Why do we remember some things so clearly and let mounds of other experiences pass through our minds?
I recall my earliest memory with clarity. It was my birthday. I was turning three years old. My brother was just over a week old and my wonderful mom baked a cake and decorated it with a train. Half a dozen of my neighborhood friends crowded around the kitchen table. While they sang happy birthday, I joined in to. "Happy Birthday to Me!" I was so excited, and yet a little disappointed that my baby brother was napping during my birthday party and couldn't have some cake!
My oldest daughter has just turned six years old and has started first grade. I wonder what she'll remember thirty years from now. What will she remember about her school? What will she remember about this birthday party we've planned for her? Will she remember any of her friends?
I recall only snippits of my sixth year. I don't remember any of my friends or classmates. I can't remember my teacher's real name; only that we called her "Miss Short" because she was not all that much taller than her 1st grade students.
I was a rules-focused kid. I liked doing things by the book. But I was also a classic case of attention deficit disorder. I would be easily distracted and was labeled a trouble-maker by her. She complained to my parents that I wouldn't pay attention to my worksheet while she was leading another reading group. Nevermind that I was A.D.D. and she conducted this group session five feet away from my desk. I doubt I could concentrate in those circumstances as an adult!
The craziest thing I remember about her class was jump roping (or "skipping rope" if you like). She had a thing about teaching each student to jump rope. That, and how to spell Mississippi out loud. I struggled with the spelling. I practiced what seemed like a lot. But I eventually did it well enough to her satisfaction.
The jump rope thing was this: By the end of the school year, she wanted each and every student to be able to jump rope 100 times in a row without interruption. We'd go to the gym to practice.
Some kids were able to do it by day 2. I had a little more trouble.
It was frustrating. I really wanted to be able to jump rope 100 times, but I could only get into the teens. I remember passing one benchmark, it was 20 or 30 and feeling very proud. But it wasn't enough.
Eventually most of the class got there, but a few of us still couldn't do it.
One day after marching back from the classroom after a practice session, another teacher asked Miss Short how the jump rope was progressing. She had the kids who did 100 step forward. She had the kids who did 50 step forward. A couple of us didn't step forward at all. I felt like a failure.
I had been practicing at home. I think it was still cold outside, as I practiced in the one carpet free part of our house in the basement. The practicing helped, but I still couldn't make it to 100.
Being the weakest remaining link, the teacher had me come to her desk one day. I remember her using a serious tone to tell me how disappointed she was that I hadn't reached the 100 benchmark yet. She told me that I needed to work harder and practice every day. Then she shook her head and said sadly, "I don't know how you will be able to pass first grade if you can't reach 100."
Yes. She threatened to hold me back for not skipping rope 100 times. I was gullible by seven year old standards. I believed her.
I don't recall how long I worried about not passing first grade. I just remembered how fearful I felt in that moment. My insides felt like molten lava, hot and heavy. My mouth dried up. I was hopeless and scared. It felt similar to relationship breakups and news of deaths I experienced years later.
I don't remember if I ever even got to 100. I don't think I did. I remember getting up to 70 and feeling pretty good about that.
The next year my parents took me out of public school and 11 years of Catholic education followed--which featured different trials and tribulations, but I never had to jump rope for school again.
Comments
I too suffered from ADD, even though it was not diagnosed till much later in life. So I do understand what it is like.
I often wonder how much my children will remember of the early times in their life. Something to ponder.....
Just ugh.
On the other hand, we were threatened in 8th grade (by the principal, Sr. Thea, may she rot in hell) with failure unless we could recite the Baltimore Catechism's definition of The Church, word for word, on demand.
And so I give you: The Church is the congregation of all baptized persons united in the same true faith, the same sacrifice, and the same sacraments, under the authority of the Sovereign Pontiff and the bishops in communion with him.
Bitch.
Why are elementary teachers, in particular, such horror shows? I do remember too much of first and second grade--nothing pleasant. All abuse, either from other schoolkids (1st - 8th) or the nuns and teachers.
I have a 6-year-old nephew who's terribly undersized for his age (1st %ile) and there are moments I cringe, wondering what he's going through. He's begun to wet his pants. He didn't used to do that. And his mom doesn't seem to understand it's most likely an anxiety reaction to something that's troubling him deeply, not a purposeful act of neglect or defiance. Sigh.
Poor kids. Poor, poor kids.
Hope your little one has an easier time of it.
Thanks for the story!