In ‘the North’ summer was very neatly sandwiched between Memorial Day and Labor Day. School started after Labor Day and Labor Day marked the close of summer. Distinctions were clear. Right. Wrong. Summer. Seasons. Marriage. Similar to cataracts, boundaries are now hazy. How did the fuzzy get into everything? The progressive decades from childhood to seniorhood are accompanied by a boundary blur. When I lived in Florida it was hot way into the month of December, so it was hard to maintain the tradition of Labor Day bringing summer to a close.
Once upon a time, children were sent to school and parents gave little additional thought to educationing them. School was where children went for six hours a day, ten months of the year. We have come a long way. Many of my friends home schooled their children in order to avoid a curriculum they did not agree with and to keep them from negative influences. That’s a big step. A huge commitment. When people complained during Covid about having their children at home, I needed to balance that with the reality of many parents keeping their children at home to ‘home school’ them.
I liked it when the school day was neatly positioned from 9 to 3. Not 7:30 to something or 8:50 to something. I am told that the bus schedule has determined the hours, but good grief, get more buses. How would I rank my school experience? School was okay. I didn’t think much about it - school was a fact of life. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and school. Who questioned it? It is true that I had to be dragged into my first-grade classroom, but by the time I was in high school, I walked in on my own.
When I went to high school there were no drugs on or off of campus but there was a lot of drinking. This is not too surprising since my close friends all had parents who fit the description of ‘functioning alcoholic.' Seniors thought nothing of packing the bars on Friday night or being at a party with plenty of beer.
Drinking was not the only social activity. There were a lot of country clubs and country club dances, especially in the summer. Of course, I fit right in because I had gone to Miss Reid’s Dancing School at the age of twelve. At Miss Reid’s the girls wore white gloves and the boys politely asked us if we would like to dance. Miss Reid stood on a stage while we did the Virginia Reel on the dance floor below. She was tall, thin, 60ish, with dyed red hair and she only wore purple. At the end of each class, Miss Reid would stand at the door and one at a time we would respectfully shake her hand and say, “Thank you.” At one departure, she told me to “not be so cute.” I wasn’t sure what I had done, but weren’t my parents paying her? Ahh the pen is mightier than the sword. Now, sixty years later I can bring her to task over the offense. The fact that she has been dead for decades won’t stop me. I will finally speak up. (Timidity is an issue I am always working on). Offend me and I’ll put you in your place – in about twenty years or while I am alone and driving.
During Covid no one knew what they were doing about school. Would I have sent my children? “No.” Do I think we should have kept the schools open? “Yes.” Wait a minute.
How can I answer “No” and “Yes” at the same time? Why not? An election year is coming up. I'll fit right in.
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