There so many things we get to do as we grow up and then old. Some memories make a dent in my brain and then have to be expressed. Here:
*In first grade, my teacher kept me after school until it was dark because I refused, and I mean refused
to draw a turkey with its tail feathers up and all different colors. I
drew turkey after turkey, each time with its tail feathers down. I
kept telling her that 1) only male turkeys raised their tail feathers,
and 2) they were speckled brown. Seeing wild turkeys most of my six
years, I knew this to be the truth. She finally gave up.
*I once said “Son of a bitch” to my sixth grade teacher. A boy dared me to say it. You see, I really
didn’t know it was swearing. My brothers, father, and grandfather said
that phrase several times a day. I didn’t get in trouble, but it was a
close call. She asked what-did-you-say? I thought quickly, responded "some of it itches".
*My
brother Robert could persuade me to do almost anything. Once he talked
me into cleaning a catfish he had caught. I had cleaned other fish,
but they had scales. The catfish had to be skinned. I did it, but
never again.
*In sixth grade (obviously a big year) a kind neighbor discovered that I
loved art. She painted in oil, producing lovely stuff. One day she
showed up at our farm house with all sorts of almost empty tubes of oil
paint, a variety of brushes, and a “How to Paint” book by John/Jon
Gnagy. Her kindness set my love for art on fire. I will never forget
her.
*When
I was a young mother with three children, my husband’s family owned
real estate company purchased a hotel in Ireland. We sold everything we
owned, packed up the rest into a crate the side of a small garden shed,
and moved to County Cork. For three + years, we owned and operated the
property along with my brother-in-law, Patrick. Oh, the stories I
could tell on that.
*When
we returned to California from Ireland, I started/re-started teaching
at the age of 37. Everyone assumed I was very experienced and a ‘master
teacher’. It was the steepest and most exciting learning curve I have
ever had to do. I loved it.
It pays to be a woman who can become a sassy and strong lady. The stories go on.
Yeah, sixth grade sounds like an exciting year.
ReplyDeleteIt was quite a year. Boys were stupid and made unwise decisions. Girls were smarter and cared for what would happen. I guess that is still the same.
DeleteSassy and strong and a survivor. Those adjectives describe you perfectly, Susan! Thank you for inspiring all your sisters in Blogland to use God's gifts to the fullest, just as your lived life demonstrates. Blessings!
ReplyDeleteI like to think I am still sassy, just not bold enough as I was.
DeleteYou’ve lived many wonderful adventures.
ReplyDeleteWe each have many adventures in our lives.
DeleteKept after school until dark?? My parents would have had a fit and been down there a half hour after school let out for the day. That teacher would have faced consequences as well as my mother's wrath!
ReplyDeleteIt was a school in our small town. There were about 50 students in the school. . Mrs. Franklin was a long time teacher who was a brutal woman. Mean. My folks didn't worry much since I was at school two blocks away and afterrall I was with the teacher?
DeleteI enjoyed your memories and agree that you are a sassy woman and strong. I believe that all teachers are strong. that is a job I could not do. 7th grade was my mean and brutal teacher, a man, a pastor of a church and he used to paddle with a wide fan belt off of a machine.
ReplyDeleteA fan belt off a machine? what a monster. I wonder if justice or karma ever caught up with him?
DeleteMy mother perfected her drawing skills by watching Jon Nagy om TV. She even splurged to get his eraser. It had the same feel as bubble gum. Nagy said the more you used it the blacker it would get. The blacker it was the better it worked. I still don't understand why it didn't smudge.
ReplyDeletethe artist eraser is not the same as the usual eraser, the ones used in correcting math problems. His eraser is more a kneaded eraser, softer and can be used over and over. The older it gets, the better the art.
DeleteHa! I love this post. If sassy means putting up with less crap these days, then yep! I am there.
ReplyDelete