Like many children with older siblings, I eagerly awaited the first day of school. Mary Anne, my very best friend was a year younger and, besides, would attend Catholic school when her turn came. So, I was left with my neighborhood "boyfriend," Allen Peterson, to stand with me at the bus stop (along with my Mom, of course). Allen lived in the house directly behind me and was the only child of a couple with many problems--among them alcohol abuse. I can remember being at his house when his mom (a school teacher) was home "sick" with all the shades down and her head covered with a washcloth. Allen would be only too happy to come down to our house to play. He was a great kid and a good friend. I have heard that he is now practicing medicine in the Twin Cities someplace--but I have never run into him.
But, back to the first day of school. Kindergarten was being held at Brookside school--on the east side of Highway 100, almost to Edina. Fern Hill School, where I would be attending was being finished and so we began at Brookside and later transferred to Fern Hill. I wore a beautiful rose colored taffeta dress with three tiers of ruffles on that first day and I clearly remember having a note pinned to my dress that had my name, address, bus number, etc.
I'm not sure exactly when my bubble was burst, but I did not like my teacher and she did not like me. For one thing, as aforementioned, my mother was a primary school teacher who had already done a lot of teaching at home and I knew how to read and could write my own name in cursive. I, naively thinking this was great, proceeded to show off my talents which annoyed the teacher quite a bit. I remember spending a great deal of time sitting behind some long, heavy drapes where I couldn't be seen--an old-fashioned version of the modern "naughty chair." The highlight of that year was when we went into the cafeteria kitchen to learn how to make some cookies for a project. I felt right at home and I think I didn't get in trouble that day.
This obsession with cooking and kitchens was part of a crazy dream that I had many times, starting when we first moved into the house on Vernon Avenue. My room had a clothes chute built into the wall behind the door to my room. As you opened my room door, if you peeked around the door, you'd see the little door to the clothes chute. I was entranced with that little door and soon had a dream that I went through the door (sort of like Alice in Wonderland) and on the other side was a long, narrow kitchen miniaturized to be my size and equipped with every imaginable kitchen utensil. I loved that little kitchen. After the first time I had the dream, I actually went to the clothes chute to check and see if it was there--it was that real. Over the nine years we lived in that house, I had the dream many times. It was always so disappointing that it was just an old clothes chute!
Back to school. First grade was much more fun--for one thing I dearly loved my teacher. Her name was Miss Keeling (later she married and became Mrs. Hershey--an apt name, I thought for someone so sweet and yummy) and she had an orange-y blush on her cheeks. She was beautiful! She was young and kind and she actually liked me although I can distinctly remember having to sit out in the hall on occasion for talking too much. Some things never change. Even so,the best part of every day was lunchtime. In those days, every school cooked its hot lunch on site. So, if you were a hungry food-loving little kid like I was, the smell of lunch cooking all morning was agonizing. I remember standing in the lunch line with my lunch ticket ready, counting the people ahead of me and with my stomach rumbling away. There were a few disappointing lunches--the large brown baked beans, for instance--but even though my mom was an outstanding cook, I didn't share today's kids assessment of school lunch--I thought it was good. And no matter what else was served, there were always bread and butter sandwiches or a thin glaze of honeyed peanut butter sandwich to save you--and you could have as many of those as you wanted.
But, back to the first day of school. Kindergarten was being held at Brookside school--on the east side of Highway 100, almost to Edina. Fern Hill School, where I would be attending was being finished and so we began at Brookside and later transferred to Fern Hill. I wore a beautiful rose colored taffeta dress with three tiers of ruffles on that first day and I clearly remember having a note pinned to my dress that had my name, address, bus number, etc.
I'm not sure exactly when my bubble was burst, but I did not like my teacher and she did not like me. For one thing, as aforementioned, my mother was a primary school teacher who had already done a lot of teaching at home and I knew how to read and could write my own name in cursive. I, naively thinking this was great, proceeded to show off my talents which annoyed the teacher quite a bit. I remember spending a great deal of time sitting behind some long, heavy drapes where I couldn't be seen--an old-fashioned version of the modern "naughty chair." The highlight of that year was when we went into the cafeteria kitchen to learn how to make some cookies for a project. I felt right at home and I think I didn't get in trouble that day.
This obsession with cooking and kitchens was part of a crazy dream that I had many times, starting when we first moved into the house on Vernon Avenue. My room had a clothes chute built into the wall behind the door to my room. As you opened my room door, if you peeked around the door, you'd see the little door to the clothes chute. I was entranced with that little door and soon had a dream that I went through the door (sort of like Alice in Wonderland) and on the other side was a long, narrow kitchen miniaturized to be my size and equipped with every imaginable kitchen utensil. I loved that little kitchen. After the first time I had the dream, I actually went to the clothes chute to check and see if it was there--it was that real. Over the nine years we lived in that house, I had the dream many times. It was always so disappointing that it was just an old clothes chute!
Back to school. First grade was much more fun--for one thing I dearly loved my teacher. Her name was Miss Keeling (later she married and became Mrs. Hershey--an apt name, I thought for someone so sweet and yummy) and she had an orange-y blush on her cheeks. She was beautiful! She was young and kind and she actually liked me although I can distinctly remember having to sit out in the hall on occasion for talking too much. Some things never change. Even so,the best part of every day was lunchtime. In those days, every school cooked its hot lunch on site. So, if you were a hungry food-loving little kid like I was, the smell of lunch cooking all morning was agonizing. I remember standing in the lunch line with my lunch ticket ready, counting the people ahead of me and with my stomach rumbling away. There were a few disappointing lunches--the large brown baked beans, for instance--but even though my mom was an outstanding cook, I didn't share today's kids assessment of school lunch--I thought it was good. And no matter what else was served, there were always bread and butter sandwiches or a thin glaze of honeyed peanut butter sandwich to save you--and you could have as many of those as you wanted.
I also have fond memories of grade school lunches which were as you said, cooked on site and cost only 25 cents if the tickets were purchased five at time or 30 cents purchased individually. We could have as many helpings of food as we wanted as long as our plates were clean when requesting more. The food delicious.
ReplyDeleteWe had no vending machines in our school. Whole milk was the beverage, either white or chocolate. Childhood obesity was not an issue.