"Life Is Full Of Petticoats"

Recently, I've been feeling so melancholy. Every song on the radio reminds me of a time and a place that still feels so painfully close.

I ache to put into words the emotion that engulfs me on a continual basis.

The common thread for my life has always been loss. Among the articles, my heart first and foremost.

Union Elementary School was a small country school, half way between Farmersville and Visalia.

We had some of the finest teachers that I have ever known at that little school. In those years budgets were not the topic of every board meeting, but more importantly, how to reach the children.

Both Mom and Dad had worked out in the fields up until this year. Now Mom had just given birth to my youngest sibling, a little darling named "Demetra" and Dad had a new job as a nightwatchman at Exeter Cold Storage. This was a cause for celebration.

All of the little girls at school had petticoats, or can-cans as we called them. Since Dad had the new job, he was able to fit one into the budget for me. We were to only have new clothing twice a year, once to begin school, and one new outfit for Easter.

I wore that petticoat to school and just like all of the other girls, when we changed into our shorts for Physical Education, I placed my new petticoat underneath my clothing but on top of the paper towel dispenser,to be kept safe from wayward little feet that might not sense how important that it was to the happy little owner.

After Physical Education, we trooped back to the
commonly called "girls lavoratory" to dress to go home again. I reached for my neat little stack of clothing on the towel dispenser and immediately noticed that the new petticoat was not there. How could that be? I was so careful. With anxiety rising I questioned everyone in the bathroom to see if they had moved my clothing or mistaken mine for theirs. The answers were all the same, an emphatic no. It never occurred to me that someone would steal an article of clothing.

My usual tenderhearted self, bawling, I reported the loss to my teacher. I knew the trouble that I would face at home for having lost something that my Dad had worked so hard for. My teacher then went to report the incident to the principal.

Now, what was to follow, would by today's standards and laws, close the doors to the school and end the careers of everyone concerned.

Mr. Joseph, School Principal, came to the bus stop where we all stood in line to board the busses home. He walked the line with me at his side and had every little girl raise the tip of her skirt to show the hem of her petticoat, that I might be able to identify the missing garment.

Sure enough, there was was my new petticoat on a girl by the name of Bertha. I can't recall which one of us was bawling the loudest, she for having gotten caught stealing, or me for having to endure the search for the missing petticoat.

The good news was I wouldn't be facing a whipping with a belt, when I got home. The bad news was , all of the boys in line were whooping and hollering and having a great time at the show of petticoats. Suffice it to say, I'll bet Bertha never stole another petticoat and I learned that nothing lasts forever, not even undergarments worn on the first day.

I can still feel the burning of my cheeks.