Memories of Flat Creek

In the morning as I awoke to the smells of bacon and apple turnovers lofting into my bedroom and I heard my stomach begin to growl in excitement. There was nothing like my mother’s cooking. My appetite was a healthy one, I couldn’t pass up her golden brown apple turnovers. She always picked the apples herself and put up the applesauce, then pulled down a jar for making the turnovers. Looking back on this I so applaud her for getting up early, making breakfast everything from scratch, homemade preserves and jellies just to run us out the door to catch the school bus, seemed common at our house, now I just wish I had her talent.


Running out the door, breathing your breath down the long driveway hearing my feet crunch on the graveled stone and my lunch box hit my knee was somewhat exciting. While waving his hand to the bus driver to stop was my older brother’s Steve’s job. As we met the big yellow bus the familiar sounds of the engine and the chatter of children already aboard was a bit scary. Jeff held my hand as we went up the steps and then I held on to the rail and told him I could do it myself. Steve went to the back of the bus with the older kids and Jake about the middle. I stayed in the front close by the driver and he was an older man with white hair and the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. He winked at me and that gave me a little comfort as we headed off for our destination. It was a bouncy ride to the school, hitting pot holes and my seat was very old and squeaky. The kids on the bus were loud and noisy and I noticed that this made the bus driver very tense. Whenever it got really bad, his shoulders would rise to his ears, then in his roughest voice he would say “you kids you make a preacher cuss.” Then he looked over at me again and just smiled and gave me one of his winks.


Over the bumps we traveled and before I knew it Flat Creek Elementary was before me. As the vast door opened up before me I felt my knee sock fall down around my ankle. My shoe now housed my white knee sock. With a quick jerk gave a pull and everything was in place, I was down the steps and off the bus. Jeff gave me a quick wave and up the front step he went. It was my second month of my 1st grade year and I had a teacher by the name of Mrs. Ray. She was memorable. Jet black hair that was always done in an updo of some sort. When she smiled it was noticed that she also had a gold tooth to the left of center and that should say a lot. She wore the brightest red lipstick I ever saw except for the magazine cover in the grocery store. Mrs. Ray had a raspy, deep voice, obliviously from years of smoking. I think she had a thing for black. She always wore black dresses, black shoes and that black hair of hers. Oh let’s not forget the red lipstick, I know I won’t forget it. I don’t remember much about first grade but I do remember Mrs. Ray. How could you forget her?


I had about twenty-five kids in my class and I sat close to the front. We each had our own wooden desk and in looking at it I could see the cravings of exactly who had been sitting here before and who liked who. It was smooth to touch and cool to feel. It almost felt too big for me but I scooted up and put one leg underneath me to feel taller. I had sandy brown hair shoulder length, and my green eyes matched the green sweater I was wearing that day. My mother had pulled two pieces of hair back and pinned it back with a bobby pin. The white turtleneck I had on felt good as I noticed the radiators clanging to come on as they hissed to produce their heat.


The pencil tray held a fat number two pencil and as I noticed everyone around me looking at them we knew what we were in store for. Writing our alphabet and numbers, getting our vanilla lined paper and listening to the gruff voice of Mrs. Ray was constantly our reminder of repetition and perfection makes for a brilliant student. Bearing down hard and licking my lips so much that I needed Chap Stick; I finally finished the task at hand. Maybe one of the last ones, but I did it, neat tidy, and without flaw. Didn’t go pass that dreaded bottom line once, so there, how do you like those apples Mrs. Ray? As I laughed to myself and had quite the sense of accomplishment, after two months of disapproving looks and erasing so hard that I tore a hole in my paper, I got a nod from the ole’ gal.  If I hadn't been so stubborn and determined in my life time, I don't think I would have accomplished near what I have.


Our playground was the finest recreation for anyone of us in our class, as it was, we didn’t have any of these things at our own houses. We had a mammoth size slide that wasn’t like any of the other Elementary schools around. Our swings soared so high in the sky that you felt like you were going to lose your stomach every time your feet left the ground. We had a nice grassy spot too where we could play tag and red rover, red rover. Some girls liked to bring their dolls to school, but I liked to run and play at recess. I was used to that, I had brothers and was accustom to playing any kind of sport. Frilly things were nice and all, but I did like to have fun and stay where the action was. Getting scraped knees and banged up elbows were a common occurrence for me. Band-aids were forever kept in our house without question. If not for me, you could also count on my brothers. Our ball field was awesome. It was down from the school a little and it was huge. There was the ball field of course, and there were woods to play in, and grassy fields to run and play chase. As the years went by, we each grew up, it wasn't long before we were sixth grader and on the top floor of our Elementary School.  We were big time.  We liked boys, had crushes, wrote love letters back and forth, pretty hot for sixth graders.  Hot until the teacher found one and read it out loud it front of everyone.  Then you seemed to slink under the school.  Bury you head as far under your desk as it would possibly go.  How could she, hadn't she know how it felt to be this age and to be IN LOVE. Puppy love.  Which brings me to my next phrase.  
As I was talking with one of my friends from grade school, she and I remembered how we girls would our favorite movie star like Davy Jones, David Cassidy, Donnie Osmond or Bobby Sherman to have during our playtime as our pretend boyfriend and we were ever so happy. These were the days of May Pole dances and lunch boxes with your favorite T.V show on it. Sleepovers and popcorn fights. We had posters on our wall, were dancing to Dick Clark’s, American Bandstand on Saturday’s it was a must. It was the only place you could see the current dance moves and your mother not turn the T.V. off midstream. Except if Janis Joplin or someone was on that didn’t shave under their armpits, then they had to go. The day of the forty five records and playing it until there wasn’t any grooves left on the darn thing are over, sad to say. The glory days of dancing the pony and doing the jerk instead of dating one have are upon us. The memories of school pictures, freckled face smiles are what we have and what bring joy to our hearts.  The good ole' days, and sneakin off down through the woods to the little store to get a coke and some candy during recess when we got older is what I remember and hurrying back before Mr. Price would know the difference.  We were good kids with good hearts, and just trying to grow up in the best way we knew how.  Imagine that.  We did have fun, didn't we?!