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| John L. Hurt Jr. Elementary School https://hes.pcs.k12.va.us/ |
This is such a fun and interesting question. In the summer of 2017 I wrote a series of blogs here on Preaching Thumbelina called "Stories To Tell" and a lot of my childhood memories are outlined there, so it is hard for me to think of something without repeating.
In second grade my class worked together to put on a play that was based on the storybook The Mitten, by Jan Brett. What I remember most clearly is the big, bright red mitten that I think was fashioned out of butcher paper or some such thing. Everyone in my class had a part in the play and we all had costumes because we were different woodland animals.
I honestly do not remember which character I was in the performance, but I do remember the nervous energy in our classroom that day. I may have just been one of the students to hold the mitten! Our parents came and sat in our small, already antiquated wooden desks, our textbooks and wrinkled papers spilling out from below their legs. It was wintertime I think because I remember the radiators hissing underneath the bank of windows that looked out over our school playground. The windows probably had snowflake stickers on them, and the sky was overcast.
We all gathered in front of the chalkboard and acted out our scenes. It probably lasted no more than ten minutes. I am sure it was far from perfect, but I do not remember that either. What I can recall is the profound sense of accomplishment I had when it was all over! The smiles and claps from our parents, the poses for group pictures in our costumes all echoed what we were feeling: that we had learned a new skill, that we had accomplished something special as a class.
As a parent now I realize what a sacrifice it had likely been for so many of our parents to take off from work or find babysitters for younger siblings and come to our classroom for a ten minute play. For them to get bundled up, bring refreshments to share, and sacrifice time and possibly money to support us. For them to live the daily stresses of adulthood that I now recognize, and to put all of that aside to be present for us was special. I know that there is nowhere else they would rather have been but cheering on their children. I guess what is important here is that it meant a lot to me that my family was there. Children do notice and appreciate what their parents do, even if it does not seem like it sometimes.
Looking back, I think this may have been the year that my love for the creative arts, writing, and storytelling started. I was a pretty advanced reader and I gobbled up books whenever I could. I wrote my first story for the Young Author's Contest that year and won a blue ribbon. I enjoyed writing stories and poetry. I liked that our teacher read us a book and then allowed us to retell the story, to put ourselves into the narrative as we learned about what it meant for a story to have a plot.
You know, teachers are so under. Underappreciated. Underpaid. Underfunded. And yet these men and women are passionate and dedicated to protecting our children and educating them in ways that help them flourish. They work long hours, the first to arrive and the last to leave. They take their work home with them to grade papers late at night and they make lesson plans months in advance on summer days. They face sickness and germs daily but they rarely get a chance to take a sick day. They see children come in who are dragging their feet, tired and hungry because they do not have food at home or supplies to do their homework. They take from their own pockets to give children the tools they need in the classroom and buy them food to fill empty stomachs. They stand in the cold at recess and stand guard during bus loading. Teachers are amazing.
We did not necessarily like our teacher very much in those days, if I remember correctly. But, I can look back now and be thankful because she truly taught us, and she planted in me a seed that would grow throughout my life; a love of reading, writing, acting, creating.
What do you remember about your childhood? Was there a teacher or a subject that sparked for you at an early age?
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