A souvenir retrieved from the third-grade trenches...
The thing is, I don’t recall the souvenir itself. What I do remember, are the set of circumstances and events leading up to its purchase. In the grand scheme of thingamajigs—sentiments, rather than tangibles, enable memories to thrive.
The seed for this memoir was planted while writing my weekly blog, “Eva’s Byte #195: When No One’s Watching,” inspired by a book my school principal gifted to all faculty members—'What Teachers Do When No One is Looking' by Jim Grant and Irv Richardson.
Thumbing the pages of a book which lay dormant for years, I came across a photo I’d placed inside for safekeeping. It stirred up yet another fond memory from the third-grade trenches of Northern Lincoln Elementary.
Jonathon, not my former student’s real name, but close enough, was a surly youngster. A troubled home life, compounded by poor academic performance stemming from weak reading skills, took its toll. And, for whom did the bell toll? For those kids he used as punching bags to vent his pent-up rage.
Vivid in my mind, the frustrations pouring out of him during one of those standardized tests. I walked over to his desk, and closed the booklet, absolving him of further undue suffering.
Oh, boy! Field trip to Old Sturbridge Village. For everyone’s safety, Jonathon required a chaperone all his own. As center leader who coordinated all aspects of these excursions for 3-4 classrooms, my role as overseer exempted me from chaperoning. However…
Framing this an honor, rather than solitary confinement, I asked Jonathon to choose someone to join us. When he picked Paul, not his real name either, but another boy who could hold his own with mischief and sarcasm—Paul enthusiastically agreed when consulted.
My treasured photo of the three of us was taken inside the tin shop at Old Sturbridge Village. It entailed the last stop before the souvenir shop, and boarding the bus for our trek home. Our group was the last to board as I treated us to cookies from the bake shop.
Prior to, I let the boys conduct the way. We lost ourselves in nature and educational moments. Not caught on camera—Jonathon’s laughter, a first!
Both boys told me they had the best time ever! I concurred. Most endearing to me, Jonathon took the utmost care in selecting a souvenir for his mother.
What has always stuck to my ribs, is what no standardized test can measure—the mettle of moral fiber.
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Regis.
budd
powerful message in these words!
enjoyed the read
never stop writing!
m
Ron
Thanks for sharing.
Blessings,
Ann