1995-10-12

The Beginning of the End

While growing up I attended a small neighborhood elementary school. It was an old red brick building that contained four large classrooms. These four rooms housed six grades. Two of the rooms contained a single grade, and the other two rooms contained two grades each. The combinations varied depending on the number of students in each grade for any given year.

There were four teachers in my school, one for each classroom. Art and Music were taught by traveling teachers who visited each classroom once a week. Physical education, also taught by a traveling teacher, was held outside if the weather was nice, or in a foyer at one end of the building when it rained, snowed, or was too cold.

Discipline wasn't much of a problem at my school. Physical punishment was allowed, but it wasn't needed often. Most punishments consisted of standing in a corner or closet for a few minutes. One of the advantages of the old smaller schools was that we all knew each other. If you got into trouble at school, word was sure to get back to your parents.

During the first grade I had a wonderful year. I enjoyed school. I was eager to learn and had no trouble with the level of instruction. I was in the advanced reading group, and I always looked ahead to sound out the new word each day while the other kids were getting to their seats. Math came just as easily to me. Although the new math was creating a controversy in the community, it made perfect sense to me, and it was easy. I did well in the first grade, and at the end of the year was I promoted to the second.

Things were different in the second grade. We shared a room with the third grade. Our teacher, Miss Sullivan, taught two grades and was also the principal of the school. She was an old woman who had never married. This was her last year teaching before retirement. She had a reputation as a very strict teacher who didn't put up with any nonsense.

In order to teach two classes at the same time, Miss Sullivan would present a lesson to one class, then set the students to task. Once they were busy, she would teach the other class their lesson. The teacher would alternate teaching each class throughout the day.

I remember one day quite clearly. We were learning to carry extra tens from the one's column to the ten's column while adding numbers. After presenting this lesson, Miss Sullivan wrote a number of problems on the blackboard for us to complete while she gave her attention to the third grade. The third grade was learning multiplication that day. Since math always came easily to me, I was bored with the simple task of carrying extra ten's over to next column. This multiplication thing seemed kind of neat, so instead of doing my assigned work, I watched as Miss Sullivan presented the lesson to the third grade. Addition was easy and multiplication was just repetitive addition. By the end of the lesson I was a year ahead in math.

Miss Sullivan didn't see it that way. Her main concern was that I hadn't completed my addition on time. At the age of seven, I was afraid to tell her that I was doing something other than my assigned work, even if it was next years math. My punishment was to stay after school until my assignment was completed.

That was the worst year of my life. All through the second grade I couldn't concentrate on my work. I was intrigued by the lessons for the third grade. I stayed after school many times that year. If Miss Sullivan had had the insight or time to realize what was happening; or if I could have gotten up the courage to tell her; I believe that I could have skipped the second grade altogether. As it was, I ended up learning two years worth of material in one year, but I was getting punished for my lack of effort. Another thing I learned that year, was that school was really a place to learn how to do what you're told. The subject matter seemed secondary.

This one episode affected me for the rest of my life. Although I love to read and learn new things, I never liked school after that. Putting in a minimum effort, I trudged through the remaining ten years of school so that I could be done with it and get on with life. I never applied myself in school again until I returned to college at the age of thirty-six. I sometimes wonder how my life might have been different if Miss Sullivan would have realized why my work wasn't getting done on time.

Looking back, I can see that perhaps it really wasn't her fault. Teaching two grades and performing the duties of the principal didn't leave much time for individual attention. It was necessary to have an orderly classroom with no deviation allowed. I was certainly capable of completing my work on time, and in her view that was what I needed to do. Unfortunately for me, it was the beginning of the end where school was concerned.