CULTURE SHOCK AND THE 4TH GRADE

Many years ago, right after Washington crossed the Delaware, I was promoted into 4^th grade. The third grade teacher, Mrs. Walsh was nearing a breakdown and had already given it to me. We were oil and water as a mixture: of course I was the oil because I was on the bottom.

Mrs. Walsh was a bit of a crank and prior to becoming a teacher in Our Lady of Lourdes, ran a Stalag in Germany right up until the Allies arrived. Her resume was impeccable and so she was more than qualified to teach and discipline me. Although I was quite saintly in the 3^rd grade, there were times when I needed to shall we say, shake things up. In my defense, she was an overbearing witch with a nervous habit of using her ruler for more than measuring. If she caught you talking in class, she would suddenly appear at your desk. After your finishing the conversation and as you turned around, eyeballs to her waist, you automatically stuck out you hands flat so she could come down on them with the full force of a jackhammer, and life would go on. Somewhere between committing my transgression and accepting my penalty, something was horribly wrong! My hands were palms down, not up, where the pain was less shocking! As she went into her best Whitey Ford windup with the ruler, I decided to pull my hands away, just in time to feel the breeze of the ruler as it swiftly past. Boy, did she look stupid! She also looked infuriated and hell bent on revenge. I stuck my hands out once more, and in her rush to administer the revengeful reprimand in the form of a full force slam… strike two, completely missing me this time without my moving. I sat there now with my eyes closed and ready to pee, when she connected for a home run, and if she had bases to run, would have done a slow home run trot.

An everyday occurrence for some poor kid in third grade, feeling the retribution was accepted, you didn’t dare go home and complain about it, because Mom, was fully updated with her wooden spoon, where you got the rest! There is a lot of ‘rest’ I am owed by Mom, but she doesn’t know it, she still thinks she is all caught up!

But then one early summer, the nightmare was over! I was promoted to 4^th grade, and the teacher was the saintly Mrs. Bauman, a sweet, sincere and loving woman who loved to teach, treated children like they should be treated and her reward? She never disciplined anyone, because she didn’t have to. I was in shock.

Mom noticed the change in me almost immediately that September, wondering why I was even doing my homework. I was getting up for school without her calling me and I left on time, everyday. She was ready to take up smoking because of my suspicious behavior.

Mrs. Bauman was a modest lady, plain in her dress and manner, simple with old-fashioned kindness, and she had my number! She wore this purple blouse, with a cameo to button her top button, and long pleated skirts with black sensible shoes, no makeup and although there were no pin ups of her on my walls, I loved her, she was the model of human kindness, and a great teacher.

Wherever you are Mrs. Bauman, I still love you!