HOW LONG THE DAY?
You might have warmhearted recollections of that first day
back to school in the fall, or you may remember having nightmares leading up to
the day. Either way, I am certain you can recall a few incidents that helped to
make that day memorable.
In September of 1962, I was a 10-year-old veteran entering
the fifth grade in our elementary school in the coal mining town of St.
Michael, Pennsylvania. My older sister
had moved on to the junior high and I was the big brother, assigned to assist
my younger sister Stacie with her debut into public education.
Keep in mind, Kindergarten had not been invented yet, at
least not in our district. And no First Grade Orientation Days or Meet the Teacher Nights were scheduled
either. In fact, most students had never
stepped onto a bus before in their lifetimes.
Years later, I realized how fortunate those of us who had older siblings
attending the same school really were. But
for the time-being, it was my turn to help with Stacie’s (and Mom’s)
apprehension.
Their biggest concern was not the mean-spirited teacher that
I had four years prior in grade one.
That lady was still there completing what seemed like her century-long
career, and I was surprised my sister wasn’t as worried about her as I would
be. Instead, Stacie’s anxiety dealt
mostly with recognizing and getting aboard the proper bus for the return trip
home.
With Mom’s approval, my suggestion was that Stacie wait for
me by the large garbage can (a converted oil drum) positioned just outside the
exit door. It was a good choice as a
landmark because all the kids would pass by there on their way out to the
playground and bus pickup area. The fact
that the drum possessed a putrid stench and was surrounded by flies can’t be
blamed on me. After all, my plan was
intended for one quick meeting, for one day, only.
As we entered school that first morning, I directed Stacie
to the site, emphasizing its location and feeling sure that I would see her
there after dismissal.
Imagine my surprise when I noticed her standing there all by
herself during our mid-morning recess. I
did not know if she wasn’t listening to the teacher’s directives (indicating
this was recess) or if she simply thought her day was done. Or, did the first grade teacher finally lose
all touch with reality and send the kids home? In any event, I explained that the day was not
over and that I would meet her there again later at that same spot. (Author’s
Note: Teacher-supervised recesses hadn’t been invented yet, either.)
Stacie did exactly as directed and I later found her waiting
patiently by the trash can. The time of
day still remained an issue. It was just
past noon and the kids were outside playing during our post-lunch time recess. I was bewildered but did my best to reassure
her that this was not the end of the day either. She scampered off indicating only that she
was listening to Mom’s orders and did not want to take a chance on missing that
bus home.
I must admit I was not totally stunned when I spotted her as
she waited at the can for me again during our mid-afternoon playground
session. Remember, teachers and
curriculums were not yet ruled by state test scores and getting outside in nice
weather in mid-morning and mid-afternoon for ten to fifteen minutes was not
considered taboo.
This story has been repeated often in my family, and it does
have a happy ending. Promptly at 3:10, Stacie
was there at the can yet again, waiting for her older brother at dismissal time
just as she was asked to do. Her long
day had finally come to a true end. It
was her first, but clearly not the last long day she or any of us would spend
in school.
I walked her to our bus and spent the required five seconds
with her making sure she had a seat. I
don’t think I sat with her, but again, you must understand - I had my image to
maintain and surely preferred to sit with my cronies (who I hadn’t seen all
summer) rather than with my younger sister.
Today, Stacie is retired from two successful careers in law
enforcement. After employment with the
FBI in Washington, D.C. she was assigned as a special agent in the Ohio
Attorney General’s Office where she investigated Medicaid fraud claims. It’s obvious her first day of school did not
leave her scarred for life emotionally.
I have to wonder though, “Just how long was that day for my
sister in 1962?” After all, her day
ended four different times and no adults even noticed. Are some parents and teachers so caught up in
their own daily toil that they’ve forgotten how slowly time goes by for a
child?
I still remember getting some single days mixed up into two
also. And I’m sure many of you can
recall days that seemed to never end, especially if you didn’t particularly
enjoy a certain subject, teacher or class. The simple fact is, however, that
grownups too often forget just how long a day is for a kid.
Our legislators, state directors, administrators and policy
officials might well want to try to visualize an entire day through the eyes of
a preschooler or early elementary student. Childhood only takes place once and
educators can little afford to squander it.
You see, before bureaucrats bring more to an ever-expanding
school calendar and suggest increases in an already long day, this old teacher
longs for that outdated, three-recess day. Unfortunately, like permanently fastened desks,
fountain pens and inkwells, those days may be gone forever.
