Whitesburg KY
Mostly sunny
Mostly sunny

School memories aren’t always good memories

Looking back to the days of my childhood I often think of things which happened, sometimes at school, and I wonder why.

There were four of us kids, two boys and two girls. We always took our lunch in a four-pound lard bucket. Lunch usually consisted of soup beans and no bread with four spoons thrown into the bucket. There was nowhere to wash before eating, so the one with the cleanest looking hands would fish the spoons out of the bucket.

If we happened to have a cow at the time, we would sometimes have milk and bread. There was no place to keep our lunch pail where it was cool and over the years I have often wondered how many times we ate spoiled food. We never heard of a sandwich or a sack lunch. We ate what we had, spoiled or not.

Some of the other kids would make fun of us but we didn’t care because we were hungry. All through life everywhere I have been there has always been someone who thought they were better than I was. As I have said before, if I could buy someone for what they are worth and resale them for what they think they are worth I could make a killing.

We had outside toilets at this school and another one I attended, a one-room school. At the Blackey School when I was in the first grade I saw a four-letter word written on the wall inside the toilet and it sure was printed real neat. I sure did wish I could print like that. I bet my teacher would be real proud of me if I could print real pretty like that so I practiced writing that word every chance I got till I got pretty good at it. One day as I was ready to hand in my paper I printed that word real nice at the top of my paper. I felt real proud of myself when I turned my paper in. I just knew my teacher would be proud of me too, but it sure didn’t turn out as I expected.

When the teacher saw what I had written I was called to the front of the room where the teacher’s desk was and asked what that word meant, where I saw it and why I wrote it. Over and over she kept demanding I tell her what the word meant, but I had no idea what it meant. Finally she let me go back to my seat after she put a big red F at the top of my paper. Needless to say I had a rough time after that while in the first grade.

Many years later I got to thinking about that incident. At first I thought it was funny but after awhile I got mad. How was a six-yearold first-grader supposed to know what a dirty word meant when that was the only place he had ever seen it and he knew nothing about the birds and the bees?

Until next time this bee is going back to the funny farm.

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