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Grade 4 Memories |
| Written by John Wells | |
| Thursday, 13 March 2008 | |
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Share it:      Grade 4 Memories The years were l965 and l966. I began the school year at eight years of age. Of the two grade four classes in our school, I was placed in the smarter students class. My teacher was Mr. Schallit. Mr. Schallit was hip. He was approximately thirty four years old. He played the guitar, liked to flirt with the more mature girls in the class, and had even taught English as a second language in Japan. He cared about all of his students, and wanted every one to succeed. He would often spend much time with a student individually helping that student to master the lesson at hand. When I was immature, Mr. Schallit would discipline me. Here is an example: It was maybe late October, and at lunch hour recess, I was at the back of the playground playing with my friends. I had to go to the bathroom. If I left my friends and went to the washroom, the lunch hour would be finished by the time I returned. And the fun we were having would end. Someone suggested that I take a leak just behind a bush. No one would see me, and I could return quickly to have time for more fun. Other students had done this successfully at other times. It was a common practice. I decided to relieve myself among my peers to stay in the game we were playing. Upon our return to the classroom, a girl in the class had seen me urinate in the bush, and she informed the teacher. Just as all the students were gathering in to the class, Mr. Schallit asked me in front of everyone if I had indeed gone pee pee outside. I confessed this was true. Another student tried to come to my rescue by denying my actions, but it was too late. Mr. Schallit gave me a new rule to obey. He said that I could no longer go out on the playground. I could go outside at recess, but I must stay at all times on the blacktop and cement pavements. About the only thing I could do was walk around and talk with other students who were not playing. The paved area was a place where students lined up at the end of recess to go back into class. It did have a hop scotch and skipping rope area, but that was about it. During the first few days of my restriction, my playmates would come and spend a little time with me, but after awhile, they went on with the rest of the group to play elsewhere, the places where I once played. It was hard to watch them having so much fun when I could not be a part of it. This discipline went on for months, and I believed that this was the way it was going to be for the rest of the year. I accepted it. Then one afternoon in perhaps February, I was watching a girl in our class on the swing. I was trying to keep up a conversation with her, but it was difficult. This may have been the same girl who 'squealed' on me. I liked this girl and wanted to spend more time with her. Out of the blue she said, "why don't you just ask the teacher, John, if he will let you go on the swings with me." It was a Friday afternoon and the teacher was in attendance at recess, and I decided to ask him. And he said it was ok. And to my greater amazement, he said it would now be alright to play anywhere on the school grounds. I had free reign of the playground as before. All restrictions were lifted. Immediately, I did go and spend time on the swings with her. It had been such a long time. I felt very free and was most conscious of the thrill again of swinging on the swings and getting the high of the height. I never relieved myself on the outskirts of the playing field anymore, and truthfully, I never enjoyed playing with my classmates as much as I once did. Something had changed. My teacher knew me, I mean, he really knew I could be a more accomplished pupil. I could not hide behind my childish games anymore with him. He saw greatness within me, and I had no choice but to bring this out. He was expecting this from me. There was a big assignment we had to complete at the end of the school year. I began working on it in early March. I would spend every Sunday morning making the outline followed by summarizing what I had read. I grew to derive pleasure from the experience of researching my topic and putting my discoveries down on paper. I finished my assignment handing it in to the teacher in late May. About one week later, the teacher had finished marking all of the papers. I was delightfully surprised to find that I received four A minuses for my project. I was generally a C to B minus student. My grades had really improved. But there was one thing that confused my teacher. He could not believe I myself had printed the title page of my project. My handwriting was always below the satisfactory level. Once again, he asked me straight in front of the class if this was truly my handwriting. I lied and said it was, even though it was my mother who traced in the letters first. The teacher was still unsure, so he asked me to duplicate the title page on a piece of foldscap from my desk in front of all the students. My confidence was so high. I was absolutely certain I could pull this off. I was now among the A students. And I did it. The teacher even had pupils watch as I formed every letter. Along the way many of them said it was my handwriting. The teacher brought that skill out of me right there on the spot. I had never before concentrated so fully on the skill of handwriting. I was thrilled at my very own freshly discovered accomplishments. Copyright 2008 John Wells |
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