We moved to Virginia right in the middle of the biggest blizzard to hit the East Coast in a century. All the pipes in our new house froze and burst, forcing us to live in a motel for a couple of weeks. With the unfamiliarity of the area and all that snow everywhere, it was like being in a comfy jail cell. We watched TV a lot. I remember becoming a big fan of a show called "Diver Dan".
I went to Cedar Lane Elementary School, the last place where the principal could still threaten you with a "paddling" if you got out of line. I remember seeing a graphic depiction of this drawn by one of the students. Blood dripping from the paddle as the hapless victim screamed. This right next to drawings of puppies and rainbows and people with 17 fingers waving to me. In fourth grade I had one of my coolest teachers ever. Mrs. Yates read stories to us and appreciated my sensitive side. Though that didn't keep me out of trouble.
One day we started on a mural depicting the history of transportation. It was about 5 feet by 3 feet, and had a background of rolling hills, blue sky and a large lake. I got into some kind of argument with a girl in my class about which picture I could draw. I don't know, maybe I wanted to draw a tank and she said that wasn't transportation. The upshot was that I got into trouble for arguing and being a smart aleck with Mrs. Yates and I had to stay in the classroom during recess. I saw that as the perfect opportunity to express my feelings artistically on the mural. With my trusty No. 2 pencil I pointed out how each mode of transportation could fail: The car was on fire, the hot air balloon had an arrow through it, the boat had a torpedo heading straight amidships and there was a woman tied to the railroad tracks. And so forth. Most of the guys in class thought it was a riot, but the girls were crying. Definitely a mixed review. To her credit, Mrs. Yates sent home a note that praised my "misplaced artistic talents". Got whupped for that one, too.
Fifth grade found me in a brand new school, Cunningham Park Elementary. With the most heinous teacher I ever had, Mrs. Henderson. From the first day my name was "EDwhut". She seemed always to have one eye on me. "EDwhut, what you doin' ovah theah?" "EDwhut, every train got a caboose, and yo' it." I took a rubber band off my binder one day and it hit a student next to me. She made me stand in front of the class, holding the rubber band out in front of me for an hour. Nice.
I came to school one day and saw we had a substitute. Yippee! I was so stoked! I walked in and sat down, all smiles. A girl sitting next to me whispered "Mrs. Henderson's husband died this morning." Oh. Hmm. Bittersweet. That loss didn't change her attitude toward me at all. She rode me constantly. One day I was walking by the school and just up and fired two big rocks at her classroom window. She showed an educational film about vandalism the next day while the window guys replaced the glass. The film seemed to show a troubled youth who felt powerless to express his frustrations with family and school problems and ends up burning down his school.
"What lesson does this movie teach us?" asked Mrs. H.
"That we need to listen to kids with problems?" said the girl next to me. (Yes!)
"NO! It means that when you break into a school an' burn it down, the law gon' lock you up for good!"
Sweet.
RFK and MLK were both assassinated that year. Didn't seem to upset my folks too much, except that Mom was worried about the rioting in downtown DC. She made sure the doors were locked and told us we couldn't leave the house that night. I think she believed those black folks was gonna drive all the way out to the suburbs and cause a ruckus. Seemed unlikely to me.
Sixth grade was Miss Milford, a kindly old lady who took a cab 75 miles to school every day. She convinced me that I had a poet's sensibility and a voice to sing with. Those were good times. When a forceful, insightful old person looks you in the eyes and says "You can do it", it's hard not to believe it.
On our next programme: Middle school or Middle Earth? You decide...
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"Got beat up a few times. Seemed to start a pattern. What is it about bullies? Do we meeker types have some kind of flashing light that only these jerks can see? No matter what, though, Karma abounds. The same kid tried it again and I accidentally pushed him into a bees nest. Didn't see much of him after that."
Thank your karma, stars or chosen diety, my friend.
Alas, we see more parallels. There was a bully named Lionel Cain (Biblical, right?)who tortured me and first introduced me to the sheer cruelty of the world. It was a jolt that I never forgot. Wonder what ever happened to the bastard?
Ever read that Ray Bradbury story about the same subject?
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