The Long Haul

Fourth Grade goes on and on. I work harder than ever; endless hours spent sitting at the kitchen table doing my homework under the single fluorescent light bulb, my eyes burning in their sockets. We’re treated more and more like adults by Mrs. Schoener, and she’s tougher on us than Mrs. Lee. I’m gonna end the year with good grades: straight A's in Reading, Spelling, Handwriting, Social Studies and Science. I get B's in English and Arithmetic. English gets rough in the Fourth Grade. We spend hours and hours diagramming sentences. It’s not enough that we can spell and know the definitions; no we have to take a sentence apart and identify everything in it. Subject, predicate, verb, adjectives and adverbs and diagonal lines pointing them out. How do we get through it all?
Arithmetic has never been one of my strong points. Sometimes I just stare at the numbers, unable to make sense of any of it. Long division, multiplication and fractions, and there are moments when I feel totally lost, my brain unable to function.
I’m one of the smart kids, but I don’t feel like I am. Maybe it’s my imagination, but kids like Joyce Hoefers and Sheila McLaughlin and Ann Trocolli seem to breeze through the year without any stress at all.
I begin to notice the leaders of our class. The boys take their cue from Don Vanneman, and there is no doubt that Joyce Hoefers is in command on the girls’ side of things.
Some of us are developing musical talents. Jimmy Matsuk plays classical guitar, Sheila can tickle the accordion, and Greg Jones plays the trumpet,I think. I consider learning to play an instrument, but whenever Mr. Lotstein tries teaching us musical notes, I don’t get it, and besides, I’d rather be outside running and playing instead of practicing music for hours indoors.
My best friend in Fourth Grade is Paul LaPann. We love toy soldiers and talking about the Civil War. We organize the war games with the other boys, and we fight all of the famous battles with toy guns and dirt bombs.
Paul’s mother has his birthday party at the Woodbury Lanes bowling alley on Route 45, and I find a new passion. I will spend many hours on the weekends with my friend Keith Madden and others at the bowling alley in later years. I’ll sleep over at Paul’s house and at Robbie McWilliams’ house as well.
I get a merit award for a drawing of a volcano for the school science fair, and I think this is the year our Cub Scout program comes to an end.
They don’t take individual photos of us this year. They take class pictures and put them in a sort of year book with a glossy cover. For whatever reason, my mother doesn’t buy it; I think because the pictures aren’t very good or something, so I have no picture of me and my classmates; Fourth Grade just images in my mind.
We may not be saying the Lord’s Prayer next year, there’s talk in the news that it may be unconstitutional, so we won’t have to pray anymore. A new high school might be built because the baby boom is in full swing, and Woodbury High won’t be able to handle all the kids coming along.
We’re growing up, Paul and Tommy and Nancy and the rest. Some of us are playing baseball, joining Girl Scouts and displaying musical talents. We’ve had a tough year and we can’t wait for summer and a chance to cut loose.
I can’t wait to go swimming at the lake and to ride my bike and play army all day with Paul and all the others. I don’t know if I’ll have a sister or a brother; I’ve got to wait until July or August, and I wonder how we’re going to find the room for another person in our house. I’ll imagine what going to the world’s fair would be like, and I can’t wait to stay up and watch Tarzan movies on the Late Show.
Come on summer.
Boy do I need a vacation.