REMEMBERING THE OLD SCHOOL
by Neva Bodin
Recently, as part of research for a freelance newspaper article I am writing, I visited a Montessori pre-school. It took me on a memory journey.
The school I visited is for three to five year olds. The atmosphere was calm, quiet, and respectful. Students chose and worked on projects independently. They were learning life skills that encompassed physical, mental, and social. I was impressed. The guide said the young learn from the older, and the older gain self-esteem when they help and model for the younger students.
But another reel was playing in my head as I tried to record what I was seeing so I could write about it. The reel was a decades old re-play of country school.
I grew up in a rural farming community and attended a one-room school for six years. They were years of learning respect, social skills, and academic proficiency. We usually had 5-8 grades with a varying number of students. One teacher had charge of the whole group—to teach, to keep safe, to supervise work and play. There was no phone, usually no car, and no teacher’s aide present. The teacher boarded at our house three of those years; my dad took us both to school in the morning and returned at 4 p.m. We never felt insecure, isolated, or unsafe. At least I didn’t, now I wonder about the teacher!
Isn’t it hard to imagine being without the cell phone? I feel insecure now driving anywhere without it.
But the freedom and fun: At recess we played ball, or kick-can-run, or ante over the old horse barn in the schoolyard. I don’t remember the rules to “kick the can” anymore, but for the latter, when two teams were formed, each chose a side of the horse barn and threw the ball over the roof to each other, shouting “Ante over!” One team could sneak around and tag someone on the other team if one of them caught the ball.
The older kids put their arms around the first and second graders to help them bat the softball if needbe. They even ran the bases for them sometimes! We teased, played together and looked out for each other. We were a family.
A few of those years we had a city child go to our school, occasionally because they had social problems or behavior problems in the town school. They could benefit from a smaller group, a diverse age group, and the country school philosophy. All became part of our country family and we enjoyed getting to know them. I remember one boy, who joined third grade with me and my best friend and only other classmate, a neighbor boy. The new boy was partially deaf and wore hearing aids with wires leading to good sized batteries that he had to keep in the front pockets of his bib overalls. Naturally his need to wear something that could hold his battery pack and his hearing difficulty marked him as different. The year he attended our school, he confided, was the first time he had made a friend, and he named my classmate as his first friend.
Now my husband’s memories of country school are good, but mixed with getting caught smoking in the outhouse when the teacher opened the door with a pail of water in her hand to “put out the fire,” and seeing the paddle with the holes in it (to sting a little more) hanging on the schoolroom wall.
No paddle in the recent school I visited, but similarities evoked strong memories. (My fourth grade picture–I’m the kid in the v-shaped stripes shirt!)
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