Mrs. Small was all about academics, and encouraged us to excel. She noticed I was in the lowest reading level, even though I was also in FOCUS, so she had me and one other girl (either Traci or Melissa) spend two weeks scanning through the reading levels and taking the tests to be able to study with the highest reading level class. We went from Level 9 to Level 12 in a hurry. Could have gone higher, but why be ahead of everyone else. I learned some very interesting true stories that year, like how the Towers of Watts came to be and the heroism of the crew of Apollo 13. I think we even read a bit of Jack London's "To Build a Fire." The Houghton-Mifflin Series they used did not dumb-down the material at all, and provided some good social/history lessons.
I needed those social lessons. I had started crying and throwing temper-tantrums when things didn't go my way. They didn't go my way as often as I'd like. I had this idea that I was the smartest girl in 3rd grade, since I always made As & 100s on my work (despite being a procrastinator & having a messy desk.) But one day, after we took one sort of achievement test or another, I learned that Karen W. scored higher than me. Horrors!!!! How did that happen!!!! She's not smart!!!!!! I threw the biggest temper tantrum yet; Mrs. Small had to take me back to the classroom and put me at my desk (which was always separate from everyone else's desks. I liked that, but I think it was to keep me from talking too much to other kids.) I was still, literally, screaming mad, so mad I stomped my feet & kicked my desk & knocked a pencil out. That pencil was just laying on the floor, so I stomped that, too. AND BROKE IT! Then I really, truly sobbed in sorrow. It was my favorite pencil-- one of those that were made with a redwood sawdust barrel so they had just enough bend to flick when you played that maze game with pencils. My mom never bought those pencils, and someone gave that one to me. Now it was broken. Mrs. Small tried to make me feel better by taping it up, but it would never be able to do flick mazes again. I learned a hard lesson to NEVER, EVER hurt or break anything in anger. You can't take it back & it will never be the same.
Melissa had a better idea about how to deal with unfairness. She & I were still the youngest people in our FOCUS class, and the older kids did not respect us. We played two simulation games that year, and our roles were the worst ones like cabin-boy or pig tender. When we thought they were being too mean, we'd have our own sit-down-strikes under the table, and all play would stop until we were negotiated with. We learned that from learning about MLK & Ghandi in our reading lessons, too.
Cabin boy? Pig tender? OK, the big deal that year was we were leading up to 1976, The Bicentennial of the United States of America. It was Bicentennial everything! Coins, bonds, car sale, fashions, you name it, it was sporting the Red, White & Blue. (Even the Olympics & Presidential elections took a backseat to this sea-to-shining-sea party.) Holly Hobby dolls were very popular. For my Junior Girls Scout troop, we had special badges to earn all about colonial life. We even had a "Bicentennial Chorus" made up of two girls from every troop in the Association. I was in it (after one of the other girl's mother declined the honor.) My mom made me a mob cap & apron, and a green gingham dress. I loved learning the medley of folk & patriotic songs; maybe I didn't love standing up in front of other people & singing. I'd throw my apron up over my face a lot. Well, why not? Isn't that what women did back then when they were nervous? Anyway, we were playing the "simulation games" in FOCUS so that we could see how difficult it was to cross the sea and settle in the colonies, and then how harrowing it was to cross the plains in a wagon to move west. It wasn't all Mayflowers and Little Houses. Each person had a role, and our abilities to complete a task, or random circumstances, were determined by a roll of the dice or a flip of the coin. Say, it's a hard winter-- and six meant there was enough food stored and every one in the colony lived, or a one meant what the rats didn't eat got moldy & half the colonists died. It taught us about history, perseverance and math. It also taught me that Johnny Cakes are very inedible, no matter how much syrup you put on them (that was my Independent Project for the year.)
Earning badges for Girl Scouts kept me busy after school. My mom was troop leader again, so she had the opportunity to test out plans on me first and sign off on my badge work. My mom, however, left a lot to be desired as a troop leader. Again there was the no-favoritism/extra-work component for me (which really came home to roost with the great cake Bake Off disaster; cake goeth before a fall, too.) The worst were our camp-outs. She took us on a trial camp-out in our backyard, which was fun since we could go in my house to use the bathroom, and we could use the stove to finish cooking our under-cooked campfire meals-- but then the neighborhood boys discovered we were there & spent half the night trying to scare us (& succeeding to my mom's irritation.) Then she took us to Camp Martha Johnson for a weekend, but waited too late to make the site reservations. We got Frontier Camp, the "primitive" site. No cabins & latrines for us greenhorns; we got spider-&-cricket infested tents on platforms & outhouses. Just one sink with running water at the shelter area. All of us girls vowed we'd never use the outhouses, we'd just cross the Rainbow Bridge & use the flushing toilets at another site. Until the torrential RAIN that night that flooded the river & left us surrounded by water. Then we had no choice. Since I actually have a good sense of direction, I spent the night leading my fellow scouts to the outhouses (buddy system, you know.) Glad my mom insisted that I pack my raincoat & galoshes. That weekend may have been what convinced my mom to never lead a troop again.
Both of my best friends were in Mrs. Small's class and in my girl scout troop-- Melissa R., who was also in FOCUS with me, and Annie G. who was also in CCD with me. Two girls who more unlike than any. Melissa was sweet & silly & loved her big sister & little sister (most of the time;) she had many friends and lots of sleepovers and adored Little House on the Prairie (since the main actress was named Melissa, too.) Annie was wild & goofy & wanted to trade in her older and younger siblings; she was often left alone at home while her mom worked as a nurse (her big sister was supposed to be watching them) and told off-color jokes. But for some reason, they both liked me and were my friends. I was very jealous and had a hard time sharing them with other friends. Sometimes, I'd miss out on fun things with Melissa because I resented her having Traci or Melanie over. Sometimes, I'd let Annie boss me around because she'd say she wouldn't stay & play if I didn't. All around, I loved my friends, but I just didn't think that friends could be very fair.
Spring came and the Bicentennial was in full swing. We had a school fair and I wore my gingham dress. We tried to churn butter in a mayonnaise jars, but we just didn't have the pioneer stamina to keep shaking & shaking, so all we got was sour, frothy milk. For spring Field Day, the 3rd graders performed a Maypole Dance, which was extra special that year, since it was sort of a colonial thing to do; I got to wear a blue skirt (my favorite color-- might have thrown a fit to get it) and I was matched up with a boy with a blue sash, who didn't seem to mind being matched up with me. I really like doing the dance & the weaving, and I wish I could have kept my skirt & streamer, but they were put back away for next year's 3rd graders. My school year wrapped up with Mrs. Roberson's spring dance recital; she had a real studio on Watson Blvd. now, but we still performed at the Officers' Club on base. She had a "Westward Ho!" theme and we wore patchwork with kerchiefs; our ballet number was "Night Herding" and our tumbling routine was to "Hand Me Down that Can o' Beans." I did not take tap that year, because my mom said I didn't practice enough.
Summer had its ups and downs. I still didn't pass Advanced Beginners swim lessons. And Melissa's dad got stationed in Dayton, Ohio, so she had to move away. We promised we'd write to each other every day-- well, maybe every week. But I wasn't bored without her. My parents let me go to summer camp at Camp Martha Johnson; scary to be without my family and in among new people, but very much fun with singing & laughing and crafts and NOT being in the primitive site (I got the cabin group near the pool.) I earned several new badges (including my swimming one - ha! Dry Lake Pool!), and was just getting into the swing of things when my week was over. I knew I would be looking forward to going back next year.
Finally, I learned how to ride a bike. I was all of eight years old, almost nine, and couldn't ride a bike. Sure, I felt left behind when Sally or Annie or Melissa wanted to go ride, but what could I do? Bikes were dangerous! One afternoon, I pointed out a Burger King commercial to my dad--the one where the kid learns how to ride a bike and they celebrate by keeping biking on down to BK for fries. I wanted fries. My dad wanted me to learn how to ride that blue bike. He took me out to the backyard where the yard had a slight slope. He'd learned back in Birmingham by coasting down hills, so he figured I could do the same. Every time he let go, I'd wobble a bit and jump off. After a million times of doing that, he threatened that if I did that one more time, he'd tie my feet to the pedals. I jumped. He tied.
I was terrified! He wheeled me (tied down with cotton kitchen twine) back to the top of the hill, gave me a running push, and let go. I had no choice but to peddle like crazy to keep my balance. I kept peddling & peddling, down the hill, through the gate, across the driveway, and bump, right into the lone tree in the front yard. But I didn't fall down! My mom had seen me from the kitchen window. I was so excited I jumped off my bike to tell her. Then we went to back to the top of the hill and I did it all over again, except I missed the tree in the front yard, rode across our yard, the Prices' yard and into the vacant lot, where I bumped into the lone tree in there.
I jumped off my bike. Did you notice that? Nah, I didn't either, not for many years. I was never in danger of falling. My dad was nearby, and my shoes were only lightly looped over by a bow. I could have jumped off. I just need to have some confidence forced on me.
I wouldn't get off that bike for years.
That's funny that he tied your shoes to the pedal. I am also entertained by the fact that you remember that you threw tantrums and didn't share well with others. :) I always wanted to be in Girl Scouts...
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