Time Passages

My Mom came to visit last week.  She brought along a friend.  For many years C and her husband were golfing buddies of my parents.  She was also my 3rd grade teacher.  I don't have a lot of memories of that particular school year except that:

 1. We were housed in the basement of the old Walmo school.  All of the 3rd grade classes were located in the basement.  I guess the powers that be thought that by the 3rd grade we should be coordinated enough to safely navigate the stairs.

2. I was madly in love with Ricky Reiber.  (I'm not certain what the attraction was but my devotion lasted until the 6th grade when Debbie Cotton stole him away.)

3. Hmm, I guess there isn't any 3.  I told you my memories of the 3rd grade were sparse.

Apparently C remembers it well.  She reminded me that I was a member of her first class, her very first teaching experience.  She came to the basement fresh out of college, idealistic and committed to educating us and molding our young minds before sending us on to the 4th grade.  Apparently we didn't do each other too much harm.  Most of my 3rd grade class did move on to the next level and she returned for another year, and another, and another.

During her visit she announced that it had been 50 years since that first one in the basement.  Fifty years since she took her first tentative steps as an educator.  Fifty years since I was in love with Ricky Reiber. Fifty years since I was an 8 year old.  FIFTY YEARS...no way.  It can't be.  I refuse to believe it.



I hope C enjoyed her visit because if she keeps up this kind of talk she's not getting an invitation to return.