NO DARK SARCASM IN THE CLASSROOM

I discovered what my lot on life would be at the tender age of 6. I was in first grade and lucky to have made it that far. My parents didn't fill my crib with toys. Instead, they put a bookshelf within my reach and filled it with all the Golden books they could find: Three Little Kittens, The Pokey Little Puppy, The Little Red Hen, The Golden Book of Fairy Tales – these were my toys. These were my friends. It wasn't until I learned to turn the books right side up that I realized that the kittens and Pokey weren't going through life standing on their heads. Quite a revelation for a 3 year old. By the time I was 4, I was reading, to some degree. I remember my grandfather holding up the New York Times and showing me off to his friends by having me read it. They weren't always thrilled with the news content but, took into consideration that it was coming out of the mouth of a 4 year old, not John Cameron Swayze. This wasn't the Camel News Caravan – it was Louis Brettschneider showing off the fact that his grandkid could pick out a few words on a printed page. I couldn't wait until September so I could start school. I had just turned 5 and the excitement of kindergarten was being programmed into my every fiber. “You'll love it,” they would tell me. “You'll learn exciting new things and meet new friends and have a lot of fun,” they would drum into me at every opportune moment. And, I was thrilled. I wanted to enjoy this world of wonder that I knew only from my parents' description. They had built it up and I was ready to venture out. I could hardly sleep the night before my new chapter. I was going to school. Finally, the big day came. I could barely contain myself when we got out of the car and my mom took me in to meet my teachers, Mrs. Donaldson and Miss Smith, which was obviously not her real name. She apparently could tell, early on, what was going to become of a few of us and wanted to avoid any blame. The classroom was filled with toys and blocks and finger paint stations and cubbies stuffed with small rugs that we used for our mid-day naps. There were kids everywhere. A few I had known from my block and others who would become lifelong friends. I had a ball. Kindergarten was only a half day, so I was home by noon and had thoroughly enjoyed my time in the “trenches” of lower education. School had been fun. Just like everyone said. The next morning, my mom came rushing into my room and shook me out of a deep sleep. “C'mon, let's go....it's time to get up,” she was screaming. “For what?” I asked. “It's time for school, let's go,” “But, I went yesterday,” I reasoned as I tried to turn over and go back to sleep. After finally convincing me that going to school was not like going to the zoo, it was something I had to do on a daily basis, I got up and went. Kindergarten was fun but we weren't doing anything but finger painting and napping. It lost it's luster after a few days. Now I couldn't wait until first grade, where I could finally put my reading prowess to good use. First grade, where I would learn that numbers would never be my friend and that if I wanted to know what 2 + 2 equaled, I would have to wait until someone invented a calculator. The time for what I considered to be “real” school finally came and I mustered up as much excitement as I possibly could as I headed back to Bowers school with the new friends I had made in kindergarten. We were about to embark on the next learning adventure in our young lives. There were no more toys, no more small nap rugs in our cubbies, no more cubbies. We each had a little desk, which a short, educational film called “Duck and Cover” directed us to get under in case of an atom bomb attack. The fact that we believed it would sufficiently shelter us from the bomb was enough to show how incredibly much we still had to learn. The desks were made of metal and wood and had inkwells in the upper right hand corner. They also had an opening for storage underneath the desk top. I don't remember what was stored in there other than lots of material for spitballs. On one particular day, midway through the first grade, I was clowning with some friends as I often did but this time I had apparently irked the teacher. She was busy with the task at hand – showing us the order of the letters that would magically spell “cat” when arranged properly. “Bobby B.,” she yelled, still not having the confidence to try and pronounce Brettschneider, “if you're going to act like a baby then you belong with the babies. Pick up your things and go back to the kindergarten.” I was embarrassed and walked, slowly, with my head hanging, down the hall to Mrs. Donaldson and Miss Smiths room full of finger paints and five year olds. As I opened the door, I noticed that there were grownups everywhere. It was a special parent day and everyone was eating cake and ice cream. As I picked up a plate and filled it with pure deliciousness, I realized that I had just learned the most important lesson of my entire school career to that point and beyond – comedy pays!