THE READING CLASS IN THE BASEMENT

Reading has always been one of my favorite pass times.  As a child I would rather read than do my chores or even go outside and play with neighborhood children.  This got me in trouble at times and at others it was a key to opening doors that were closed to many.

I believe this love for reading  gave me opportunity to create the memory of the  "reading class in the basement."

                        THE READING CLASS IN THE BASEMENT

Belspring was in the poor end of the county and the school facilities gave evidence to that. The elementary school, grades one through seven were in a large brick building built in the 30s that was the high school at one time.  When I was in the sixth grade the county found money to add an addition that included classrooms for the first and second grades and inside restrooms.  This was a modern luxury that most of the students did not enjoy in their homes.  It certainly beat walking outside to the outhouses in the rain and snow.

The first and second grade classrooms had been in the basement for many years.  The rooms were damp in warm weather and boiling hot in the winter--the pipes from the furnace wove their way through the ceiling.  The kitchen and lunchroom were at the other end of the basement.  The open space in the middle was used for activities in bad weather and school functions in the evenings.  Cake walks were a popular fundraiser.

There was no library or media center.  As I mentioned in a previous story the school owned one 16 millimeter projector and one record player.  Other than the teachers' collections of books that was pretty much the extent of the media collection.  But contrary to the philosophy of learning today we did learn with meager resources--a teacher, a book, a student and a chalkboard.  There were students who found it difficult to progress at the same speed as the others. They required remedial classes but it was difficult for teachers to find the time back when life was even slower.

The principal and teachers in that school may have been ahead of their time.  They had taken the model of the one room school and modified it.  The fourth and fifth grades were divided and half of the fourth grade was put in the room with half of the fifth grade.  At first the students thought it a strange arrangement but as the school year progressed we realized it was  pretty good especially if you were in the lower grade.  We learned from others without even being aware of it.

When I was in the sixth grade I was given a reading group of second graders.  We met in the basement in the end of the cafeteria at 10:00 every morning.  The aromas of the lunch on that day wafted into our little corner of the room making it harder for us to keep our minds on reading.  I would guess that the majority of these children from a poor mining village had not eaten breakfast.

I listened and I encouraged.  I laughed with them.  I don't know how much help I gave them in learning to read.  I wonder where they are today and how well they have done in life.  I do know that the benefits I received as a shy, introverted preteen helped me to become a more confident and self-reliant teenager.  It is with great pride I recall my "reading class in the basement" when I was a sixth grader.

As a former teacher of children's literature, I encourage parents to read to their children, even before they are born.  Chances are great that you will have a child who loves words and reading.

Comments are encouraged.





            

Blue Waltz Perfume and Chocolate Covered Cherries

     Drawing names. If you attended public schools in the South in the 40s and 50s you know about this pre-Christmas activity. You may have some good memoires of this annual ritual and, again, you may have had nightmares.  This seemingly  innocuous practice was probably created by a kind adult who thought its premise would help the poorest child feel a part of the group during Christmas gift giving.
     I suppose they failed to check the prices ....Blue Waltz perfume was twenty-nine cents  and chocolate covered cherries were thirty-nine.... a great deal of money in those days. If you were a boy, there was no doubt what you would get.  With girls it was a toss up....but you prayed it would be the chocolate covered cherries. If you're wondering why I didn't say the perfume, then you have never smelled Blue Waltz .  When its aroma first hits your nostrils, you may think , "ah, that's different, I think I like it, or your eyes begin to water and you start sneezing.  For just 29 cents it packs a wallop, either way. I must say for thirty-nine cents the cherries were a pretty nice gift, if you like the gooey center that tended to run down your arm if you didn't stick the whole thing in your mouth.  My Mama said that was bad manners.   
     She was an expert on manners.  She never failed to remind us the no matter what we got for our "drawing names gift, we should smile and say, "thank you and Merry Christmas".    That was hard to do with a mouthful of cherries or a nose full of Blue Waltz!                                                                                                         

SURPRISES IN MEMOIR WRITING

As I've commented in past posts about teaching memoir writing, it is one of the best jobs I ever had.  Everyone has a story and they are in class for a purpose...usually to learn how to record these stories in a way to entice someone to read them.  Along with this creative way to write their stories, they want to know how to preserve them for future generations. My objective, as a teacher, is to steer them in the right direction by using some tried and true techniques....road signs, if you will. The majority want to take a truckload along to mold into their memoir. I encourage them to dump a great deal of the truck's load....lighten up and make their job easier. After a few exercises of reduce, reduce and reduce, the writer becomes aware of how few facts it takes to be molded into a riveting story with reader appeal.

There are often surprises in memoir writing...some come to the student writing from the deepest recesses of the brain...others to the teacher as she listens to these memories too long forgotten.There is one lesson we do on "Speaking the Truth."  In it we look at different authors and how they handled family stories of pain and negative feelings. We read excepts from Angela's Ashes, by Frank McCourt, his memoir about growing up in Limerick. He tells his story with such feeling the reader is drawn in to the extent that she feels the pangs of hunger, breathes in the putrid smells of poverty, cries in sorrow for the living and the dead, and waited for McCourt's condemnation of his parents. It doesn't come.  He tells the truth, as harsh as that might be, but he is never cruel. It would have been easy for him to slip into that blame game, but he did not.  He could have asked his mother why she needed to spend money for cigarettes when weak tea often served as a meal. He could have lost respect for his father when a week's wages were spent on alcohol. He was critical but not cruel.

Several of my students have been surprised at the memories of family slights and hurts brought to the surface by listening to other students read their assignments.  They have brought these stories into the bright light of day, written them on paper and read them to the class. We listened intently, fighting back the tears, in some cases. A change had taken place.  The writer was different.  Possibly, a great burden was lifted, a sense of forgiveness filled the void. We didn't ask but we knew, the writer was different.

Comments are encouraged.