When Starting School Meant a New Cigar Box

My two grands start a new school year tomorrow, one heading into the 2nd grade, one starting Pre-K. I've noticed several popular blogs comparing what it was like to get ready for back-to-school in the 1970s and 80s. But I want to let my two know what it was like waaaaaay back in the 1950s. (True confessions: I started 2nd grade in 1958; there was no such thing as Pre-K, at least not in Chattanooga, Tennessee.)

The first thing you have to understand is timing. We did not start school until the day after Labor Day. Not the end of July or the first week in August.  And August back then was a long month. Splashing in the wading pool, playing croquet and badminton, fussing and fighting with siblings and neighbors, and sheer idleness were getting boring by that time. And if that was true for us kids, I cannot imagine how our mothers felt. However, all of us could see a little light at the end of the tunnel (begrudgingly by the kids, joyfully by the moms).

August meant a trip to the fabric store to pick out a couple of patterns and several yards of a variety of cloth. The cloth (and the pattern) had distinct little-girl-school-dress looks about them. Once all that was purchased, Mother set to work spreading out the fabric, pinning on the pattern, cutting, and sewing. After a couple of weeks - voila! - new back-to-school clothes! I'm guessing the boys got their jeans, slacks, and short-sleeved shirts/t-shirts at Sears or J.C. Penney, but that held no interest for me - must've happened because my brothers went to school dressed. Meh, boy-clothes.

Then off to Robert Hall or Penney or a trip to Atlanta for shoes (one pair for school, one for Sunday, and maybe some rubber boots), a couple of sweaters and a light jacket (too early to get a heavy coat), and a raincoat of some kind. Done.

Toward the end of August it was time to get serious about this school-thing. Most years, the lunchbox decision was major and took time to sort out - you know, watching TV or talking to friends to winnow out the has-been or babyish options. Fortunately, my trusty first grade Howdy Doody metal lunchbox was still in fine working order, so that was one decision I didn't have to make in 1958. Alas, I'd busted the real Thermos that came with it at some point, so it was 3-cent 1/2 pint of cafeteria milk for me for the foreseeable future.

Next, supplies. As far as I know, there was never a list. Daddy picked up empty cigar boxes to hold the supplies, usually pencils - big fat ones for a second-grader - erasers, paste, and whatever else we deemed necessary. While I hate the smell of cigars, I love the smell of an empty cigar box. It's a good early-childhood memory-trigger. Older kids selected 3-ring binders, notebook paper, reinforcements (for the paper holes), dividers, and maybe a ruler. And really, anything we needed -  except for the cigar box - could be bought at the school's bookstore/supply store, so there was no need for supply-angst.

New school dress and shoes, lunchbox, fresh cigar box, and a pencil or two. Bam! Done!

Labor Day fun, a good night's sleep (maybe a little bit of wondering about which teacher I'd get and if any friends would be in the class), a hot breakfast, then walking about a half-block to my elementary school - and there I was. Second grade.

In second grade we were no longer the babies of the school; our school was 1st-6th grade. Second grade meant business: time to settle down and learn to read and write better, hone those adding and subtracting skills, perfect artistic techniques (at least, learn how to draw a recognizable horse). 

Liam starts second grade tomorrow. He's in his third year of a German immersion program. He's already way ahead of where I was in 2nd grade math and science (more like 5th-6th grade). And Pre-K Charlotte? She was introduced to some basic German in pre-school, knows numbers, letters, colors, maps, and some basic science. And could hold a conversation with an Oxbridge tutor. So as the song says: "I hear babies cry, I watch them grow. They'll learn much more than I'll ever know. And I say to myself, What a wonderful world!" What a wonderful world, indeed. 

But ah, the smell of that fresh cigar box in 1958!

Magical #4

She is a whirlwind, a dancer, a comedian, a vaudevillian, a serious questioner. She can get philosophical about Trolls and Peppa Pig, posing existential questions that I'm sure their creators never stopped to think about. She's brave and can often stomach scary things better than her older brother. And today our Miss Charlotte turns 4 years old.

She loves to cuddle and kiss and snuggle. She has a great belly-laugh but can just a quickly flounce off in a huff if something's not going her way. She has a way with words, using very grown-up turns of phrases that - along with animated facial expressions - keep us always entertained. She's a natural actress and attention-getter. She was born with "It."

Charlotte is our extra-extravert, spotting strangers a block away and asking to be introduced. "What her name is? Will he play with me? Let's go find out!" She'll talk to anybody and everybody (and if she doesn't or won't, then there must be a good reason).

She loves her Mama and Daddy and big brother, though she can hold her own in a sibling-battle. She is our sweet, funny Charlotte, and we can't imagine our lives without her. Her GrandMary loves her beyond all reason. Happy Birthday, dear girl!

Lucky #7

He loves ice hockey and the Atlanta Falcons. Pokemon and Star Wars. Any science experiment that fizzes, foams, and turns colors. He's a good swimmer and mathmetician. When he's working with Lego or sorting Pokemon cards, he sings to himself, usually something he's learned in choir. He likes Geronimo Stilton chapter books but still enjoys the occasional Tomie DePaola picture book.

He loves his mama and daddy and little sister, though he's pretty good at whining "Charrrrlotte!" when she frustrates him. He's sturdy and strong and has a good eye for hitting baseballs or throwing footballs. (But ice hockey's his passion.)

He has freckles and a ready smile. He's full of questions and ideas. Today he turns 7 years old. I love him as only a GrandMary can love. Happy Birthday, our beautiful boy!

Pillow Talk

Conversations with a child are always enlightening, whatever the time of day. But those that spring up in the middle of the night from the mind of a small child, one minute dead to the world in deep sleep and the next fully awake, can test the reasoning ability of most any adult, especially one not quite awake. Topics ranging from Victorian playhouses to the attributes of various trolls are expected to be seriously and knowledgably discussed.

Three-almost-four-year-old Charlotte spent the weekend with me since her brother and mama were down with flu. I'd taken Friday off from work, and the two of us spent a beautiful day at Atlanta Botanical Garden. Both of us were looking forard for what we might do on Saturday and discussed it throughout the day and evening. After such a busy day, my little charge fell asleep early out of happy exhaustion and anticipation of the next day's adventures.

About 1:30 the next morning, Charlotte woke with a start and the need to discuss plans for Saturday:

• Let's talk about what we're going to do tomorrow (or, "tomonnow," in Charlotte-speak).
• Can we talk about tomonnow?
• Can we go to the new playhouse? (She's only seen the 1930's playhouse at Atlanta History Center, not the lovely Victorian one on the other side of the Swan House.)
• What color is the new playhouse?
• Is the playhouse pink? (*yawn* No, I don't remember it being pink.)
• Is the playhouse purple? (*yawn*yawn* No I don't remember the playhouse being purple. I have a picture of it we can look at tomorrow morning.)
• Charlotte, it's almost 2 o'clock. Let's go back to sleep and talk about it tomorrow.
• OK. Is the playhouse blue? (stops abruptly and falls asleep)

Sometime in the night I felt a hot, dry little hand touch my face, and I realized that our pillow-talk-planned adventure for "tomonnow" would not happen, as our sweet girl would be down for the count with a fever. So instead of discovering a Victorian playhouse, the day was spent in feverish sleep. And, yet, even then our little girl would wake, ready to talk about her favorite subject: Trolls.

• Why does Guy Diamond shoot glitter out his butt? (This is the question most on her mind these days.)
• Which trolls do you like the best?
• What if we could shoot glitter out our butts?
• Do you like the Cloud? Can we high-five?
• Why does Guy Diamond shoot glitter out his butt?
• What if we cried glitter?
• How is glitter made? I think you have to stir it up, but it can't get too hot or it melts.
• Do you like Branch? Poppy? Creek? Satin and Chenille? (proceeds to name all the trolls).
• Why does Guy Diamond shoot glitter out his butt?

Off and on from Satrday 8:30am through Sunday 7:30am, questions and solutions poured out of her as she came in and out of sleep, Now, you could say it was the fever, but these conversations are the norm for Charlotte. The daytime musings I can handle, but the middle of the night pillow talk stretches this GrandMary's cognitive abilities.

If anyone knows why Guy Diamond shoots glitter out his butt, I'd appreciate the answer. Thanks.