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Grade School

Miss Porter, my first-grade teacher was myopic, with round

 glasses worn in all her classes. She led us patiently through the

mysteries of counting, and in grade three the exotic,

but not hypnotic, journey through the times Tables

and Aesop’s Fables. In Grade four I was perplexed by remarks overheard

from an all-knowing Seventh Grader who called Miss Porter sexy. I

thought sexy was something adults did after dinner, like checkers.

On my way to ask Miss Porter if she liked checkers, I chanced to

Tell Janet Lynn where I was going.  She, much older than me,

Doubled my knowledge in a quick game of show and tell in the cloak

Room next to the water fountain. I knew a lot more, but didn’t know what

To do with it.  Reaching grade eight was a milestone.  By local lore I knew all I

needed to bore my way into the world of adulthood.  After graduation, I was

saddened to be the only one who migrated to High School!  All that budding

brilliance was left to languish as my friends turned away to brighten their

lights some other way, leaving the launching pad before takeoff.  Looking back,

those eight years had no peers in high school, college or University, so much

crammed into a young head and a yearning heart.



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