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| Stephen A. "Stevie" Rhodes, age 8 |
September 23, 2014
Dear Constant Readers,
As promised, today begins a new series of posts which I hope will form the first draft of a book. The working title for this book is, "Confessions of a Second Grade Failure." It is a coming-of-age memoir about growing up in Kingsport, Tennessee during the 1960s and early 1970s.
Today's installment is the prologue which sets up the story. I hope you enjoy it and will leave comments and feedback.
And don't forget - if you subscribe to receive my blog posts by email before October 15, you will automatically be registered in a contest to win a new Kindle reader from Amazon. For more details about the contest and how to subscribe,
please read this post.
Cheers,
Stephen
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Confessions of a Second Grade Failure
Prologue
It was the Tuesday following Labor Day, September 3, 1968 - the first day of a new school year. It was also Promotion Day, when tradition dictated pupils were elevated to the next grade in elementary school. The students of Mrs. Williams’ second grade class were all gathered in her classroom. Each was seated in his or her familiar desks from the previous year.
A little red-headed boy was in his old desk. Dressed in a blue and white striped knit shirt, crisp blue jeans and Keds sneakers - all newly bought the previous week by his mother at the J.C. Penny’s downtown on Broad Street. The boy’s hair was cut short, but with enough on top for a slight comb over. His burgundy faux-leather briefcase sat next to his desk near his feet. In it were his No. 2 lead pencils, extra eraser heads, a ruler, a blue cloth-covered three-ring binder, and 100 pages of lined paper which had been manufactured at the local Mead paper plant, not far from the school itself.
While his classmates around him talked to each other about how they spent their summer - where they
had gone on vacation and how excited they were about going to the third grade - the little boy sat quietly, lost in thought. Unlike his friends, the emotion that he felt at that moment was not excitement, but anxiety.
Here he was sitting with all his classmates as if nothing had changed. Maybe he had imagined it all. Maybe his sense of dread was needless. No one had said anything to him directly about what had happened at the end of the last year - especially not his teacher, Mrs. Williams. What if opinions had changed in the last three months, decisions altered? If his foretold fate was still happening, wouldn't someone have said something to him by now? But here he was in his old classroom with all his friends on Promotion Day, and everything seemed so normal.
Mrs. Williams stood beside her desk and called the class to order. She welcomed them all back to Andrew Jackson Elementary School for a new year. She talked about how grateful she felt to have had them as students the previous year. But a new school year was about saying goodbye to what was past and to ready oneself for a new beginning - a new grade.
When Mrs. Williams had concluded her remarks, she asked the class to stand, placing hands over our
hearts, reciting together “The Pledge of Allegiance” as they faced the flag near the door.
With that Mrs. Williams gave the class instructions on how they would proceed to their new class. The first row of students would gather their things and would form a single file line. The second row would follow them with each row following in turn. She told them that they must stay quiet while in line as they made their way through the halls of the school.
Silently, the students walked through the school’s red brick corridors. Their journey wasn't far. In a moment or two, Mrs. Williams stood at a open door. She knocked on the door frame and asked the teacher within if she was ready to receive her new students. With that, the expectant students began to file into their new classroom. One by one, they crossed the threshold, thus passing from the second grade into third.
The red-headed boy was last in line. His heart began to beat faster. Yes, maybe it had been a terrible mistake. He was in line, wasn’t he? And the line of students were all walking into a new classroom. Maybe he had worried himself needlessly. When it was his turn to walk into the class however, Mrs. Williams held out her hand as if she were a crossing guard motioning for traffic to come to a halt. The boy stopped. Mrs. Williams looked at him as kindly as she could. She then said, “Not you, Stevie. You are going to another class, remember?” The red-headed boy dropped his head slightly so that he wouldn't have to meet her eyes. He nodded obediently. His chin trembled slightly, but he held back the tears. Mrs. Williams then commanded him, “Follow me.” And so he did.
