Ghosts of Classroom Pasts

While the mere sight of school supplies might make some people smile, it produces a sense of dread for others. Love it or hate it, most of us have a distinct memory from our school days. The following three short stories serve as reminders that it was not all bliss!  ​

Teachers Are Usually Very Good, BUT . . .

I am someone who really liked school. Not that I was a straight A student, but I usually did pretty well. When I look back, I’m able to name all my teachers from kindergarten through eighth grade. I can also recall the cool things we did in almost all of their respective classes. For example, Mrs. Schaudt (K) taught us the words for all the colors (I loved the word yellow), read really good stories to us, and had us sit at wooden tables to enjoy a carton of milk and a Salerno butter cookie each day. Miss Jacobson (Third Grade) taught us cursive handwriting, and took us on great field trips, including the gigantic train station, the dinosaur museum, and the bottling plant. Each week she typed up our stories to run off as a newspaper to take home. Miss Erickson (Sixth Grade) taught us kickball, let us work in groups, and had us write letters to real people (who actually wrote back!). Lots of fond memories.​

One year, though, stands out in a different way. I do remember the teacher’s name—Miss Wolf. I know we sat in rows of wooden desks. Otherwise, all I recall is the day I raised my hand to go to the bathroom and she said, ‘No, you should have gone during the recess.” So, I tried to hold it, but that didn’t work. I peed in my pants, getting my dress, my desk seat, and the floor below wet. And then sheets of green construction paper were used to soak up the little puddles. I was so ashamed, so . . . horrified. What happened after that? I don’t remember. Did my mom bring new clothes? Did I go home? I never asked my parents about it in later years.

The next day, my friend Gilbert showed me something he thought would help. He let me peek inside the boys’ bathroom. How two first graders could pull that off remains a mystery, but it was a very kind gesture since I was raised in a family with no brothers. Seeing urinals for the first time was very intriguing. Thanks, Gilbert, wherever you are. And sorry, Miss Wolf. I remember you as being mean. And, because I eventually became a teacher myself, I was very careful to allow children go to the bathroom when they needed to.

How am I Doing Today?

While I’ve usually loved being in school and learning as much as possible, there are some memories that I look back on less than fondly. One such memory concerns the dreaded classroom behavior chart. For those who were lucky enough to grow up without this tool of public humiliation, let me now elaborate. The classroom behavior chart can come in many forms, but the most common in my memory were color cards in individual slots hung up on the wall or clothespins on a vertical chart to be moved up or down. Emblazoned above the chart, sometimes written out by the teacher, was a singular question: “How am I Doing Today?”. As a general rule, you did not want to be asked by the teacher to flip your card or move your clothespin down. Doing so would mean that you had misbehaved in class and that now, your classmates got to bear witness to your shame. Even worse, the teacher might shorten recess or withhold it altogether if enough students had red cards or were low on the level chart. I’m not sure what precise laws govern classrooms, but there’s a reason that the Geneva Convention outlaws collective punishment.​

Rarely, if ever, were students tasked with making their way to the chart for a beneficial reason. The students who were asked to go were notorious in class, and some teachers might even use them as examples to the rest of us. In my memory, a teacher might indirectly refer to the student who was misbehaving, but everyone knew who they were talking about. These students were the typical “troublemakers” of the classroom, but the behavior chart, on which they were perpetually on red or at the lowest level, only served to further ostracize them from the rest of the class. Further humiliation was foisted on them by being used as a negative example for classroom conduct, the threat of our cards or clothespins matching theirs as a tool to keep us in line.

Being a teacher's kid and a general goody-two-shoes, it was my worst nightmare to be asked to go to the behavior chart. I can’t recall a time that I was ever at the bottom of the chart. I was usually too afraid of the teacher’s authority to misbehave, but I can remember being asked to move it down on a couple of a few occasions. I can recall in great detail the absolute face-burning shame of having to get up out of my seat and slog over to the chart, holding back tears as I shakily grabbed my card or clothespin and moved it in front of the colosseum audience that was my classmates. I don’t know if these “classroom tools” are still in use, but I can only hope that future generations of elementary schoolers are not subjected to this public shaming and estrangement ritual.

When Gold Stars Fall

Years ago, I took a personality test that revealed that my top characteristic trait was “Learner.” This was no real surprise as I was and continue to be a lover of all things related to school. To this day, there is no greater thrill than waltzing up and down the stationery aisle of any store as I assess every pen and mentally take stock of whether or not I have it at home. School and all the accoutrements are a go-to joy button for me. However, there are some memories that are less than…charming.

When I was in 4th grade, we had weekly spelling tests on Fridays. As a rule, if you got a 100% on your test, you earned a gold star. The gold stars were placed on the corner of your desk as badges of honor. You could earn a maximum of three stars. Easy peasy if you were a good speller but not so much if you got your d’s, b’s, and p’s mixed up, so every week, my stars were in peril.​

The time came to take the test, and all was going well until my classmate accused me of cheating. I was completely mortified. I don’t remember if I even denied the charges that were being hurled against me. I just remember watching the teacher walking slowly, silently towards my desk - her big eyes behind the dark frames staring sternly. It was as if she was walking in slow motion so that all my classmates had enough time to clasp their eyes on her to witness my shame. She said not a word and then proceeded to scratch off one of my gold stars. My head hit the desk, and I covered myself up with my arms as best as I could hoping that I would simply disappear.

I am not sure why she chose to believe him and not me. What evidence did he offer? Was it because I could not tell my letters apart that made her think that I was not capable of keeping my stars? I had earned stars in weeks past, so clearly, I was capable of doing well on my spelling tests! I guess, I will never know her reasons, but I will always remember watching my gold star fall.

These stories remind us that school was not always fun and games. It's no wonder with experiences like these that some people really hate it. We are happy to report that  despite these mortifying episodes, the love for school did not diminish for our three writers. They found ways to absolve themselves from their past and went on to conquer new heights in their respective fields. Hurray for perspective and perseverance!