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I entered my old elementary school,
the step squeaked beneath my weight.
As I opened the door, I felt like I
had just entered a time capsule. I
saw the rope hanging from the bell
tower and the brass bell still
intact. As small children, we
delighted when a teacher allowed us to
ring the bell for recess.
The school had only four
classrooms, a large upstairs area for
a cafeteria and auditorium. When
I opened the door to the seventh and
eighth grade room, Washington and
Lincoln starred back at
me. The American flag stood in the
corner. We began every morning with
the Pledge of Allegiance. As I ambled
around the room, the wooden desks sat
with their empty ink wells and storage
racks. We carried our books in our
arms and not in the fancy back packs
of today.
The blackboard was covered in
dust. Chalk and erasers remained in
the racks. If I listen carefully, I
could still hear the sound of clapping
erasers against the large boulder
outside and see white dust particles
fill the air. The rooms were divided
into first and second grade, third and
fourth,fifth and sixth and seventh and
eight. There was only four teachers.
The seventh and eighth grade teacher
was also the principal. These four
teachers were with me all through my
elementary years.
In these walls, I learned my
ABC’s, reading, spelling, writing,
arithmetic, history, geography, health,
science, and social studies. I
memorized the first paragraph of the
Declaration of Independence,
Preamble to the Constitution, state
capitals, and numerous lines of poetry.
The old cafeteria brought back
memories of hiding peas in our
pockets, under the table, or pawning
them off on someone that really did
like them. We always said grace
before our meals and no one thought we
were rude or inconsiderate.
The auditorium echoed in
remembrances of Christmas and Easter
pageants, numerous music trials and
plays. I caught a glimpse of our
eighth grade graduation class
in old stained photograph on the
wall.
The wooden fire escape remains
and creaks with every step. Behind
the school is an open space where we
played tag, dodge ball, and skipped
rope. The old soft ball field shows
patches of a white line between first
and second base. Sneakers footprints
remain in the dust. The volley ball
court has one remaining post with a
piece of net attached. It hangs like
a trophy where we took down
our dreaded opponent in the
championship.
As the wind whispers around the
school yard with past voices of happy
children learning and having fun, I
realize my educational roots are still
entwined in a four room school with a
brass bell.
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