I think I've been somewhat of an idiot most of my life. For instance, when I get with my sister, Lynda, for any length of time, we inevitably get to laughing uncontrollably. We seem to be hardwired for it and really have to watch ourselves or it will rear it's head at any given moment when we're together. In fact, once riding with her in the back of the car with our husbands up front, I nearly choked to death, I was laughing so hard. She says the dumbest things that make me laugh and I do the same to her I guess. Along with our brother, we used to get into these fits at the worst possible moments...Like when the minister would stay for a meal. All we had to do was look at each other across the table or have one of us sneak off a blip of a giggle and we'd be lost. My brother, Doug, was famous for letting off those little giggle blips, just to provoke us, and there was no stopping once we got started..The more we tried to straighten up and look anywhere else but at each other, or the minister, or our parents, the worse it became. Mercifully, eventually the meal would be over and we could leave the table. I am pretty sure Mom and Dad felt like giving all of us idiots away at those particular moments.
My poor little sister.., I taught her to say swear words when she was only two years old. I am eight years older than her, so she was my little sidekick. When she first learned to talk, it was great to tell her to say "......" and she would, and it made me laugh every time. Remember, that was right around the time of the swearing extravaganza at school...Geez, I was not only an idiot, I was bad! I wasn't always bad, sometimes, I was just plain dumb. I broke my arm riding the wheel of a big old ancient wooden wagon wheel. You know the kind with metal framing around wooden spokes and axles. The wagon lay on it's side with the wheel sticking straight up in the air, right next to a tall poplar tree. This was perfect, because us kids could take turns using the tree to propel ourselves round and round like a merry-go-round. At one point, there was a fatal flaw to this game though because I accidentally caught my arm between the wheel and the tree and snap!... the tree won. I lost out and had to have my arm put in a cast.
Other silliness that was just plain moronic, was once and only once, while playing out in the pasture with the other kids, I got thirsty. I thought it was so smart to just take a drink out of the slough. You know, the same one the cows drank out of and that was right next to where they relieved themselves. Some neighbour kid found this out, and told me I'd probably have tadpoles growing in my stomach after that. Last time for drinking out of the slough! Now that I know about E. Coli, it was a good thing I didn't wind up with something much worse than baby frogs!
In grade one, about 1960, my teacher was the now dearly departed Mr. Eli Panchuk. He was reduced to tying me to my desk in our one-room country school, because I was wandering around the classroom far too much. All I wanted to do was look at the pretty, enticing world maps laid out on the big table at the side of the room, just like the older kids got to do. I was only six years old and didn't see the need for sitting in one spot all day long. I knew why I was wandering around, but couldn't exactly convince him about my reasoning at the time. It was an embarrassing experience though and one I'll never forget. Mr. Panchuk forgave me as the years went by, maybe because I got straight A's. When I grew up, he inevitably greeted me with, "how's my favorite student?" I was always suspicious that he said the same thing to all his Thatch Creek students though. The Thatch Creek kids were a special little group to him, I think, because we all moved together to the big town school, Reynolds Central. He was the grade seven teacher there and I was in Grade three. I stapled my finger one day at the new school and made it bleed. Guess who I went searching for to save me? Of course, my favorite teacher, Mr. Panchuk.
The country school was one big room with a row or part of a row for each grade of kids. Grades one and two were in the first row on the left, and each row over had a higher grade, all the way up to the grade nines who were seated on the far side of the room. All we had was adult-sized desks, so little people had to share. In my case, it was another grade oner, a boy named Ricky H. and I. He and I tolerated each other, because really, I was madly in love at six years old with one of the big boys, Bernard S.. He was so handsome in my eyes, but he barely even noticed me except once when we were playing forts at the back of the school yard. I happened to be on his team with another big boy, Leroy M. The big kids also played kick-the-can with us and that made us little ones feel pretty special and definitely included.
The country school had separate boys' and girls' cloak rooms. In those days, they had such classic names for things unlike nowadays when we call the same thing, the 'boot room' or just plain old 'closet'. The cloak rooms were big and had windows high up. They were, you guessed it, where our coats, boots and metal lunch kits were put. I remember there was enough room for all the girls to be in there at the same time and this was also where the bathrooms were. The bathrooms were a single cubicle and the toilet was stand-alone and metal. About 20 feet down the toilet hole was some sort of chemical liquid to contain the waste.
During reading class, we read the "Dick and Jane" reader. We took turns reading out loud in a little group at the front of the room. There would be about six of us from grades one to three or four. I would speed through my part and then get bored stiff listening to the others trying to sound out the words. You have to remember that there were big kids in our group that still hadn't moved beyone grade one or two. That's how it was in those days. Phonics was the name of the game and was practiced to the letter. One day my friend, Vivian, who was a year or so older than me, came back from the bathroom and whispered to me that there was a magazine left in the girl's bathroom. I guess she could tell I wasn't enjoying the reading class. If they'd let me be the person to read the whole book out loud by myself, I'd have been a much happier girl, but that wasn't how the rest of them could get a chance to learn. I understood the rationale and tried so hard to be patient, but face it, I was bored to tears.
I have no idea how the magazine got there, but I was very interested in the prospect of it. After all, anything would be better than the listening to these painfully slow reading sessions, and the teacher would always let us leave the room for a trip to the bathroom. I put up my hand and asked. He nodded, "of course". I went in and seated myself on the commode, then picked up the glossy magazine off the floor and started looking at all the pictures. Here goes the idiot again... I'm afraid I lost track of the time, which wasn't hard to do because I didn't own a watch. I was so engrossed in reading something truly interesting, besides Sally, Spot and Puff, that the teacher had to send somebody to knock on the door and check to see if I'd fallen in. I was blonde, pale, embarrassed and by the time I exited the cubicle, beet red.. When I think about it, I guess kids really could have fallen in, since it was a high, adult-sized toilet seat with no stool. I was perfectly fine and reluctantly returned to the group at the front of the room. They were still struggling to read and not even half way done the story. See....Spot.... Run... I tried to look non-chalant, never admitting that I'd been reading something superb and worldly and INTERESTING and moving it along myself at just the right pace.
At lunch time every day in the country school, we all lined up to fill our cups or glasses with drinking water from a big crock at the front of the room. It had a small spigot with either a button to press, or a lever to turn...can't remember which. These were the days before the running water we so easily take for granted now. Come to think of it, I don't remember washing my hands there at all, but we must have...there must have been a basin with a pail at least. Many homes had a well with a hand pump inside the house...at least we did and so did my grandmother, and attached somewhere near the kitchen sink. We also had a 'slop pail' somewhere in the kitchen, like under the sink to collect everything biodegradable for the garden. You know, vegetable peelings, coffee grounds, egg shells, etc. We were environmentally conscious long before it was even in fashion. Anyhow, after those reading sessions, getting to work the spigot and fill my cup and then eat my lunch were really things to look forward to.
I vividly remember a most embarrassing incident however, that happened to me one winter's day inside the country school. I was lucky enough to inherit cast-off clothes from my Mom's youngest sister who was only ten years older than me. (That's the idiot part). I had on a pair of her houndstooth (black and white checked) pants that were a little too big, (ya think?), so had a big safety pin holding them together at the waist. Underneath, I had on a pair of her red, long underwear, also way too big. I had probably made up my mind I was wearing them and there would be no way anybody at home would have been able to change my mind. I was so thrilled to have the new clothes! As I was standing in the water line-up like we did the same way every day at lunch time, I was flitting around and not paying attention, I guess. All of a sudden, without any warning, my pants fell down, right down around my ankles! There I stood for one split second with nothing on but my red, long underwear and in front of the entire class! My face got instantly hot, so I know it turned the same crimson as my underwear. I was so flustered and fumbled around frantic to get things righted. There was a snort and some smirks and I wanted to kill somebody then die myself. I didn't really understand what had happened. What a stupid, lousy safety pin....had I not shut it quite right? Had it caught on something and opened when I didn't notice? I was very quiet for the rest of the day and I NEVER wore either of those articles of clothing in public EVER again. Not one person from school spoke of that disastrous day and I was secretly very relieved and oh, so thankful!
About forty years later, when I was a teacher myself...the same emotions I had experienced that day returned, but on a much smaller scale. At the end of a particularly long day, I had one of my quietest students come up to me. She said, "Can I tell you something?" I said, "of course". She pointed to the bottom of my pantleg. There hanging by nothing more than static electricity was a dryer sheet for all the world to see. Oh brother...
A life-changing event occurred for me at one of our evening Christmas concerts at Thatch Creek school. The whole group of students were on stage singing Christmas Carols with all our families sitting in the audience. One of the big girls, either Sonia or Leona was playing the piano. We eagerly awaited the appearance of Santa Clause who was to arrive at minute. Suddenly, the older girl standing next to me, decided it was time I learned the truth. She just blurted it out...."There is no Santa Clause, he's just one of the neighbour men dressed up". I was never so mad at anybody in my whole life. I called her a liar. In fact, I told her to stop lying. She laughed and gave me this incredulous look like how could I possibly continue to cling to such a naive and infantile idea. When Santa did show up, he laughed and said 'ho ho ho' just like usual. He brought us all something like nuts and a jap orange, just like we expected. I was thrilled and marched straight to Mom and Dad the minute I could get to them. I told them point blank...."she said......". They began shushing me like crazy and trying to whisk me out to the car...After all, there was nothing but other little kids all over the place. They assured and reassured me that the girl must have been mistaken. I totally believed my parents and didn't really figure everything out for many years to come. Once I did though, I was forever and always eagerly waiting for any chance I could get to sneak into the many hiding places Mom had for presents. The excitement of it all was well worth the wait no matter who the delivery person was.
My poor little sister.., I taught her to say swear words when she was only two years old. I am eight years older than her, so she was my little sidekick. When she first learned to talk, it was great to tell her to say "......" and she would, and it made me laugh every time. Remember, that was right around the time of the swearing extravaganza at school...Geez, I was not only an idiot, I was bad! I wasn't always bad, sometimes, I was just plain dumb. I broke my arm riding the wheel of a big old ancient wooden wagon wheel. You know the kind with metal framing around wooden spokes and axles. The wagon lay on it's side with the wheel sticking straight up in the air, right next to a tall poplar tree. This was perfect, because us kids could take turns using the tree to propel ourselves round and round like a merry-go-round. At one point, there was a fatal flaw to this game though because I accidentally caught my arm between the wheel and the tree and snap!... the tree won. I lost out and had to have my arm put in a cast.
Other silliness that was just plain moronic, was once and only once, while playing out in the pasture with the other kids, I got thirsty. I thought it was so smart to just take a drink out of the slough. You know, the same one the cows drank out of and that was right next to where they relieved themselves. Some neighbour kid found this out, and told me I'd probably have tadpoles growing in my stomach after that. Last time for drinking out of the slough! Now that I know about E. Coli, it was a good thing I didn't wind up with something much worse than baby frogs!
In grade one, about 1960, my teacher was the now dearly departed Mr. Eli Panchuk. He was reduced to tying me to my desk in our one-room country school, because I was wandering around the classroom far too much. All I wanted to do was look at the pretty, enticing world maps laid out on the big table at the side of the room, just like the older kids got to do. I was only six years old and didn't see the need for sitting in one spot all day long. I knew why I was wandering around, but couldn't exactly convince him about my reasoning at the time. It was an embarrassing experience though and one I'll never forget. Mr. Panchuk forgave me as the years went by, maybe because I got straight A's. When I grew up, he inevitably greeted me with, "how's my favorite student?" I was always suspicious that he said the same thing to all his Thatch Creek students though. The Thatch Creek kids were a special little group to him, I think, because we all moved together to the big town school, Reynolds Central. He was the grade seven teacher there and I was in Grade three. I stapled my finger one day at the new school and made it bleed. Guess who I went searching for to save me? Of course, my favorite teacher, Mr. Panchuk.
The country school was one big room with a row or part of a row for each grade of kids. Grades one and two were in the first row on the left, and each row over had a higher grade, all the way up to the grade nines who were seated on the far side of the room. All we had was adult-sized desks, so little people had to share. In my case, it was another grade oner, a boy named Ricky H. and I. He and I tolerated each other, because really, I was madly in love at six years old with one of the big boys, Bernard S.. He was so handsome in my eyes, but he barely even noticed me except once when we were playing forts at the back of the school yard. I happened to be on his team with another big boy, Leroy M. The big kids also played kick-the-can with us and that made us little ones feel pretty special and definitely included.
The country school had separate boys' and girls' cloak rooms. In those days, they had such classic names for things unlike nowadays when we call the same thing, the 'boot room' or just plain old 'closet'. The cloak rooms were big and had windows high up. They were, you guessed it, where our coats, boots and metal lunch kits were put. I remember there was enough room for all the girls to be in there at the same time and this was also where the bathrooms were. The bathrooms were a single cubicle and the toilet was stand-alone and metal. About 20 feet down the toilet hole was some sort of chemical liquid to contain the waste.
During reading class, we read the "Dick and Jane" reader. We took turns reading out loud in a little group at the front of the room. There would be about six of us from grades one to three or four. I would speed through my part and then get bored stiff listening to the others trying to sound out the words. You have to remember that there were big kids in our group that still hadn't moved beyone grade one or two. That's how it was in those days. Phonics was the name of the game and was practiced to the letter. One day my friend, Vivian, who was a year or so older than me, came back from the bathroom and whispered to me that there was a magazine left in the girl's bathroom. I guess she could tell I wasn't enjoying the reading class. If they'd let me be the person to read the whole book out loud by myself, I'd have been a much happier girl, but that wasn't how the rest of them could get a chance to learn. I understood the rationale and tried so hard to be patient, but face it, I was bored to tears.
I have no idea how the magazine got there, but I was very interested in the prospect of it. After all, anything would be better than the listening to these painfully slow reading sessions, and the teacher would always let us leave the room for a trip to the bathroom. I put up my hand and asked. He nodded, "of course". I went in and seated myself on the commode, then picked up the glossy magazine off the floor and started looking at all the pictures. Here goes the idiot again... I'm afraid I lost track of the time, which wasn't hard to do because I didn't own a watch. I was so engrossed in reading something truly interesting, besides Sally, Spot and Puff, that the teacher had to send somebody to knock on the door and check to see if I'd fallen in. I was blonde, pale, embarrassed and by the time I exited the cubicle, beet red.. When I think about it, I guess kids really could have fallen in, since it was a high, adult-sized toilet seat with no stool. I was perfectly fine and reluctantly returned to the group at the front of the room. They were still struggling to read and not even half way done the story. See....Spot.... Run... I tried to look non-chalant, never admitting that I'd been reading something superb and worldly and INTERESTING and moving it along myself at just the right pace.
At lunch time every day in the country school, we all lined up to fill our cups or glasses with drinking water from a big crock at the front of the room. It had a small spigot with either a button to press, or a lever to turn...can't remember which. These were the days before the running water we so easily take for granted now. Come to think of it, I don't remember washing my hands there at all, but we must have...there must have been a basin with a pail at least. Many homes had a well with a hand pump inside the house...at least we did and so did my grandmother, and attached somewhere near the kitchen sink. We also had a 'slop pail' somewhere in the kitchen, like under the sink to collect everything biodegradable for the garden. You know, vegetable peelings, coffee grounds, egg shells, etc. We were environmentally conscious long before it was even in fashion. Anyhow, after those reading sessions, getting to work the spigot and fill my cup and then eat my lunch were really things to look forward to.
I vividly remember a most embarrassing incident however, that happened to me one winter's day inside the country school. I was lucky enough to inherit cast-off clothes from my Mom's youngest sister who was only ten years older than me. (That's the idiot part). I had on a pair of her houndstooth (black and white checked) pants that were a little too big, (ya think?), so had a big safety pin holding them together at the waist. Underneath, I had on a pair of her red, long underwear, also way too big. I had probably made up my mind I was wearing them and there would be no way anybody at home would have been able to change my mind. I was so thrilled to have the new clothes! As I was standing in the water line-up like we did the same way every day at lunch time, I was flitting around and not paying attention, I guess. All of a sudden, without any warning, my pants fell down, right down around my ankles! There I stood for one split second with nothing on but my red, long underwear and in front of the entire class! My face got instantly hot, so I know it turned the same crimson as my underwear. I was so flustered and fumbled around frantic to get things righted. There was a snort and some smirks and I wanted to kill somebody then die myself. I didn't really understand what had happened. What a stupid, lousy safety pin....had I not shut it quite right? Had it caught on something and opened when I didn't notice? I was very quiet for the rest of the day and I NEVER wore either of those articles of clothing in public EVER again. Not one person from school spoke of that disastrous day and I was secretly very relieved and oh, so thankful!
About forty years later, when I was a teacher myself...the same emotions I had experienced that day returned, but on a much smaller scale. At the end of a particularly long day, I had one of my quietest students come up to me. She said, "Can I tell you something?" I said, "of course". She pointed to the bottom of my pantleg. There hanging by nothing more than static electricity was a dryer sheet for all the world to see. Oh brother...
A life-changing event occurred for me at one of our evening Christmas concerts at Thatch Creek school. The whole group of students were on stage singing Christmas Carols with all our families sitting in the audience. One of the big girls, either Sonia or Leona was playing the piano. We eagerly awaited the appearance of Santa Clause who was to arrive at minute. Suddenly, the older girl standing next to me, decided it was time I learned the truth. She just blurted it out...."There is no Santa Clause, he's just one of the neighbour men dressed up". I was never so mad at anybody in my whole life. I called her a liar. In fact, I told her to stop lying. She laughed and gave me this incredulous look like how could I possibly continue to cling to such a naive and infantile idea. When Santa did show up, he laughed and said 'ho ho ho' just like usual. He brought us all something like nuts and a jap orange, just like we expected. I was thrilled and marched straight to Mom and Dad the minute I could get to them. I told them point blank...."she said......". They began shushing me like crazy and trying to whisk me out to the car...After all, there was nothing but other little kids all over the place. They assured and reassured me that the girl must have been mistaken. I totally believed my parents and didn't really figure everything out for many years to come. Once I did though, I was forever and always eagerly waiting for any chance I could get to sneak into the many hiding places Mom had for presents. The excitement of it all was well worth the wait no matter who the delivery person was.
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