NEW GIRL AT SCHOOL part 1

 The sky held no dark, foreboding clouds on that crisp spring day in March of 1955 when my family moved from our urban, third floor, two-bedroom apartment across town into the spacious, suburban, two story, three-bedroom-two-bath, dream house that made Dad’s spirit soar.  And as my sense of adventure had eagerly held hands with Dad’s—which was so palpably transparent as to have been contagious—my future seemed too secure to fret over friends left behind.

Upon reflection, I can still feel the surge of positive energy buoying my spirit’s sense of positive focus on this first day at our new school when Mom, hugging my little sister, Lauren and me goodbye, left her precious offspring with the principal, who, having welcomed each of us amiably, led both of us from his office into each of our classrooms.

I imagine myself hugging Lauren, who will have been clinging to me in hopes of extending our hug for several seconds before she bravely follows the voice of authority into her first grade classroom.  However, my imagination bows gracefully to memory as I recall my new teacher, Miss Stone, smiling kindly while introducing me to her fifth grade class.

Without so much as a worry as to what fate might write upon the next chapter of my life, I can clearly see a socially secure, self confident smile on my face while I walk down the aisle toward the desk to which I’d been assigned, and without a care in the world, I slide onto its seat and busy myself with getting settled in readiness for my new adventure to get underway.

Once my new text books, three ringed notebook, crayons, tempera paints, scissors, paste, ruler and pencil case have been neatly stored inside my desk, my eyes sweep the classroom until I spy an uncommonly pretty girl.  Then as my gaze lands upon two blue eyed, blond, ten year old—guys, whose desks are side by side, my instinct to check out the rest of the kids in the classroom dissipates as I sense that that which has been sought has been found. (As to why most of my new classmates are only ten while I’ve already turned eleven?  Patience, my friends.  Detailing memorable facts while writing non-fiction takes time.)

Annie