School Days

A few weeks ago I came home from work to find my living room full of the silver-haired ladies in my grandmother's weekly movie group. My Gram, of course, invited me in and proceeded to shower me with ridiculous amounts of praise and to mention every accomplishment I've ever achieved. By the time the group of dear older ladies was through flattering me they had convinced me to sing at their next monthly "condo ladies" meeting. The lady in charge of the meeting informed us all of the theme, "school days", and almost immediately several of the ladies began waving their adorable arthritic fingers in the air and singing first lines of songs I'd never heard of about school. I couldn't wipe the smile from my face.

On the day of the meeting I arrived at the clubhouse a few minutes after my Gram and was easily identified as a newcomer to the club. After the usual orders of business were taken care of, "the school marm" got up and welcomed us to the 1941 school house in rural Pennsylvania. As a teacher, I couldn't help but compare her portrait of an early one-room schoolhouse to my own classroom experience. So much has changed. No more do children drink from a common ladle out of bucket sharing communicable diseases freely. No more do children recite the Lord's Prayer and read from the Bible before classes each day. No more do children tremble at the thought of the "hick'ry stick" hidden in the cupboard. But as they say, some things never change. I believe her words were, "The 8th grade boys were the bane of a schoolteacher's existence."

After we all felt transported into the schoolhouse and a few costume changes, one of which included one of those silly pairs of glasses with a big pasty nose and strange poky eyebrows, we had a short poetry reading. The final reading was a rather interesting and supposedly humorous poem from who knows when whose punch line contained the words "sex bomb." I wasn't entirely sure if that was considered to be funny to these classy older ladies so I chuckled rather awkwardly as they laughed at the poem that I clearly didn't understand correctly.

Finally came my turn to sing. I stood up anxiously, feeling my ears turning bright red like they always do when I sing in front of groups but determined to delight these delightful women. I began and was pleased at the reminder that, for these women, every song is a sing-a-long. Many women's lips mirrored mine as I reintroduced them, like old friends, to the songs they knew a long time ago. After the first number we all sang together for a few songs, one of which inspired a lady in the first row to stand up and perform some sort of jig which I'm not entirely sure I understood, but I definitely approved. There's nothing quite like some Velcro orthopedic shoes and a nice floral print dancing around to make you feel young.

As I drove to school later that day I couldn't help but wish that my classroom would be full of these ladies every day instead of "the bane of my existence." I enjoy teaching in the 21st Century, but I miss that 1941 classroom.