Back to School

As I write I’m preparing to take my grandson on a road trip. We are headed to Moose Jaw. Palliser Heights School to be exact. We are journeying to the school where I took Grade six – a half century ago. This year, my grandson enters grade six.

Our adventure will explore the sights and sounds of school. I’ll talk lots – psychologists call this a cathartic experience. In the moment, I’ll transport back over the decades and recall back to memory long lost treasures and trauma.

OK, I’ve already been “cathartizing”!

School yards were mostly gravel. During recess your gang of four or five would run and then walk and then talk. Mounds of dirt would become landing spots for home made “propellers” – a caravan of bombers that had conquered the world and were returning to base. The propellers were merely a short stick with a carved propeller nailed to the end. If you ran fast enough, the propeller would spin. Creativity was not yet lost in grade six.

After school sports included unsupervised baseball games. We called them “scrub” games. You knew who the neighbourhood kids were that played ball. You went door to door, or talked on the way home from school – no texting back then. You didn’t ask for adult coaches, and sometimes you would get another gang of kids from a few blocks away to join you. You just played, and learned the game together. Organized sports were yet to get organized.

One day, the Cant brothers (twins from a few blocks away) were upset. Really upset. After school they made it a block or so from school and started a fight with each other. W watched, not wanting to mediate the fight for fear of a black eye. The brothers headed home and somehow didn’t kill each other that grade six year. They may even have gotten to like each other. Sometimes mediation includes letting the offended parties go at each other.

In school, I was enjoying a good year. When my in-class assignments were done early, the teacher paired me up with another student, Carolyn. We were given a great task. Read the dictionary while the other students finished their assignments! To this day, I love words. Carolyn and I would play a game where we took a word and tried to see if the other knew the word. Teachers hadn’t lost their creativity or ability to let kids decide how to learn. Provide the resources and permission, and it is amazing what can be done.

Not all was well. One day my class was headed on a field trip and I was unable to go. I was placed in the other rival grade six class. One assignment that day was to create a descriptive paragraph. I started every sentence with “the white tailed deer”. As I read this to the class they burst out in laughter. I felt humiliated. Later I vowed never to start successive sentences with the same phrase. I learned that writing mattered to me. Otherwise I could have just laughed this off. Sometimes a time of shame is also a time of recognition.

I’m anxious to see what my grandson’s contemporary grade six experiences bring. Perhaps another column for another day!