

Sometimes our parents would take us to Lynchburg to tag along while they did their grocery shopping or walking around at the mall.  Later on in elementary school we would go on beach vacations together.  We were the closest thing to siblings the two of us would ever have.  After Whitney's grandmother passed away (this was the first funeral I remember and they had been so close) she would spend summer days and after school with me at Pearlie's house.  We were still young enough to have a vivid imagination--probably around third or fourth grade--so we invented an imaginary life where we owned a fashion company, LKT Fashions.  We used Fashions Plates toys and Bride Magazines to create our brand.  We made millions.

Somewhere around that time, maybe even a year or so earlier, it was discovered that Whitney had scoliosis.  Mama sat me down one night on the couch and told me about this. I understood because Mama also had scoliosis, pretty severe in fact.  She had surgery when she was a child but it was not successful.  It was scary as a little kid to think about my best friend going to all of those doctors appointments at UVA and wearing a back brace. It was about more than just wearing a brace to help her spine, she also had changes in her hormones, so her body was changing and developing differently than mine.  These were surely conversations that were tough for Mama to have with me.  But even then I think I understood on some level, how miraculous it was that Mama had experience with something that someone we loved was going through.   I remember going with her on some of those trips to UVA and it became my responsibility to help her out at school. After the disaster that was 4th grade, we were always in the same class at school.  I felt (feel) a protectiveness of my friend, my sister.  In all things, she persevered.  Now, she's better known as Aunt Whitney.

John L. Hurt Jr. Elementary--Go Wildcats!

I remember visiting Hurt Elementary for Kindergarten.  I remember Dad ( I am 95% sure it was just Dad) who left me there to "try it out" for a day.  I cried and cried.  They said I wasn't ready.  I stayed at Preschool for another year.  It was pretty great growing up as one of the oldest kids in the class.  I got to do everything first--get braces (okay that sucked), drive a car, purchase alcohol (for my own party)..... yeah so it wasn't always the best but being the smallest and the oldest was an oddity I took pride in. 

I attended the school my Mama attended. One of her brothers was in the first class to go to the school.   In fact, in first grade she found a desk in my classroom that she remembered from her time there--it had an Indian carved in the top of it.  

I loved elementary school!  I loved learning new things (except math).  I loved reading, my favorite times were going into the library.  When I found The Little House on the Prarie books by Laura Ingalls Wilder I thinnk I probably squealed in delight.  I'd been watching reruns on television.  My parents figured out that I was reading under my blankets by flashlight at night--Little House, Nancy Drew, Babysitter's Club--whatever, and they bought a lamp to hook to my bed so I could read at night.  

Being from the small town with big ideas that was Hurt, Virginia meant that our school was tiny and you grew up knowing all of the kids in your grade.  I think I was the kid that got along with everyone for the most part.  I had lots of friends who played together on the playground, talked on the bus, and ate lunch together.  When you're a child you don't pay attention to the color of a persons skin, what street they live on, or if their parents belong to the country club.  You just run. And imagine. And learn.  

I was inducted into the Talented and Gifted program in second grade because of my reading and language skills.  I remember going into a tiny room at the top of a little staircase by the library and taking tests with Mrs. Fitzgerald.  There ended up being a few other kids from my class in there too.  Every week or so we got out of class for a little while and we would do special stuff together--creative things or practice for the Geography Bee.  I won the Geography Bee once--I have no idea how, pure luck.  This was when I started creative writing.  My first story was based on our dog, Bo.  In this story he had six legs.  I won an award.  A year or two later I wrote a book of poems.  This also won an award. In fact, I had to go sit with Mrs. Fitzgerald and write some poetry in front of her, on the spot, to prove that I had in fact written the poems, and not my Mama doing it for me.  

Some of my favorite memories are of the Spring Festival.  This would happen one Saturday at the school.  It seemed like eeeeeverybody was there.  Our parents would run booths or stand in the shade of the trees and talk while we ran around like banshees.  We'd do all the carnival stuff, load up on sugar, and chase each other with water guns.  Those were the days.  I remember feeling a deep sadness when I completed sixth grade and knew that my days with the Spring Festival had come to an end.  

Friday nights were for going to the skating rink.  I loved Roller Skating. I still do- I will go any time. All the kids from Hurt, Altavista, and Gretna would meet there and skate from opening until closing.  Music blared and the whole place smelled of Pizza and Nachos. I wonder in this day and age if I would feel comfortable dropping Kemper off like that.  I never questioned that I was safe and I knew so many people there I was never alone.  But it just seems like the world has changed from those days.  

Summers were filled with days at the Marina Pool by Leesville Lake.  Whitney and I would play for hours while Mama read a book in the sun.  We'd go inside and get cheeseburgers and french fries. Styrofoam cups were filled to the brim with tiny crushed ice and soda.  We'd play songs on the jukebox--always an Alan Jackson song for Mama.  If I think back I can still smell sunscreen and chlorine. 

The biggest day of summer--of the year in fact-- was Uncle Billy's Day. Always the first weekend of June,  Uncle Billy's is a festival in Altavista, Virginia celebrating the founding of a Trade Lot in the town where people went to market to buy goods.  There was a craft show, a car show, food trucks with funnel cakes, concerts, and my personal favorite--fireworks.  I have t-shirts commemorating UBD from my childhood. At one time I kept them all, each a different color with a variation of the trade lot and fireworks image on the back...now I think I have just a few of my favorites.  It didn't just seem like eeeeverybody was there--eeeeverybody was, in fact, there.  Maybe this is why I so loved to participate in the Railroad Festival in Appomattox with the church there. It brought back those memories of small town pride, and the hustle and bustle of everybody being together, celebrating their community.  

Growing up there was good.  I had good friends my age. I had good neighbors and friends of my family who looked out for me.  Everyone from the bus driver (Mrs. Dalton) to the teacher's aid (Mrs. Midkiff) were beloved members of my school family.  Our neighbors, Margaret and Kyle and Kent and Barbara were always there for me to run over and visit with or stay with if my parents or Pearlie couldn't be with me.  It was a special community.  And isn't that what we all long for? A community to be a part of?  I think that is why Jesus surrounded himself with the twelve.  He did not want to go it alone.  In fact, he knew that he could not.  This is why we are called to worship together communally, to learn and live our faith as a unit.  Because we need each other.  We were created for each other.  It might do our world some good to remember that.