First Grade: I Can't Wait, But Please Don't Make Me Go!

Me, first grade

Education would be so much more effective if its purpose were to ensure that by the time they leave school every boy and girl should know how much they don't know, and be imbued with a lifelong desire to know it.

 - Sir William Haley

     Kindergarten was not part of the Fairfax County school system in the 1950’s. Some children were sent to private kindergarten but these were few and far between and definitely not in the budget for my parents. Having no pre-school experience and little time away from my mother, it’s no wonder my separation anxiety was flying high when first grade began in the fall of 1957.

    I wanted to go! I was ready to go! But during the first six weeks of first grade in Oakton Elementary School I just cried and cried. My mother would send me to the bus stop right by our house at the corner of Hibbard Street and Chain Bridge Road. Off I’d go with all the neighborhood kids—Susan, Buddy, Barbara, Gary, Lorna--but soon after stepping off that big yellow bus my anxiety would have me heaving my breakfast in Miss Loraine Russell’s classroom. The office would summon my mother to come pick me up and take me back home. All my crying had my mother crying, too. I was the first child to go off to school and she was a mere 26. She sought the advice of our older and wiser neighbor, Dorothy Totman, who lived across the street. “Where did I go wrong? What on earth can I do?” Mom pleaded. Wisely, Mrs. Totman told her not to worry. The phase would pass.

     My mother tried a little tough love and told me that if I was indeed sick, I needed to go rest in bed. She comforted me with the gentle reminder that God was always with me and would watch over me. Time after time, after an hour or two of “resting” I assured her I was much better and could return to school. Good thing we lived just a hop, skip and a jump away! After a few weeks of this barfing anxiety, I confessed that something that was bothering me. It seems my teacher had whacked a classmate on the behind with a wooden paddle back in the cloakroom one day and I feared she would come after me. There’s no way I would even dream of getting out of line! Even though unfounded, the fear stayed with me for a time. As I gradually got into the daily school routine, my fear subsided. Miss Russell wasn’t a mean ogre but only expected order and respect from her class.

     I look back now at my yellowed report card from that year and see that there were 180 days on roll. My absences added up to 22. Those had little to do with my self-induced illness but rather chicken pox, mumps and measles. I smile as I read the positive remarks Miss Russell typed for each of the six grading periods. “Bonnie is attentive and follows directions well. She has so much fun attacking new words phonetically.” (See Dick and Jane run. Run, Dick and Jane!) Or finally, “Bonnie is promoted to second grade. She is well prepared for next year’s work.” She never ever wrote one disparaging remark about my adjustment during those first six weeks. I guess she, too, knew the phase would pass.