Thursday, November 4, 2010

I CAN NOT GET THIS MEMORY OUT OF MY HEAD...

.

This memory has been banging around in my cranium for about a week, and I can't seem to shake it.  So, I'll just thrash it out here, and offer it up as a question to folks my age, or older (or even younger if you've got some insight). 


It was September, 1965, and Andy was excited!  I was getting ready for my first day of elementary school.  

Now, by way of background, I have an older sister, and an older brother that were old hands at elementary school already.  And, I could already read cursive writing when I started first grade.  Momma taught me all that beforehand.  


I had just gathered all my things for my first day of  "real school," stuffing all my school supplies in my Bozo The Clown book satchel (yes...Momma bought me a Bozo The Clown book satchel which made me feel extremely retarded), when Momma started in.


It went something like this:


Momma:  Now, Andy you know that Mrs. Mac (her real name was Mrs. MacDowell...I had known her my whole life) is your bus driver.  And, what Bus Number do you ride?


Me:  Bus #33.


Momma:  That's right, Andy!  It's Bus #33, and who is your bus driver?


Me:  Mrs. Mac.


Momma:  That's right, Andy!  Now, don't forget that it's Mrs. Mac, and it's Bus #33.


Now, how hard is it to remember that the bus that stops right in front of your house, being driven by Mrs. MacDowell (who you've known your whole life) is the one you get on?  I mean, especially since you've got two older siblings standing right there with you?  Duh.

Anyway, I'm all excited to get out there in to real life at elementary school, and wait with my older siblings for Bus #33 (even though I feel retarded because of the Bozo The Clown book satchel), and Momma calls me back from walking out the door with an "Andy, come back here."

Dutifully, I come back to Momma who is now down on one knee.  She spits into a Kleenex, and wipes the toast crumbs from my face, and tells me she hopes I have a great day.  Then, she takes a piece of note paper, and pins it on my shirt.

Really...my Momma pins a note on my shirt with a safety pin, and gives me a kiss on the cheek.  So, feeling totally retarded I head down our long driveway to stand with my brother and sister to wait for Bus #33.  Of course, my older brother JUST HAD to make sport of the fact that Momma had pinned a note on my shirt.  My dear Sister (always the protector) punched him in the arm, and told him to shut up.  Which he did, because she punches really hard...then, and now.


Well, Bus #33 finally got there, and I miraculously made it all the way to Mrs. Haynes first grade class.  But on the way to school I read the note and thought about throwing it away, or just wadding it up and eating it like some super secret spy.  But, I knew that Momma would ask Mrs. Haynes later on (it sucks when your folks know EVERYBODY in town...and ALL of your first 6 years of school teachers).


The note was written in Momma's perfect cursive handwriting that she had taught me how to read.  It went pretty well like this:

Hi Jean!

Please make sure that Andy gets on Bus #33 after school.  It's Mrs. MacDowell's bus.

This is his first day of school, and I want to make sure that he doesn't get confused, and get on the wrong bus.  And, be sure to call me if you need any help.  I am one of your Room Mothers this year, so if there is anything I can do to help, please let me know.

Thanks,

Anne


Man...did I feel retarded!  I mean, I had probably told Momma at least a dozen times that I knew to get on Bus #33, and I could already read cursive writing, and everything...but here I walk in...on the first day of school with a note pinned to my shirt.


I think that should be outlawed.  Heck, it may have been by now.  It might be illegal to carry a safety pin on to weapon-free zones like schools now.


But, as I'm writing all of this down I wonder if God is trying to tell me something by keeping this memory front and center.  Maybe I fall in that same trap as a parent.  Maybe my love, and protectiveness (is that a word?) for my children causes me to pin notes on them that make them feel retarded.

Hey...I do have #2 son back home, working on finding his way in life.  And, I do have #1 son about to deploy to Iraq.  And, I do have #4 son struggling to "break out" in a lot of ways.


Maybe they are far more prepared for catching the bus, and navigating life than I realize.  Maybe I've put them through the same kind of embarrassment by my words and actions...all with loving motive, mind you.


Dunno.


So, let me just ask the question more simply (now that I've half-way figured out why this memory won't go sit in the back of Bus #33)...Did your Momma ever pin a note on your shirt?


Or, was it just me?



41 comments:

  1. Sorry, but I couldn't get past "September of 1965 . . I was getting ready for my first day of elementary school".
    In September of 1965 I was starting college classes in Monroe.
    Dang you young people!
    And yes, we all went through the Mama thing. We walked to school, and in first grade my mother made my 8th grade brother hold my hand all the way to the school. I don't know which one of us hated it the most. But we did it because Mama said so.

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  2. They had a college in Monroe back then?

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  3. You know, that's not funny! Picking on old people can reap dire consequences!

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  4. Sorry, Sneaky Pete. My Momma taught me better...

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  5. I never got a note pinned to my shirt, but I do kinda have that "Mama watching out for you" thing, even at 25 years old. I no longer live at home, although both my younger brothers (21 and 18, respectively) still do, and Mama will always say "watch after your brother tonight" if I'm there and her and Daddy ain't. This, despite the fact that both brothers are now bigger than me and have access to enough guns to arm a small militia...I guess they never quit worrying about you.

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  6. I never had a note pinned to my shirt either, but I was a strange kid anyway with remembering stuff.

    It is funny however, that we were patted on the fanny and sent down to the end of the driveway or around to the end of the subdivision to catch a bus and these days, the bus stops at every driveway.

    If I ever needed my kid to carry a note to school, I put it in his planner. He's weird like me.

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  7. Boogie, you never do stop worrying about them - children and grandchildren.

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  8. By the way Andy - this is a great post!

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  9. I'm the same age as you Andy, and although I was forced to walk the half a city block to the school, fortunately I still suffered in my own way, you're not alone in your buried childhood memories.
    While I was in school, whenever the teachers had to have someone take a note home to their mom (they're always addressed to mom?) they'd ask to give the note to only the oldest child in the school from any one family. So, each time a note was given, my one sister that now works for the Federal Dept. of Revenue (tax) would mention it to mom, "Marc has a note from school, you better ask him for it or he'll forget" It never stopped.
    Later on in school, my mom would ask things like, "why did the teacher mention your name or my friend bla bla bla's name in front of all the students today, and what did you do? and why didn't you tell me about it?"
    It never ends.
    That she works for the federal tax dept. doesn't surprise anyone.

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  10. I'm the same age as you Andy, and although I was forced to walk the half a city block to the school, fortunately I still suffered in my own way, you're not alone in your buried childhood memories.
    While I was in school, whenever the teachers had to have someone take a note home to their mom (they're always addressed to mom?) they'd ask to give the note to only the oldest child in the school from any one family. So, each time a note was given, my one sister that now works for the Federal Dept. of Revenue (tax) would mention it to mom, "Marc has a note from school, you better ask him for it or he'll forget" It never stopped.
    Later on in school, my mom would ask things like, "why did the teacher mention your name or my friend bla bla bla's name in front of all the students today, and what did you do? and why didn't you tell me about it?"
    It never ends.
    That she works for the federal tax dept. doesn't surprise anyone.

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  11. Boogie, I appreciate a younger man weighing in here. Really, I do.

    As you know, I have two sons older than you. You are a blessed man to have parents that worry about you. I know that I am.

    Paul, I appreciate an older man weighing in here. Nyuk! His "planner?" Really? Never mind...knowing you, I'm sure it's the truth.

    Jimbo, thank you very much. That is very kind of you to say.

    I guess I'm just trying to strike the right chord in their lives right now. I'm hoping that they'll forgive the overbearing Daddy (that they all thought I was, even though I'm sure I wasn't), and that I'll be able to not be such an overbearing Daddy from here on out.

    In many ways, I'm pretty sure I've stunted their growth...and hurt myself in the process. The Lord is good...He has let me dwell on this memory for a good long while now.

    I've got to learn how to be concerned for them without trying to make sure that Mrs. Haynes knows which bus to put them on.

    I've got to start trusting that they already know it's Bus #33.

    Thanks for reading, and for letting me rattle this out. I really appreciate it.

    So, as of now, NOBODY had a note pinned to their shirt? Sigh...

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  12. If it is any consolation, Andy, my Ma did that to my sister all the time because she is stupid.

    HEY!

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  13. Hey Marc! Nyuk! Looks like the double-dip net demons are on your tail.

    I think that I was posting a comment just as you were, and somehow we screwed up the internet.

    Thanks for sharing your own childhood trials. Oh yeah...I know all about older siblings, and Mom knowing stuff that happened even before I got home.

    I didn't know that you were the same age as I am. I always figured you for a younger fellow...not sure why.

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  14. Yeah Paul, that helps a lot. I feel much better now.

    Honestly, I don't remember my Mom EVER pinning a note on any of my three other siblings.

    I did not mention in the story that the next day she pinned an envelope on my shirt, and sent me back to school. (Seriously, a big friggin envelope) The envelope had a one dollar bill in it, and on the outside of it in bold writing was "Andy's lunch money."

    Seriously.

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  15. I suppose I lived close enough to the school that if she wanted to she could have tied a string to my ankle and the other end to the front door so I could find my way home.

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  16. Why didn't you just put it in your wallet?

    And Marc's comment was hilarious.

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  17. Sorry, Andy, I never had a note pinned to my shirt. Is it close enough that I got my bus # written on the back of my hand with Magic Marker?

    I also had idiot mittens. You know, those mittens with the string that went from one mitten around the back of your neck and attached to the other mitten.

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  18. HA!

    Marcs' comment was hilarious!

    Paul, Momma would not allow...Mrs. Haynes would have called her wondering where my dollar for the week's lunch money was.

    I was a good son.

    Roses: Bwahahahahahahaha! Yes, having your bus # written on your body is close enough.

    I did not grow up in cold country like you, and Marc did. So, I did not have idiot mittens. But, I'm saving that term for future use.

    However, I was forced to wear a big yellow raincoat that made me look like a duck, and galoshes...just to go stand out front to catch the bus whenever there was even a hint of rain...which was almost always. It was humiliating.

    I was so way glad when I hit third grade, and Momma let me actually walk to school. It was a whole 1/4 mile. Seriously.

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  19. Great Post Andy! I really enjoyed reading this. And yes, even though I didn't ride a bus, I had a note pinned to my shirt at least once.

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  20. Hey Dan! Thanks...glad you enjoyed it. And, thank you very much for fessing up to the humiliation. I'm glad to know that Two Dogs' Sister, and I weren't the only ones.

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  21. Well, since you got all the brains, I'm CERTAINLY hoping that she got all the looks.

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  22. Heh...Jim, I guess you're right. And I'm okay with it; I need somebody out there worrying about me, because I don't worry about myself very much.

    Andy...galoshes? [i]Really?[/i] I didn't know what in the devil galoshes were until I was at least ten and ran across them in a book. I managed to avoid that little bit of insanity. And praise the Good Lord I never had idiot mittens...you might as well have put me in one of those little hats with ear flaps, too.

    My parents did let me walk around wearing a fanny pack for several years, though. I want to say it was in style at one point, but that could just be me trying to justify myself.

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  23. Andy, my sister looks like a fat me with gray hair.

    Tell Fanny-Pack Boogie I said, "Gay."

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  24. Nyuk!

    Nyuk!

    Your poor sister...stupid, and ugly to boot.

    Boogie, um....Paul says "GAY!"

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  25. Dude, I was 8...both of y'all gimme a break.

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  26. Eight is third grade, right? That was the year I carried a briefcase to school because I was going to be a lawyer.

    Then I found out lawyers are usually Democrats so I stopped that stupid crap.

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  27. My wife hated to see little kids with dirty faces. She too would take a little spit on a kleenex and wipe my son's face. She did that until one morning she had a little jam on her face and he did that to her. Broke that habit right off.
    My next door neighbor was my Kindergarten teacher and both my sisters went to the same school as I did. I never, say again "NEVER" got away with anything. But I didn't care.
    MUD

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  28. Well Paul, you had a choice...you could be a trial lawyer or a bum. Either way, you come out a Democrat.

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  29. I was all grown up and in the 6th grade in '65, and never had a note-brooch. And I'm an only child, so I didn't have to worry about sibs torturing me. We didn't have school buses when I was in elementary school. Little Rock schools were still segregated, so we had neighborhood schools -- you either walked or rode in car pools. I was always jealous of the kids who lived close enough to walk -- that seemed like the ultimate in freedom to me. I didn't even set foot on a bus until a church youth missionary trip to Mexico in high school.

    Dang! I had a deprived childhood! Not even any idiot mittens! No wonder I turned out to be a lawyer. At least I missed the Democrat bus.

    Sometimes, I think, smothering a child and over-worrying can be a good thing. Then they know what warmth feels like.

    And, for the information of all you non-females out there, Mother's Spittle is the universal cure-all and solvent. It's a scientific fact.

    Great post.

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  30. Dang, Moogie, you made fun of Andy and his Note-Brooch!!!!

    First grade Andy wears a note-brooch.

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  31. Sometimes children can be so cruel.

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  32. Bus #33 and 33 comments? This is a SIGN, I tell ya!

    Quick answer: never a note brooch (thanks, Moogie!).

    Never had to worry about which bus, either... I'm pretty sure there were only two times I ever rode a bus to school and the AF was good about getting kids on the right bus. I DO remember one interesting event, tho. Our bus drivers were always airmen from the motor pool when I was in the third grade, in France. One young guy chewed... and ALWAYS had a wad in his cheek. You can guess the rest, I'm sure. It took a LONG time to finally bother him enough that he let us try it, with predictable results.

    And I'm with Jim, you freakin' puppy. The First Mrs. Pennington and I were a hot item in September of '65 and for the first time in my young life I wasn't waking up alone. I have seriously mixed emotions about that now.

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  33. A mother's spit - better than 409.

    In 1964 I started first grade. On the first day, my mother went to school with my older (by one year) brother rather than me. When we went off to college at TT, me for my first year and him for his second year, my parents sent us off telling me to look after my brother. I was a bossy little thang.

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  34. This thread is probably all used up by now, so I can make this confession without too many people actually reading it:

    Elementary school for me was mid-'70s and my mom always made me wear these RIDICULOUS plaid cardigan sweaters. I looked like I was the President of the Mr. Rogers Fan Club. And waaaaay too much V05 to try to tame the cowlick.

    As for notes pinned to my chest, no. But she did regularly put them in my Adam-12 lunchbox.

    Man, I miss that lunchbox...

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  35. Look what I have found!!!

    http://cgi.ebay.com/RARE-VINTAGE-1973-ADAM-12-METAL-LUNCHBOX-/160497987208?pt=LH_DefaultDomain_0&hash=item255e6cee88

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  36. Alright Moogie, now that was good...note brooch! Nyuk.

    Sorry to be tardy responding, chirrens, I've been at work today (and it was one of them daze), but I appreciate the fun.

    Inno, comment threads are never used up...and that is a really sweet story about your lunch box. Really, really sweet. You shoulda held on to it, because it's "rare," as Paul discovered today.

    I NEVER had a lunch box, as my schools always had cafeterias...with excellent food I might add.

    Heck, that reminds me of a story I need to tell some day about having a zillion allergies as a kid, and the Cafeteria lady making me a special lunch on days they served what I was violently allergic to.

    I need to do that.

    It'll be extremely interesting. Trust me, it will. If you don't think so, just imagine green spaghetti.

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  37. That's the EXACT ONE, Paul! With the kid's head caught 'tween the fence rails. All the kids thought I was cool 'cuz of that lunchbox.

    Well, at least at first. Then they'd notice my cardigan and realize I was Duke of Dorkville.

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  38. By the way, there was another one on E-Bay for 35 bucks, but it was not in mint condition and the Thermos lid was cracked.

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  39. Not in mint condition, got some cracks in the lid... Sounds like it was meant for me.

    And those plastic thermoses (is that the plural of thermos?) they came with didn't have a glass liner. Seemed like the plastic permanently absorbed the funky smell of forgotten room-temp milk turning into cottage cheese over a long weekend. I betcha that's why the thermoses are so rare.

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Don't cuss nobody out, okay?