One of the writing prompts I found on Plinky was to describe my worst classroom experience. Boy, did that bring back some memories! It’s hard to say any one experience was the worst one. Every time a bad experience happens it seems like the worst one ever at that time. Then, another bad experience comes along, and that one is the worst. And so on, and so on.
Believe it or not, I remember my very first day of school! That means I can remember things that happened 49 years ago. I find that very strange as I can barely remember yesterday, and this morning is already getting fuzzy and it’s only 12:10.
But, I do remember.
My teacher’s name was Mrs. Toombs. I kid you not. I would not make that up. That name should have told me it was going to be a trying year. Even at the age of six, I should have been forewarned that it would be a challenge. To say I was terrified would be a gross understatement. My mom had to peel me off her legs. I was so scared of everything at school. Then, I see my teacher. She was older and heavy-set. She had one of those faces that looks like a smile had not dared to be seen on it for years and years. Her brows were permanently furrowed.
Somehow, I made it until morning recess. I then ran home, happy that it was over. Little did I know that recess only meant a very small reprieve and then you are back at it. My mom had to take me back to school kicking and screaming. Mrs. Toombs scolded me right in front of everyone. I wanted to disappear.
It’s probably not a huge surprise that I didn’t learn much that year. At the end of first grade I was no better off than I was at the beginning and had to go to a ‘special’ class the next year. That was fine with me, though. I loved that teacher! Her name was Mrs. Reading. She was soft-spoken and knew how to encourage kids. I’m just glad the second year was much better. I think my school career would have been over if I’d had to repeat that first year.