Steve & Dave going to Washington School (VAL photo)Dear George,
A significant feature of one’s school career is starting out at the bottom, then gradually ascending to the top, then starting out at the bottom all over again. At Washington Grade School, sixth grade was the temporary top, and, once there, we enjoyed being the biggest and oldest kids, reveling in the admiration of our underlings.
Miss Elsie Guimond taught the sixth grade at Washington, and she was the school principal as well. I remember her as being pretty old with gray hair and glasses, though she was probably about forty when I was in her class. Miss Guimond was regarded by our parents as the best teacher in the school. She was serious and strict, but she cared a lot about her students and got the best out of them.
One day one of the kids in the class, who I will call “K” for the sake of anonymity, was up at the blackboard doing an arithmetic problem as the class watched. As K struggled with the problem a pool of yellowish liquid began to form on the floor, and soon it was a couple of feet in diameter. Somebody noticed, whispered and pointed to his neighbor, and soon the entire class was watching in total absorption. Miss Guimond realized what was happening, took K by the hand, and hurried from the room.
The class collapsed in hysteria. Oblivious to K’s feelings in the matter, we thought it was the funniest thing that had ever happened. “How could K not feel it?” everyone wondered. “Who is going to clean it up?”
Miss Guimond returned. She had taken K to the rest room, then sent K home for the day. She had a lengthy discussion with the class. We learned some physiology – what the bladder is and how it can betray you. We learned how you can do certain things and not even know you are doing them. We learned a lot about unkind remarks and how ridicule can hurt people. We learned that we were responsible for helping one another feel o.k. about oneself. Miss Guimond was clear and to the point. I doubt if anyone every said anything to K about the incident and maybe not even to one another. But, I must say, the whole episode made for one of our important lessons in the sixth grade.
Later in the year I began drawing cartoon pictures of my classmates. I loved comic books, and all I wanted to be in life was a cartoonist. I made a “picture map” of the classroom, drawing a caricature of each of my classmates accompanied by some sarcastic or insulting name. I didn’t show it to anybody, but I found it was pretty amusing. At first Miss Guimond was missing from the picture, so I put her at her desk at the back of the room and named her “Old Miss Busybody.” I felt a little guilty about this since I admired Miss Guimond, but I didn’t want to be a wimp, even to myself.
As luck would have it, the picture fell out of my pocket at recess. Later in the day I learned that Jackie P. had found it and given it to Miss Guimond. I couldn’t believe it. Jackie claimed he wanted to get the picture returned to its rightful owner, but I knew a vicious act when I saw one.
I don’t know how offended Miss Guimond was, but she did bring the picture to the class’s attention. First she read off people’s derogatory names, and at the end she revealed that I was the author of this travesty. She pointed out that the only person I’d given a positive name to was Mary Beebo (“Teeny Tiny”), and she wondered if, perhaps, I might be in love with Mary Beebo. Everybody laughed, even Mary. Then she asked me who “Old Miss Busybody” was. I tried to joke my way out of it, claiming it was Dick J’s new baby sister, but Miss Guimond wouldn’t let me off the hook. After sufficient public humiliation, she did finally add that it was a creative effort, but I still felt totally embarrassed. From then on, I confined my cartooning to portraits of Hitler, Mussolini, and Hirohito.
Love,
Dave
*This story employs pseudonyms.
No comments:
Post a Comment