Goodbye Mrs. Lamson, I Hardly Knew Ye

The Mayfair had come and gone. June was here and with it the joy of summer vacation. My strongest memories of Second Grade are getting my tonsils out, Mrs. Lamson's clown-like visage, and feeding silkworms.
I had my tonsils out sometime in the fall, in Camden at Cooper Hospital. I remember my mother sleeping by my side all night in a chair beside my bed. It was just like Bill Cosby said; they promised me ice cream, mounds and mounds of ice cream, but all I got was apricot juice. Thick, slimy, sickly sweet apricot juice. It would help to coat my throat the nurses would say. It just made me want to gag. I didn't get ice cream until I got home, and I can't stand the sight of apricot juice to this day.
I will always remember Mrs. Lamson as a heavily made up clown straight out of a Stephen King novel. Too much rouge, too much lipstick, and a frightening smile made of rows of gigantic teeth. The short black hair didn't help much either. All of us boys in the class felt that Mrs. Lamson liked the girls better than us, too. She did not write a single comment on my report card, not for either marking period, so I will never know what she thought of me or my achievements. Five A's and three B's ought to merit something. She must have liked teaching in Woodbury Heights, because my brother would have her for the Second Grade four years later. Once again there would be silence on Mrs. Lamson's part. Not a single word in my brother's report card, and his grades were atrocious! Who were you, Mrs. Lamson?
We had a class project in Second Grade. Mrs. Lamson decided we would raise silkworms. Why I don't know. Something about the cycle of life, I guess. Paul LaPann and I were chosen to feed the worms every day. Silkworms exist on mulberry trees, and there were two of them on the front lawn of the school. Every day after the pledge and the prayer, Paul and I would go out and collect mulberry leaves, shred them and sprinkle them into the fish tank containing the silkworms. They eventually formed cocoons, but I think they died inside and never became moths. I've come to find out that this is still a very popular project in grade schools today. May all your silkworms hatch into moths.
Mrs. Lamson taught us well, but without humor, without soul.
After a year of her we were all ready for the lake, and Fourth of July, and just plain fun, and live in the hope that Third Grade would be with Mrs. Lee.
No more pencils,
No more books.
No more Lamson's
Dirty looks.