Pigtails in the Ink!

Have you ever watched an episode of Little House On the Prairie or read in a story in which a mischievous little boy took the braid of a little girl sitting in front of him in school and dipped it in the inkwell on his desk? This would have been a real possibility in my school because all of the desks were connected together and in a row. And yes, there were inkwells on every desk and the person sitting in front of you was well within arm's reach. But you didn't have ink in those wells until fourth grade when you were required to begin writing some papers in ink. You young ones might ask, "But why would you need ink?" or maybe even, "What is ink?" Well, back in the "olden days" ballpoint pens had not been invented. So we used what was called "fountain pens". They had a small tube inside that held ink which would run out and would have to be refilled. This was done by pulling down a little leaver on the outside of the pen and slowly raising it to cause suction in the tip of the pen, thus sucking ink into the tube. There was no way of telling when the pen was about to run out of ink so you always had to have a supply of ink on your desk. I didn't have to worry about that for a few years, however, because I was just beginning first grade.

School was in session every day regardless of weather...and so was outdoor recess. We walked to school in rain, snow, or hail. Sometimes that meant walking on top of snowbanks if the snowplow had come because there were no sidewalks. We would be bundled up in snowsuits, boots and gloves to get to school. And we would don all that same gear again to go for recess. It took half of our recess time just to dress.

My class was in the semi-basement of the building, so the windows were small and up high so didn't let in much light. I just remember it always being a little dark, especially when we went out in the open space between classrooms for music. Yes, we had a music program even in the first grade. My teacher, Mrs. Bishop, played the piano, and the children were given rhythm instruments to play along with her. The "instruments" consisted of lots of sticks, a few triangles and only two coveted tambourines. All of us wanted those special tambourines, but most of us just got sticks. I can't remember ever getting one that whole first grade year. I guess this traumatized me more than I thought because when I brought rhythm instruments to Lake Lopez I was expecting a fight over the one tambourine I had. But it seemed to be no big deal to the grandchildren. They were happy with anything they got. How could that be? I was tempted to take it for myself!

The usual first grade subjects were taught in my school. But in addition to reading (we learned by phonics) math, and science (yes, we had science in first grade) we also began penmanship exercises which were a series of "push-pull" motions and connected circles which were supposed to look like a spring. These had to be done within designated lines. The teacher had complete control of the class and could discipline if needed.

Now about that special experience I had that first year of school. My mom had been teaching me to crochet at home, and one day I brought my thread and hook to school to practice making chains during recess. I sat out by the tennis court and crocheted until the bell rang. Then I put my things in a sack and ran to class only to discover that my hook had torn through the sack and was missing. You may think, "no big deal", but it was a big deal to me. I was expected to take care of things that were given to me. My teacher said I could go out and look for it. I guess she could tell that I was really upset. Anyway, I retraced my steps on the playground to no avail. So I knelt down beside the rock drinking fountain near the tennis courts and said a prayer. As I walked back towards the school I looked down, and there, right by my foot was the hook. I will never forget that answer to prayer, as minor as it may seem. It was my first real testimony that God lives, loves His children, especially His little ones, and that nothing we may feel a need to pray about is too small or insignificant that he will not hear and answer. That is still my testimony after all these years.

I