First Lessons at School

My first day at Fairmount Public School on Slowly Road running between Kingston Road and the Scarborough Bluffs was quite memorable. I walked the mile, winding through the suburban neighbourhood streets under the guidance of big brother Bill. We had just moved and in the confusion I had somehow missed the first week of school by hiding amidst the empty boxes. I was now captured and being introduced to the institution where I’d serve my sentence for being a child. Bill was going into grade 4 and I was entering Grade 1. He ditched me at the schoolyard entrance – not wanting to be seen with such a squirt – and I made my way into the yard full of children. Everyone seemed to know each other and I felt as lost as I do today walking into a roomful of strangers. When the bell rang I took off at a run for my assigned the doors.
“STOP RIGHT THERE! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” screamed a teacher’s voice. While every eye in the schoolyard pierced through my back, I instinctively kept running until she screamed again “STAND STILL”. I started to walk over to the teacher to explain that at King Edward Public School in Kingston we ran with enthusiasm to the doors when we heard the bell.
“ I SAID STAND STILL!” hollered the teacher glaring at me with a look of outrage. Until now, no one had ever screamed and glared at me outside of my loving family. When the whistle was blown and everyone started slowly walking towards the school, I waited until that teacher had turned her back before I ventured forth. Looking back I now know that I was traumatized by this event. I am still recovering – diagnosed by people more learned than myself as something to do with an “authority issue”. Personally, I think they’re full of it.
I found the classroom that I’d been assigned to and was told to find a desk to sit at. The chairs were attached to the desks by a metal pole running from the right side of the seat to the desk. I slipped into one in the middle of the class but found that my legs were too long to fit. My knees wouldn’t straighten up without lifting the desk up off the floor. I tried another desk and another until I figured out that they were all exactly the same. The teacher was pretty friendly about it and encouraged me just to live with it until he could find a desk to fit me. Talk about not fitting in.
At recess the kids accused me of failing a grade because I was so big. I wasn’t yet street smart enough to agree with them – not perceiving that this would give me a tougher edge with bullies, I virulently defended the truth of my innocent age and status. Recovering from this conflict, some other boys and I engaged in a friendly game of throwing stones at each other.
“STOP THAT RIGHT NOW! COME HERE YOU BOYS!” screamed the same teacher at me. The other boys had the good sense to run off while I walked up to the teacher and smiled at her. I assumed that my simple explanation of our little game would calm her right down. It was in the Principal’s office that Mr. Cantrell gently explained to me about the safety issues of stone throwing for the other children in the yard.
By lunch time, my classroom teacher had figured out that I could already read simple books while the rest of the class was struggling through the ABC’s. Before they could even bring in a proper sized desk for me, I found myself walking down the hall to a new classroom. In those days they had classes with different course material for children of different abilities. They would name the classes with very subtle and clever labels. So, I was moved from the Turtles class to the Rabbits class hopping right over the Guinea Pigs.
In this room there were two large desks. They were at the very back corner of the classroom right by the door. At one desk sat a very tough looking red-headed freckle-faced kid with meaty arms and hands. In fact his whole body was meaty. Bobby Winkle it turned out was feared by everyone in Grade One and had the respect of most of the kids in Grades 2 and 3 as well. Bobby and I got along just fine. I helped him through the Rabbit lessons and he made sure I didn’t get pummeled by bullies in the school yard. In fact, we hit it off so well that first day, that I had yet another encounter with authority.
It was really a big misunderstanding because I was just explaining something to Bobby about the test we were working on, when I was interrupted and told to go stand in the hallway with my face to the wall. I wasn’t out there five minutes when who should walk by but my new friend Mr. Cantrell. When I explained it all to him, he asked me “Your Father’s a Minister isn’t he?” When I nodded my assent, he just nodded right along with me. “Right” he said his nodding turning into a shaking head as he carried on down the hallway.
I served seven years in that institution earning one year off for good marks and pretty good behaviour (from my point of view). I was the class Valedictorian. I never won a single ribbon for sports let alone a trophy. That first day taught me that my running and throwing abilities only got me in trouble. Booksmarts would get me ahead and being able to talk my way through, when authority had the ears to hear, could definitely come in handy.