Recess, as had always been so during my schooling, was the best time of the day. In addition to a basketball hoop on a gravel lot, there were soccer games on the same gravel lot. But the best part was the horseshoe pits off to the south side of the playground. I was able to hone some skills here, and thought I was pretty good at pitchin' 'em. Of course, with no instruction, I learned the wrong technique, a habit I've never been able to break, so I still do it "wrong."
Fortunately for me, there was an outside exit next to my seat in the back of the room, an egress I utilized on occasion when the day got just too grueling. This was most likely to transpire on a Friday afternoon shortly after lunch. I mistakenly believed, could not disabuse myself of the notion in spite of outcomes to the contrary, that Miss Stetson would not recall on Monday morning that I was absent for a good chunk of the day on Friday. I paid a dear price on Monday for my Friday afternoon freedom. Oh, well. Live and learn. Or live, anyway.
Mr. Ogden was the caretaker of the buildings and grounds; and as well, he supervised kids at play on the playground. That is, he interfered whenever fun was about to break out. Or, he would catch me shooting baskets with my glasses on and send me inside, cancelling the rest of my recess. Well, shoot blind, you nitwit.
And we haven't even gotten to chapel services and prayer meetings.
2 comments:
The prayer meetings after we were bad (that included kneeling all day at the altar in the Sanctuary) are the most memorable times I had in that tiny private school. I got into the most trouble during my two years there when I tried to sneek a book written by the founder out of the buillding so Mom could read it and understand that, indeed, a cult was running that school. (Though I did not know to call it a cult then.) I felt vindicated when, many years later, I ran across the POF name in a book about cults.
Vee-- Interesting. I think the difference between our experiences there was that you took it seriously.
Post a Comment