First grade babies, second grade snots, third grade angels, fourth grade dots. Fifth grade peaches, sixth grade plums, and all the rest are dirty bums.I find it hard to believe that Teddy started third grade today, I guess because I have so many very clear memories of my own third grade year. I was in Darcey Tomko’s third grade class at St. Pius X, and I loved school. Things I remember about third grade:
Mrs. Tomko lit a candle in the classroom when John Lennon was killed.
We sang a lot, and competed in a singing competition called Adjudications at one of the local Catholic high schools. One song involved playing bells—the kind that are like individual notes from a xylophone—and I was thrilled. We didn’t win, but I still know all the words to the songs we sang.
Two boys liked me a lot. One sat next to me for a while, and dropped his pencil so he could lean down and bite me on the ankle. He’s a doctor now, I think. The other made me mix tapes featuring songs by Rush and Styx. He became quite the stoner lothario, and now does something involving computers.
I was in love with an eighth-grader named Patrick, and he was so nice to me! It strikes me as odd now that a boy that age could be kind to a dorky little girl.
I got my first pair of glasses, complete with a Holly Hobby glasses case. I will never forget the feeling of having to lunge on and off the curbs and stairs, as my depth perception went nuts for a while.
I had my first instance of cockiness getting in the way of doing good work: I breezily misspelled “bicycle” on a spelling test, and was positively red with shame when the test was returned with a less-than-perfect score. B-Y-C-I-C-L-E, indeed! I could spell “rhododendron”, dammit!
Our Religion teacher was a nun, Sister Robert Mary, and she told us that someday “they” (I’m assuming the Communists?) would drop a bomb that would kill all the people but leave all the structures standing. I don’t think I’ve ever been more haunted by an image. This was also the year we learned a song, “All Through the Night”, that our teacher told us was written for the mass funeral of a school-full of kids who were killed in an avalanche. Nice, huh?
I could go on, but I’ll spare you. How can I have a kid old enough to be in third grade, when it really feels like I was just there myself?!?!?
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Happy Birthday to my sister. She’s 31. She looks like a monkey, and she smells like one too.
11 comments:
You have a really good memory! About all that I remember of third grade is my teacher, Mr. Higgins. He read us this book with a little girl who always insisted saying, "Ladies first" for everything. He did the funniest voice when he said it. In the end of the book, she said "ladies first" so a tiger ate her first. (before the other people in the jungle) Wish I had that book for my kids.
"Ladies first..." Isn't that a line from a Shel Silverstein poem?
Maybe from "Where the Sidewalk Ends?"
I don't know that I remember it rhyming. Doesn't all the Shel Silverstein stuff rhyme? He writes good stuff though.
P.S. Gina, you're so cute. :) I hope Teddy enjoys third grade. Please keep us posted!
I'm a year older than you, apparently, because I was in 5th grade when Lennon was shot (but I skipped a grade and should have been in fourth). I remember getting into an argument with Tim Reid because I mentioned that John Lennon had died, and he said no he didn't, he was assassinated, and I didn't know what that meant but didn't want to back down.
Third grade: Mrs Wilson. She was the prettiest teacher in the whole school, she had lots of long brown feathered hair. And my best friend was Jennifer Smith.
Otherwise all I remember is the Christmas party at Mrs. Wilson's house with the huge Christmas tree in the cathedral-ceilinged foyer. That tree must have been ten feet tall; it seeemd bigger to me then.
And that Mrs Wilson enocouraged me to write stories, which at the time were all about Olympic diving and swimming champions.
After third grade, school went downhill till I hit college. I had enormous, fat, mean Mrs Jones for 4th grade, and Mr Blythe the child molester for 5th grade.
Third grade was the year that I was "popular". It was quite a good year for school and friends, until right at the very end, and then it was downhill from there until I got settled into my freshman year of high school.
I had Miss Herr, and it was the first time I ever got a grade in the 70 point range on a test... and the last time I got a grade that low until once in 5th grade.
Oh Gina, you just brought back lots of happy third grade memories, maybe I'll have to make my own blog posting about them.
Just one more though, I remember that was the year that they tried to cancel the Hannukah party because it took time from class, amongst other reasons. Miss Herr was the last teacher to finally cave in, the other two teachers were easy for the parents (who apparently found latkes to be very important) to talk into it, but mine was adamant that it was a waste of time. We did have it, in the end.
3rd Grade. Lazar. I've blocked it.
3rd Grade...Sr. Mary Frances O'Dell at St. Ignatius. It was, y'know, okay. She encouraged me to read and would suggest stuff that was WAY above my 3rd grade level. She always gave me grades in the B family and wrote in my report card "...if he only applied himself."
Beth Anne C. had a crush on me, but I still hadn't figured out that crush stuff.
This, naturally, was 1972, and so having a crew cut was out of step with the outside world. Kinda miss that. That, and metal lunchboxes with glass-lined thermoses. Numbah One Son just started 3rd Grade and he doesn't have such luxurious lunchbox choices.
-Joke
I had a metal Holly Hobbie lunchbox with matching thermos. shame i didn't hang onto it, might have been worth some cash now.
My lunch box was Mork & Mindy! I also had a Mork & Mindy sleeping bag and rainbow suspenders.
I think Teddy would be offended if I were to offer him a character lunch box at this point. He's got an insulated, utilitarian, zippered blue bag.
He had an excellent day yesterday, by the way, and is happy to be getting back into things. He is supposed to read for at least thirty minutes each night, and was reading Raold Dahl's "The Twits" (whom I confess to wanting to call "The Twats") while I was putting away laundry. He actually got upset when he thought I was there to tell him his thirty minutes were up! That kid rocks! :-)
Numbah One Son has a Harry Potter backpack, (soft-sided) lunchbox with matching (plastic-lined) thermos, folders, pencils, pencil case and gym bag.
He has also managed, barely in 3rd grade, to plow through Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone and is starting--quite eagerly!--on Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. I think he gets this sort of fanaticism from me.
-Joke
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