The Dark and the Light at Oxford School, Part Three

There's no question that I could be a little problem at times, at home and in school. One day back in kindergarten, I crawled into the play house during nap time and stayed there after Mrs. Jennings turned the lights back on. The rest of the class gathered in the usual circle and after five or ten minutes Mrs. Jennings boomed out, "Where's Roger?"

I popped out of the play house expecting a good laugh from everyone, but Mrs. Jennings was not pleased at all. I got as stern a talking to as she ever gave any child.

This mischievous spirit stayed with me into Mrs. Helman's class. Hell, it's still with me today, but I've learned to avoid irritating people. Not so in first grade.

That year, after a battery of tests that kept me in the classroom during recess, it was decided that I would walk down the hall to Mrs. Demery's second grade class each morning for my reading lessons. Fine with me. Snip, Snap, and Snur turned out to be a bit more challenging than Tom, Betty, Susan, and Flip. Anyway, one day after my reading lesson, feeling on top of the world, I walked down the hallway back to Mrs. Helman's class. Instead of simply walking in, I jumped through the door and yelled "Boo!"

The class seemed to enjoy it, but Mrs. Helman was not amused at all. I think this incident led directly to my earning my first "poor citizenship" mark on my first report card. Mrs. Helman put a check next to "Is Courteous," and that check meant that in her opinion I was definitely not.

The day came when Mrs. Helman, having enough of me, lost it. I was at the back of the room, at the table where all the "free reading" books were. I was allowed to be there, along with a couple of my classmates. I don't quite remember the details, but a boy and I exchanged words over who had picked up a book first. They were mild words, like "I had it first"..."no, I did," but for some reason, even though she was seated all the way up at the front of the room, Mrs. Helman heard them as "fighting."

"Roger, sit down," she barked.

"Why?" I asked.

"You were fighting!"

"I was not!"

She trotted to the back of the room.

"You were fighting!" she repeated.

"I was not," I defended.

Suddenly, she raised her hand and stung my face with a quick flick of her wrist. I can't remember if I cried, though it's likely. I'd been slapped before (I told you I could sometimes cause a little trouble at home), but never in front of a classroom full of kids.

Today it seems funny, because although I remember going home that day and telling my mom, she claims to have no memory of this. In fact, she's told me, "If I ever heard that a teacher had slapped you, I'd a been down to that school the next day!"

I tell this story to the students in my college classes. Even those who went to Catholic schools with mean nuns are amazed. Of course, most of them are years younger than me.

Next time: Mrs. Helman's "Two Little Pigs" song.