Do they still have country roads?

I remember when I was a little kid running the country roads back home.  We would start out early and decide to "go some place."  There was Vincent's Sand Pit.  Old and abandoned and I do not know how far from the house, but that did not matter.  I was always barefoot.  We got shoes in the fall when school started and we better not wear them out, lose them, or grow out of them or we finished the year barefooted.  That was fine by me, but the kids in town did rather turn their noses up at this litle ragamuffin.  But, I get the last laugh.  I am still setting here barefooted and damn glad of it.
Mama always went off early to clean some lady's house in town so we were pretty much on our own.  Course the really little kids were babysat by the lady up the street who charged 50 cents a day.  But us "big kids" were pretty much on our own.  Now that I think back, I do not remember eating.  I am sure we must have , but who knows what!  I am still here so I am sure we did eat.  Wish mama was here and I could ask her.

So there was my brother and I, the two Reinke girls, Jimmy Davis from in town, Margaret Ayers and her brother Hibbly.  That seems right.  Oh, and my older sister who was supposed to be the one with the brains.  Now, at the time it was great fun.  Running down a dusty, sandy road in the hot noon day sun to get to a muddy pond of water that we were not allowed to cross the fence to get near.  Besides that there were big, very mean cows in there guarding it.  Then we could turn around and run back home.

Home was fun.  One day Jake and I decided to dig us an underground hide out.  We dug and dug and finally had us a suitable tunnel about 10 feet long, two feet wide and three feet deep. We then placed the boards across it and piled the dirt back on top.  Oh, that was great when we crawled in there.  It was all cool and dark.  Dark.  I got my young self right back out of there because I am scared of the dark.

Near the tunnel and across the fence the neighbors had a big tree and under it was our "cemetary".  In the country there are a lot of natural deaths of birds and rabbits and as a tender hearted  young girl these deaths needed to be attended and a proper burial was always in order.  Hence the cemetary.  Now these same neighbors raised pigs.  Really big pigs.  Very mean pigs.  The house where the pig lives is called a sty.  A sty is a short house, like a peaked roof that sets on the ground.  And as normal kids we liked to play a game called "I dare you!"  Now Jake knew I was scared to death of those pigs but he liked to dare me to jump from one sty to the next all the way across the pig pens.  It was probably a 3-4 foot leap, which was not far at all, but there was always that chance of slipping and falling into the pig pen where I would be eaten by the pigs.  As I look back, that was not the best game to play.

When it was dark we could play "Kick the Can."  Seems like I was always "It."  I had to cover my eyes and count to 50 while they all went and hid.  Then I had to go find them.  If I did find one I took that person back to the "base" and put them in a make believe "jail".  Some one would run in when my back was turned and kick the can and there went my prisoner, in the event I had actually found someone hiding. 

Another favorite game was "clod fights" which is exactly what the name implied.  Some one would plow the field, usually dad, and leave it "turned over" before a "harrow" was drug across it.  At any given point in the whole process, the dirt would dry, leaving clods.  And the longer they laid there the harder they got.  Getting the picture?  We would throw the clods at each other.  The most fun always seemed to be getting hit in the eye with a clod.  That way mama gave full attention to the injured party and the one who did it was really going to get a "licking."  Remember when our parents could give us a licking and not get slapped with child abuse charges? 

Ah, the "good old days!"  I remember going to school, but I do not ever remember studying.  I remember going to church and the most wonderful part was having a birthday, because then we got that many pennies to drop in the "Birthday Can" while everyone counted and then sang "Happy Birthday" to me.

Why is it as we get older, the past looks so much better?  I could spend all my time back in those carefree days.  We ate Bacon and used cream that was so thick it stood in peaks.  We ate what ever landed on the table and had no idea what a calorie or fat grams or sodium or any of that stuff was.  And I never weighed over 100 pounds until I was pregnant with my first baby.

I miss my mama.

I am upstairs at Nickerson, Kansas, Elementary School.

When you left me last I was in the fourth grade and Mrs. Howe was by teacher, but time has passed and I am now in the fifth grade.  That was a big promotion cause now I got the extreme pleasure of going upstairs to class.  That was very scary that first day as I had never been upstairs before.  Miss Swenson was my teacher and she was so sweet.  She is the one who discovered I had a penchant for writing, especially poetry.  She even met with momma to get permission to submit one of my poems to Jack and Jill magazine. I was so proud.  Well, yeah, I still remember to this day, so it must have made an impression!  I do not know what went on with that, but it was none the less an honor. My greatest joy my whole life was always a blank sheet of paper and a pencil.  Still is. The kids sometimes just give me note books, college ruled and they are all over the house!

Fifth grade was where reality set in.  A classmate lost her father in a farm accident.  Miss Swenson met a man and married him.  A new girl came to our school named Mavis.  Course the kids had to tease her and it was then I realized I had compassion in my soul for my fellow humans! Mavis became my friend and I protected her from the slings and arrows of fellow classmates. Then she moved away.

On to sixth grade and Miss Lauver.  Miss Lauver was a spinster.  While I knew what that was from the dictionary I was never really sure of all the implications.  She was very strict as I recall, but not mean.  It was in sixth grade I found out what happens when you take the internal workings out of a crank telephone, grab the wire and have someone spin the crank!  Hard lesson to learn especially for a little girl! Miss Lauver lived with her older sister who was also named Miss Lauver.  They came to the house one time to see momma. Don't know why.

Seventh grade brought Mr. Schriber.  That may not be spelled right, but he was a wiry little fellow and cute as a button with his curly hair.  He also was the coach.  Back then teachers could do that.  All of us girls worked very hard.  In seventh grade I learned the difference between and the commonalities of Nature and Nurture or Hereditary vs. Environment.  I am still in a quandary over that one.  Lot to be said for both sides.

Eighth grade and Mr. Bollinger.  He also owned the movie theatre. Never let us in free though.  My best friends that year were Jay Moore and Owen Lentz.  We used to stay in over recess and draw dream cars on the blackboard.  They did not know I was a girl but I knew they were boys, but that was about as far as that went.

No account of grade school in Nickerson would be complete without me telling you about the music teacher. Her name was Miss Barkiss.  Since she went to our church I am not sure exactly when she married the Principal's son and became Mrs. Houston. But while she was Miss Barkiss the woman tried tirelessly to coax a "c" note out of my tiny throat.  I could no way in hell carry a tune in a bucket.  But I must send accolades out to the dear woman who is no doubt singing with the angels in heaven, for trying. I now do the country songs around the yard and house at the top of my lungs, and am happy as can be with my never change tones method of what is known loosely as "caterwauling!"

And so I bid adieu to my childhood days at Nickerson Grade School.  The halls are froth with memories, some good; some bad, but all mine.  They helped shape me into who I am and I guess that is the environment part that comes into play. I guess it was inevitable that I then went to high school and I am going to tell you about that and grandma and my career as an actress hopefully tomorrow.

For now I will put my little ghosts back to bed and get on with the business of living while there is still breathe in the old body.  I have a lot of blank pages to fill before I fly away!

All the seeds of yesterday are the trees of tomorrow.  Lou Mercer

And now to Mrs. Howe, fourth grade teacher, Nickerson, Kansas.

Oh, I promised you yesterday I would get to Mrs. Howe.  Maybe it was a promise more to myself than to you, but nonetheless it shall be fulfilled today.  I think I dreamed about that woman last night.  Woke up in  a cold sweat for some odd reason. Usually only do that if there is a vampire in the room.

Anyway, just picture me as a tender little child of 8 years old.  We had no Kindergarten in our small town of Nickerson, Kansas, so we started right off in first grade at age 5.  The first grade classroom was the largest and we surmised that a lot of kids went in there and never came out.  That teacher was Miss Doughno (however you spell it). So sweet and pushed us in the swing and was just the loveliest lady,

Then we went to second grade and there was Mrs. Breece. A very nice lady, but demanded we learn to spell and we must now start cursive and all kinds of stuff. She was so proud of her little charges. 

Third grade and on to Mrs. Holmes.  Ah, the woman had the smile of an angel! Skin as soft as rose petals.  She was big on hygiene.  Every morning we had to swear, under penalty of death, that we had washed our face, combed our hair, brushed our teeth and she made us hold out our hands for inspection and they had better be clean!  I loved that  woman with every fiber of my being.

And then fourth grade and I swear I break out in a cold sweat when I remember Mrs. Howe!  Mrs. Howe was the smallest of all my teachers. Also the most wrinkled, had the hardest eyes, the biggest ruler and walked on cat feet up and down the aisles between the desks.  Being the shortest kid in class I always had my desk right in the front.  Right under her hawk like stare. I did not mind that.  What kept me in mortal terror was when she started prowling the aisles when we were doing our work.  I never knew exactly where she was and was terrified to look.

Her favorite thing was to creep softly up behind me (us) and if my pencil was not moving, she turned that ruler on edge and fwacked me right on top of the head.  Ah, Sweet Jesus! That still brings stars to my eyes today.  That is the sharpest, piercing est pain in the whole world.  Try it some time on yourself. Be sure you are wearing a Depends.  I am pretty sure that qualifies today as child abuse.

Of course there was the "hold out your hand" one that was given for minor infractions, like breathing.  I could handle that as long as I held my hand palm up and the ruler was flat.  Did not like it when the ruler was on edge and my tiny little knuckles were the object of her attention.

Not everyone suffered her wrath.  She had her little pets.  These kids were luckily the prodigy of the wealthier farmers in town.  I learned very early in life that rich people could do no wrong, but if your mother was a cleaning lady you were doomed from the "git go".  Now to the highlight of the fourth grade!

Bathroom break at recess.  Enter Beth and her popcorn ball swinging loosely in a scarf.  Exit little me. Run for the playground.  Enter Mrs. Howe with Beth and a soggy popcorn ball.  Seems while I was already on the playground that popcorn ball fell in the stool.  Beth explained to Mrs. Howe that I had in a jealous rage over her having one and me not, I had grabbed it and thrown it in there. It was down hill from there.

First came the call to my mother.  Then the ruler on top of the head.  Then the principal and there were rumors he kept a rubber hose to beat you with.  I must apologize profusely to Beth, which I did and I looked her right in the eye and she flinched.  She knew the truth and so did I.

Back in those days report cards had a place on the back for "Teachers Comments" and then a place for the parent to sign.  I still remember what she wrote, "Louella does her work, but she does not play well with others."  I told momma I did not do that, but Mrs. Howe was a respected teacher.  Beth had a rich daddy.

Now, here is the best part, Karma.  Over Christmas vacation Mrs. Howe got a thorn in her large intestine.  For almost a week we did not know if she would even live.  We prayed incessantly for her both at the church and me at home.  I did not want her to die.  Just wanted her to like me.  To make a long story short, neither of the two things happened.

If there are any of Mrs. Howe's relatives still out there I would like to say to you, she was a very good teacher and I learned a lot from her tutelage.  That was a time when it was alright to know which side of the bread the butter was on.  I have long ago forgiven her, but never forgotten.

To Beth;  If I ever run across you I will give you a popcorn ball. Probably neither of us will have teeth enough to eat it, but it will be symbolic.  You probably don't even remember the incident and that is good.  I remember for both of us.

Every thing that happened inside those walls and since had made me the woman I am today.  It was a time of poverty, greed and survival.  It was a time when child abuse went on behind closed doors and when the adult in the situation was always right and the kids always suffered.  Lots of kids did without back then and I just thank God that this has all changed.

And to all the little kids at Nickerson, Kansas Elementary school, I got a lot more memories and today was fun!  I may write on some more of these memories. If you went to Nickerson back then drop me a line and we can compare notes. Tell me some of your experiences and we can light up this blog! Jerry, if you are still out there I lost all your emails you sent me way back then.  Lost your address and all. 

I sometimes have random insomnia so what I do is in my mind I walk the walk home from school to our little house. I remember the names of the people who lived in the houses. Then I remember the classmates.  They say you can never go home and they are right, but sometimes in the middle of the night I like to make a quick visit and it makes me realize that little Louella Bartholomew did indeed become a vital member of society and now can "play well with others!"