The year was 1960 and my life was interrupted. We sold our cattle and chickens. We found loving homes for our pets. We locked the doors of the house for the first time ever. We kissed family and friends good-bye. We left the lush rolling hills of West Virginia.
Without fanfare, my parents and I – looking somewhat like the Beverly Hillbillies – packed up Daddy’s white 1954 Chevrolet truck and moved 1200 miles to Waco, Texas.
Perhaps the greatest culture shock was going from a small one-room school house - where one teacher taught grades one through eight (and we had all been classmates since birth) – to a huge two-story-multiple-classroom-multiple- teacher Junior High School of 500 kids. All strangers.
The natives were not so friendly. They made fun of my back-woodsy vernacular. They laughed at my long hair slicked back into a bun. They sneered at my best flour-sack dresses. Although most of us were of English origin, we did not speak the same language. They had never heard of soup beans or pop. I was offered soda water and my stomach was not even hurting.
Back home I had been in the elite group at Lick Creek School, Lick Creek, WV. Actually, all 23 of us were in the elite group. That extended family atmosphere bound us together like few things can.
We studied together and played together and rode the bus together and adventured together and occasionally argued together. All ages were on the same team whether playing tag or marbles or softball. Oh sure, we would divide up, and sometimes that was scary to be the last one chosen. But even though I was told that I ran like a cow, they still let me play.
We jumped rope and played hopscotch while rhyming in cadence: First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes Jane with a baby carriage.
The creek that bordered Lick Creek School was a constant source of fun. In the spring and summer we waded, caught minnows and turned over rocks to unearth crayfish. In the winter we skated. No, no one had ice skates. Any kid with a little determination can scuff-off the tread of snow boots until they are slick as ice. Thankfully, as the youngest in the family, my yearly hand-me-downs were already a little worn.
If the creek was not frozen solid enough to hold us, the sidewalk was. Two minutes before the bell rang, we lined up at the one-armed pump for a dipper full of ice water. Oh sure, we need a drink after so much skating, but more importantly, we needed to maintain the skating rink. (Take a sip, pour remainder on walk, refreeze before next recess.)
We took field trips. Where did we go? We went out into the fields.
We learned birds; their colors, their song, their names and their nesting, eating and migrating habits. We learned trees and shrubs and weeds; how they benefited or harmed mankind and animals. We observed wildflowers, berries and animals. We watched the sky and knew cloud formations and the meaning behind their colors and signs of when to plant or harvest.
We did book learning too. We learned our numbers and letters and how to use them effectively (without verb conjunction or misplacing modifiers). We would read history and then go out to recess and recreate what we had been taught.
From our wall map we knew world geography better than many today with all the modern technology.
Civics? We lived it. Barn-building or hog-killing people showed up with tools and food in hand because we were family. Election day the schoolhouse – all decked out in red-white-and-blue bunting – became a hub of community activity. The school bus and a few private vehicles scoured to the ends of the county providing travel so everyone would be able to perform their civic duty. Decoration day produced a flurry of activity cleaning cemeteries and paying homage to our local world-citizens heroes. Our soldiers kept us safe at home while putting themselves in harms way to protect our unknown neighbors ‘over there’.
Not only were we taught, we were also allowed to learn on our own. Our small library contained renowned classics still favored today. We taught each other. Beginning in third grade – while the teacher taught the older kids inside - I was allowed to take the first and second graders outside under the big tree (a super special place) and help them learn their phonics and practice reading. This student teaching continued all through grade school. Little did I know that was career building?
Those were days of structured study and discipline. They were coupled with wild and wonderful days of unstructured play and imaginative minds let loose to dream and create.
Oh, such wonderful, wonderful memories. Not only are memories forever, they are foundations to build upon. The simplicity of those days continues to haunt me, overshadow me, protect me and compels me to replicate the love of relationship and the fun of learning into everything I do.
There is a special place in my heart for all my former classmates, grades 1-8; and for my two teachers, Mr. Frank Brown and Miss Gladys Neely. Thanks for the memories.
Don’t Cope. Overcome. Although that rhythmic cadence of love-marriage-baby-carriage may seem removed from the standard of today, I suggest the principle remains as founding truth. Whether formal or casual, planned or impulsive, loving or unloving, the union has holiness to it. The office is untarnished.
The child, regardless of the circumstances surrounding conception, is innocent and came from the original source of divine love. Whether the home produces benevolent leaders or malevolent dictators, all of us share in the propagation of light and darkness. The human condition is a complicated mix of good and evil. Correcting the slippery slope or climbing to a higher plane is all ‘Thanks Be To God’.
