"On Being Ten"

Fridays at Union Elementary School in Miss Elwood's class meant the afternoon when she would pass out those wonderful pieces of white construction paper. They begged for our creativity and the brush of crayons, paint, or charcoal.

Earlier in the day, having studied the modes of transportation in Conestoga Wagons that families used to migrate to the West, Miss Elwood wanted the class to draw these wagons.

Now, I was okay at abstract coloring and design, but to draw an actual object, I'm afraid I suffered brain and hand freeze. I was too terrified to even touch the pencil or crayons for fear that what I was feeling would be recorded on that paper.

Elaine, sat beside me in the next row. She appeared to be having the same kind of reaction. We sat there with tears streaming down our cheeks, blank pieces of that beautiful construction paper now being used as a blotter.

Miss Elwood maintained her usual walk in the classroom row by row. When she reached our aisle I could hardly breathe. This teacher stood between our desks, told us that we were being difficult, leaned down and marked a big RED "F" on both of our papers. I was destroyed. I loved school, until that moment. There were no words to describe that terror and none since.

I never discussed that episode with Elaine but I'm certain that the impact was lasting on her as well.

Lesson taught, never be vulnerable. Don't trust. I'm wondering what difference just a few words of encouragement would have meant. But what do ten year olds know?

I was always an avid reader. Words were comforting to me. A place to be safe.

We were studying History one day and were reading about the facial structures of the Romans. Miss Elwood used my nose to illustrate to the class how roman noses were considered beautiful because of the long straight bones, and my nose, being pug, or short and upturned just a bit at the end, was considered ugly. I thought that I would die of humiliation. Up until that day I thought that I was just like everyone else. Now, I was different. And, being different at ten years old is a bad thing. Every time I looked into a mirror, I didn't see a little girl growing up, instead, all I could see was an ugly nose.

Every fourth grade has a rambunctious Roger. We had ours and to my dismay, the fateful tete a tete between Roger and Miss Elwood happened on a day that I was home with the dreaded Asiatic Flu. I think that I would have paid money to have seen the chaos. Miss Elwood was to run one of her dreaded scoldings on Roger and he ran from her. He ran from the classroom and down the hall to the boy's restroom. She charged after him in those big thick stack heels worn by the sixtyish type women in church. She tripped and fell, breaking her hip.

This is where I learned about guilt. When the story was told to me upon my return to school, I not only wasn't sorry that it had happened, but deep down I thought she was getting just deserts.

We had several substitute teachers during that time and all of them were not just pleasant, but good, kind, and loving teachers. Miss Callahan, who later married another one of our teachers and became permanent staff. Miss Smee, that looked just like a real live Barbie, bubble hair-do and all. Every girl wanted to look just like her, and every boy, just wanted to look at her. It was an even split.

Having survived the Fourth Grade, my next year would prove to be my most memorable. Kathleen Covert. She would become one of the most significant people in my life. Not many fifth grade teachers can hold claim to that.

Mrs. Covert was first and foremost a Lady. I love describing her because the words pay tribute to the magnificant person that she was. Charming, Fascinating, Knowledgeable, Beautiful, Irish, Strict, and she had the highest expectations of her students. We wanted to live up to those expectations. And, learning became fun.

My love for the written word, I give credit to Mrs. Covert. Everyday after lunch she sat in that class room with twenty-five sweaty little children and read fine literature to us. We had one hour of pure enjoyment. "Tom Sawyer", "The Adventures of Huck Finn," "LittleWomen", "Pollyanna", "Treasure Island", "Heidi" just to name a few. She kept us on the edge of our seats because she read with enthusiasm and expression and though we would beg for more, the hour would end and she kept the mystery alive by teaching us patience.

Another quality that enveloped Mrs. Covert was her love for culture. She provided opportunities for these country kids that most of us would never have had. We participated in Essay contests, and performed art class while listening to "Bolero". This would only become important later when the significance of her selflessness, was revealed as an adult. We excelled in County wide art contests. She had us blowing paint across the paper with straws to form pictures of trees, while Julie Andrews sang in the background, "These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things".

One warm spring afternoon, we found ourselves on the lawn in front of the eighth grade class room, painting the fully blossomed plum tree, using only a Q-tip, with only the dot. No dragging, or pulling. Just the dab. I never clean my ears, or see a tree in full bloom, that I don't think of that day. A treasured memory.