What I Learned in School

Most lessons from my school years couldn’t be graded.

In Kindergarten, I walked to school as part of self-reliance. Up Third Street (Pontiac), right on Joslyn, left on Beverly to the scary two-story brick LeBaron Elementary. It wasn’t until years later I learned that Mom followed me, out of sight, to make certain I arrived safely. The next year, and until we moved, my brother and I walked together.

I can still see the playground equipment behind the fence on my way home, watching the big kids play baseball. I used to ask myself questions. If I had one wish, what would it be? After careful consideration, I decided on a plastic cereal-sized Tupperware bowl, with lid, that magically refilled with M&Ms. Still think it wasn’t a bad wish.

I also wondered which would be better—to be able to always say the perfect words to someone in need, but not feel anything, or to share their pain, yet not be able to express empathy. Decided I’d rather feel, even if I couldn’t say so. Not a bad choice, either.

In Fourth Grade, we moved to the Heights. Mrs. Parr assigned homework of writing multiplication tables, 2x2 through 12x12, 100 times each. Memorized them for all time. Always partial to redheads, I had a crush on a boy named Mike. No idea about his last name, and he certainly never knew it.

Mom advised me to give a Valentine card to an after-school bully—ignoring my arguments that she’d be planning my funeral—and he was so surprised, he never bothered my brother and me again. My first lesson in the power of kindness.

In Fifth Grade, I rode a school bus for the first time—scary. I chose the bus stop at Shovel’s market since the roughhousing boys congregated at Squirrel and Bessie.

Learned that teachers weren’t always right.

Mrs. Love kept a table of Scholastic books at the back of her room for us to read once we finished our classwork, in order to keep quiet and not disturb others. By the end of the year, I’d read all her books. Did that please her? No. She told Mom I’d never amount to anything because I read too much.

Sixth Grade was spent at Sacred Heart Catholic school on Adams, an alien classroom world. We had to stand to answer a question. Our teacher lacked even one drop of the milk of human kindness, although our math teacher, Sister John Andrew, could outplay any boy in baseball, and taught us how to solve nearly any problem with ratios.

One young sister was found weeping after school when she learned that her former boyfriend had died. We kids were shocked. Nuns were real people under their habits, with families, backgrounds, feelings, and lives outside of their convent.

Middle School, or Junior High, as we called it, was a wakeup call. Mr. Fensch, my civics teacher, taught me to follow directions when faced with something new. He did this by assigning a timed quiz with questions on both sides of the sheet. The directions? To reach each question before beginning, but he stressed the limited time we had to complete the test and challenged us to succeed. Ding! Scratch, scratch, figure, calculate. The last question was to write our names on the top right of the front page and set down our pencils. One boy in my class passed the quiz.

Ms. Ahearn threw chalk and erasers at students mouthing off or asleep, but never missed a sports event. Mr. Strayer’s science lessons included a marshmallow in a vacuum bell jar, and demonstrated the Doppler effect by starting at one end of the second story hallway and hollering as he ran, up the hall, through our science doors, and to the far end, his voice increasing and decreasing in volume.

I learned that a common tragedy could unite adults, regardless of previous differences, and saw it demonstrated the afternoon an announcement was made about the assassination of President Kennedy.

At a school dance, Mom advised me to find a moment to step away from my friends, and give any shy boy the opportunity to approach me. My crush, Donald, was my first dance partner.

High school was more of a preparation for real life than I realized. Facing a hectic cafeteria while looking for friends, reciting in class, tests, rushing to your room before the bell rang, and navigating the high school caste system were the first steps toward a life of job interviews, bosses, coworkers, and learning to make decisions with whatever you knew at the time.

Courage was stepping away from the majority and refusing to tease or be cruel, a difficult lesson in those days, as our substitute teachers could attest. Best friends didn’t last forever, yet always stayed part of our hearts, even when they didn’t know it.

Once grown and in the world, any classmate is family.

Happy memories and shared experiences are gifts for each of us.

And as my electronics teacher would say at Lawrence Tech, after introducing a new concept, “Now, wasn’t that worth getting up this morning for?”

Yes, Ken, it was.