My teacher is Mrs. Schoener. She's blond and kind of reminds me of Donna Reed. All adults seem old to us, but Mrs. Schoener is somewhere in between old and not so old looking. Mrs. Schoener will be tough on us like Mrs. Lamson in Second Grade, but she will temper that by having a better sense of humor. She's got a bit of Mrs. Lee tossed in, so I kind of like her. She's pretty, too. Not as pretty as Miss Pedrick from my Kindergarden days though. Nobody will ever be as pretty as Miss Pedrick.
We have to write more like adults this year, so it's mostly cursive; we hardly ever print. This year we use white lined paper all of the time; the crude yellow stuff of our early years is forgotten. I practice my handwriting. I try as hard as I can to match the examples in our lesson books. Handwriting has always been one of the low marks on my report cards, so I'm determined that this year will be different.
The boys in my class seem to be in on things that I'm not. I'm from the other side of town, so I don't grow up with most of them, and I'm left out of their secrets. I notice a lot of them giggle when we're reading and words like bird and Dick are read aloud. I don't get it. What's so funny about words like bird? It takes me a while to learn the penis connection.
I am naive. When I'm out on the playground during lunch period, Mrs. Stewart, the Vice Principal tells me my barn door is open. Barn door? I don't live on a farm, and if I did how would she know the barn door was open? When one of my classmates tells me my zipper is down, I figure it out for my self. I could be quite the pea brain at times.
This is the year I get tired of the same thing for lunch every day. I loved Lebanon baloney. Just loved the stuff. I had Mom make me Lebanon baloney sandwiches every day. Lebanon baloney on white bread with yellow mustard. I had been eating that stuff for lunch every day for about two years, and one day I realized I'd had it, I could never eat Lebanon baloney again. Not even if I was starving to death. It was a giant leap forward. Ham and cheese, peanut butter and jelly, even tuna fish would now be on the menu. I was weird about the tuna, though. I hated mayonnaise, so I had Mom make it with mustard. It was horrid, but I ate it anyway. My palate was not that of a gourmet.
Music appreciation would reach a new level this Fourth Grade year. We had a music teacher come in. Mr. Lotstein was his name. Mr. Lotstein would show us the scales and try to get us to understand notes and beats and rhythm. We beat drumsticks on blocks of wood and listened to classical music. He explained to us that the music to The Lone Ranger was part of The William Tell Overture, and we learned the sounds of an orchestra by listening to Peter and the Wolf.
Mr. Lotstein's biggest challenge for us all was the flutophone.
The flutophone was a plastic wind instrument that was kind of like a recorder. We all had to learn how to play it, and Mrs. Schoener had everyone learn the same solo piece. One by one we'd stand, awkward fingers on the plastic flute, trying to cover all the right holes. It was agony listening to the same song over and over, but it was much worse when it came your turn to play, and a blessed relief when it was over. At least when we all played a song together you could relax and enjoy it a little more. Twenty flutophones all at once-teachers had to have nerves of steel.Social studies would be more complex, and we'd learn about all of the countries of Central and South America. We'd know which countries grew chocolate and which ones mined tin. Colorful costumes and their revolutions against Spain. They all were democracies just like the United States and everyone was free just like us; or so we were told.
Mrs. Schoener had us make three dimensional maps of geographical formations. It was some sort of paste made of flour, salt and water, I think. It looked like soap. We made mountains and valleys, the odd isthmus and the occasional peninsula. Mine was a mountain rising up from a cove. We painted our projects with water colors; our classroom decorated with landmarks from around the globe.
I worked hard that first marking period, harder than I ever had before. It was tough and the lessons were difficult, and I had to be a musician on top of it all. I rose to the challenge, and lo and behold, when our report cards came out, I had done the impossible. Straight A's! I had achieved perfection for the very first time. I guess I wasn't so dumb after all. Maybe this Fourth Grade wouldn't be as hard as I first thought it would be.
I guess I'd learned to keep the barn door closed.
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