Mari Collier's Blog - Posts Tagged "customs"
The Day I Stopped Being a "Girlie" Girl
For most of the Kindergarten through third grades, I attended a consolidated school in a small town. That means the surrounding country schools created under the 1785 Northwest Ordinance that allotted one lot in a township for the maintenance of public schools had been “consolidated” into one school.
This one was elementary and a high school all in one building. The high school students were on the third floor. They were the ones who were allowed to slide down the curving, enclosed metal slide if there was a fire drill. How we younger ones envied them!
The playground seemed huge with its swings, seesaws, and other play equipment found in a park. There was a gym with hardwood floor and bleachers, but also a stage for assemblies, plays, or for the PTA to have the officer sit there during meetings. Then the person providing the entertainment for the evening could use the stage for monologues or musical presentations.
In the middle of winter, the gym would double as a playroom space during recess if the cold was too bitter or the snow too high. That didn't happen often, but when the temperature plunged below minus ten below zero, they did not let the younger grades outside.
Boys tended to rough house, play tag, pretend they were playing basketball or torment whoever they bullied. Little girls tended go into groups to play jacks, jump rope, or pretend to play house. Please don’t scream at the choices as this was before television.
I was with two other girls pretending to be doing something when one of the boys rushed at us as though attacking. Like the other two girls, I screamed and ran.
We ran up the bleachers and slid across. Big mistake. A huge splinter spiked into my upper thigh. There was not a school nurse at that time. There was no way to call my parents as we did not have a telephone.
Just how I returned home that day, I do not remember. It was probably a very uncomfortable ride home on the bus.
My parents took me to the doctor the next day (a Saturday) as Mama was unable to extract the sliver. The doctor cut it out and put on medication and a bandage. I’m sure he gave Mama instructions about the care, but then again, perhaps he did not as in later years, Mama was one of the “home” nurses he would use for patients. It wasn't called hospice then, but it was the 1940’s and 1950’s equivalent.
I also avoided a tetanus shot as I had had one the year before when I ran into the barbwire fence. I still have that scar on my knee. Barbwire will win every time.
It was back to school the next Monday and the weather must have set in with record cold as they still were not letting the lower grades outside at recess time. The same scenario arose and the boy (I shan't reveal his name as that isn't fair) rushed at us again. The other two girls shrieked and ran. I turned and slugged him. That set him right down on his backside. Fortunately, in those days, the teacher thought he received exactly what he had asked for by trying to frighten us. In today’s world of zero tolerance, they would probably kick a six-year-old girl out of school for using violence.
The incident, however, cured me of screaming and running. Neither action accomplished anything. I would stand and wonder why other girls never discovered this. I’m still in wonderment today as most little girls still scream and run.
My new attitude carried over into other activities. At that school, I had my first crush on a boy. He was two grades ahead of me and rode the same bus to and from school. Of course, like all boys that age he had no interest in girls. During one recess, I packed a snowball and hit him in the back of the head. He did notice, but all he did was make a snowball. The bell rang before too many snowballs were thrown. He died that spring in the polio epidemic that was sweeping through our area of the United States. I’d like to say he was the only one in our area, but he was not.
Rather than leave on a sad note, I’ll make mention of the fact that I realized my drawings for art class were technically “good” for someone in the lower three grades, they had no “life.” Later the same could be said for my sewing, embroidering, and crocheting. The only “feminine” art I did not despise was cooking and baking. That’s probably my German heritage. I love to eat.
This one was elementary and a high school all in one building. The high school students were on the third floor. They were the ones who were allowed to slide down the curving, enclosed metal slide if there was a fire drill. How we younger ones envied them!
The playground seemed huge with its swings, seesaws, and other play equipment found in a park. There was a gym with hardwood floor and bleachers, but also a stage for assemblies, plays, or for the PTA to have the officer sit there during meetings. Then the person providing the entertainment for the evening could use the stage for monologues or musical presentations.
In the middle of winter, the gym would double as a playroom space during recess if the cold was too bitter or the snow too high. That didn't happen often, but when the temperature plunged below minus ten below zero, they did not let the younger grades outside.
Boys tended to rough house, play tag, pretend they were playing basketball or torment whoever they bullied. Little girls tended go into groups to play jacks, jump rope, or pretend to play house. Please don’t scream at the choices as this was before television.
I was with two other girls pretending to be doing something when one of the boys rushed at us as though attacking. Like the other two girls, I screamed and ran.
We ran up the bleachers and slid across. Big mistake. A huge splinter spiked into my upper thigh. There was not a school nurse at that time. There was no way to call my parents as we did not have a telephone.
Just how I returned home that day, I do not remember. It was probably a very uncomfortable ride home on the bus.
My parents took me to the doctor the next day (a Saturday) as Mama was unable to extract the sliver. The doctor cut it out and put on medication and a bandage. I’m sure he gave Mama instructions about the care, but then again, perhaps he did not as in later years, Mama was one of the “home” nurses he would use for patients. It wasn't called hospice then, but it was the 1940’s and 1950’s equivalent.
I also avoided a tetanus shot as I had had one the year before when I ran into the barbwire fence. I still have that scar on my knee. Barbwire will win every time.
It was back to school the next Monday and the weather must have set in with record cold as they still were not letting the lower grades outside at recess time. The same scenario arose and the boy (I shan't reveal his name as that isn't fair) rushed at us again. The other two girls shrieked and ran. I turned and slugged him. That set him right down on his backside. Fortunately, in those days, the teacher thought he received exactly what he had asked for by trying to frighten us. In today’s world of zero tolerance, they would probably kick a six-year-old girl out of school for using violence.
The incident, however, cured me of screaming and running. Neither action accomplished anything. I would stand and wonder why other girls never discovered this. I’m still in wonderment today as most little girls still scream and run.
My new attitude carried over into other activities. At that school, I had my first crush on a boy. He was two grades ahead of me and rode the same bus to and from school. Of course, like all boys that age he had no interest in girls. During one recess, I packed a snowball and hit him in the back of the head. He did notice, but all he did was make a snowball. The bell rang before too many snowballs were thrown. He died that spring in the polio epidemic that was sweeping through our area of the United States. I’d like to say he was the only one in our area, but he was not.
Rather than leave on a sad note, I’ll make mention of the fact that I realized my drawings for art class were technically “good” for someone in the lower three grades, they had no “life.” Later the same could be said for my sewing, embroidering, and crocheting. The only “feminine” art I did not despise was cooking and baking. That’s probably my German heritage. I love to eat.
