THE LAST DAY

I wish it would all slow down.  My grandmother always said the older you get the faster it will go…she was right.  I was thinking about this on a quiet Sunday and my memory traveled to The Last Day…

The kid year is measured with waited for holidays, milestones in life and they are always waited for so long and over so quickly. Of course Christmas is always number one on any list followed by a birthday, Easter and the Fourth of July – but one that seems will never ever come is the last day of school – not a holiday but as near to one as a kid can get…

It was the last day.  179 days of arithmetic and spelling was under my belt and summer vacation had been calling me for months as I watched the trees turn from buds to a delicate yellow-green to the e dark leaves of today.  The big windows in my third grade room were all open and the sweet scent of freshly janitor mown grass wafted to my nose. 

Huh, what?  Miss Russell (all teachers were “miss” no matter at my age) had broken my reverie in the sun with a question?  But I didn’t hear the question and everyone was turned around looking at me in my far back, safe seat.  What did she ask?

She repeated it, “Day dreaming Cal?  I have been asking everyone what they wanted to do on their summer vacation?”

“Oh sorry, “I said sheepishly – caught me again, how does she always know when someone isn’t listening?  “I will play baseball every day,” I blurted out a bit too loudly.  The class laughed.

The clock over the door had slowed to glacier speed as it traversed it’s never ending journey around its face of roman numerals.  Would this last day ever end?

But next came a much feared part of the closing ritual.  Miss Russell announced it was time to turn in our books. Now most kids dread this because each tome is inspected for careless damage.  And we all knew if our book was cited for rough wear our parents would be charged a huge sum much larger than one’s standard allowance could pay for.

 

“Spelling books first,” Miss R. announced.  And we all got in a line for the inspection.  On inside of each book cover was a very official stamp that had a banner - Provided by The Millville Board of Education followed by a table for the student’s name, date issued and condition.   At the top the condition always read “new” and as one meandered down the list looking for siblings or pals who had suffered the text before you the condition illustrated the history of spelling in the third grade.  (Years later I would teach in the same school and to my great surprise one of the textbooks I issued had several stamps and I found my name – I had used this book and it still was in service.  Not many products have this last-a-bility today for sure.)

It was my turn and I started to sweat.

Please don’t find the ripped page.  (Now my book had been in use for at least two decades before me but a spelling book is used as little as possible during the year – usually the night before the weekly spelling test.)  I thought mine looked exactly as I received it even though I did use it as second base once for a quick pickup game of kickball after school.  Those A&P shopping bag covers were indestructible.

Miss Russell thumbed through the pages. She came to the ripped page.  Look up at me with a piercing glance, grabbed her Scotch Tape dispenser, repaired the page, mutter something and then wrote “fair” in the condition column.  “Next!” she exclaimed.

Saved, saved from certain extinction.

She wasn’t going to charge my mom for that lousy book that I hated THE whole year.  Alongside of the most hated arithmetic I hated spelling next.  And now it was checked in and over with. 

Warren, the teacher’s “brownie point champion” took each book and with great care placed them in the tomb of the book closet.  We repeated this ordeal for the rest of our books – math; the very heavy geography book; the grey forbidding history of America; the Palmer Method to Perfect Handwriting; lastly my favorite, Reading Wonders of the World.

And for all wants and purposes our education had just come to an end for a whole two and half months of fun, sun and staying up later on weeknights.  This was to a person, except for Mary Jane the math shark, a reason for jubilation.  M J on the other hand, who would have loved to go to school around the clock, seven days a week for life wished it to go on forever. (Which she almost achieved as she was to become a fresman algebra teacher, feared by most who enter the hallowed halls of the high school)

I was so tuned to the time ticking down I could hear the second hand swish all the way across the room.   This was a shortened day – we were going to be dismissed at 10:30 without our customary half hour morning recess.

The bell rang.  And the moment of truth came as all waited for moments eventually do.  The symbolic handing out of the final report card. 

For some this was just a formality as they had been on the honor roll every marking period; for a few an extreme worry that they would face the mortification of being “kept back” - doomed to repeat everything they should have done in the first place. 

As for me I knew I would pass – but I wanted to seal it with a good last marking period grades which equated to a bonus for my next allowance.  Perhaps even a new baseball glove if I really scored well.

Miss Russell called my name and ceremoniously handed me my passport to summer.  I rushed to my seat and pulled it out of the sleeve supplied by “The Millville Board of Education”.  Wow five 1’s (the best score in my day to later be mollified to the proverbial “A”) One 2 in “Handwriting” – my mother would accept that as she was well aware that I was left-handed and would never master the Palmer right handed bias “slant”.

Oh no! 

There was a comment on the back page in Miss Russell's beautiful script.  “Calvin is a good student but he tends to daydream a great deal, please urge him to pay more attention in the next grade - Promoted to the Fourth Grade”

Yikes this one sentence could nix my new glove and I would be doomed not only to use it all summer but I would hear from my mom every five minutes – “Day dreaming, huh?  You better start paying attention young man…your lessons are very important…are you listening to me?????  Calvin!

And then the second bell rang and my kid year ended.  In front of me was an endless summer of fly balls, wishes for homers and fun.  We rushed the door as each bade Miss R an over the shoulder final goodbye.

The “Last Day” had finally come…and in less than two weeks, to a kid each of us would be bored stiff, unable to think of anything to do and be yearning for the school to start all over again.