Tuesday, May 09, 2017
Alberni Elementary - First Day of School
Joe(y) 's first day of school
Summer was the same as winter - except it was warmer. School was a far off inevitability, not something to waste time thinking about. Not when you could ride your bike, make a sling shot, play road hockey, build a fort….
Besides, how hard could grade one be? Nobody I knew was too concerned about it, I could read just fine, and besides, my older sister had already been to school and she seemed unaffected.
On a rare summer day in late August I was stuck indoors, dad was home, and the TV was working. Two big hat cowboys were fighting in a bar, swinging wildly to try and land a good one.
“That’s not how you punch somebody,” dad muttered. He had my attention. To not give dad your attention had its consequences anyway, but this was somehow different. I sensed a truth was about to be revealed.
“You don’t swing wildly like that; you get up really close, make your fist like a hammer, and bring it down hard on the nose. BAM. You only need about four inches.”
I filed it away for the future. A kid can never know when something as important as the hammer punch might come in handy.
Elementary school was a thousand miles from where we lived. It seemed to take forever to walk to school. But it was the end of the baby boom so the vast swarms of children funneling to the school made it pretty easy to find.
I expected to go straight to my classroom and start in on my school career. Nobody told me there was a delay where we waited outside for the teachers to let us in. Nobody told me about the milling around time. I shuffled from clump to clump identifying kids I knew, seeing who was there.
Before long one clump was attracting a lot of attention. Three older boys (“grade three’ers” whispered one of my friends) were teasing a boy (“a grade one’er”) for wearing two different coloured socks under his shorts. An older boy came to his defense and some pushing began.
I sensed what was about to happen before it did; the defending hero took a wild swing at the grade three bully and was met with a palm to the face that effectively knocked him over.
“That’s not how you punch somebody,” I told myself, crossed the four steps to the bully, lifted up my hammer fist about four inches over the nose, and BAM.
Dad was right. I did only need about four inches.
I didn’t expect the blood that came pouring out.
I didn’t expect the weird slow motion silence that followed.
I had no idea who was lifting me up off the ground and carrying me away.
“You sit here until the Principal comes to see you,” said a voice from above.
So I sat on a bench while school went about its business. Kids filed into classes, doors closed and the building hummed with an excitement I could only wonder about.
Eventually a door opened and a man I had never seen before stood over me. “Are you here to see me?” he asked.
I had never seen this man before. Why would I want to see him now?
“No,” I answered.
The man went back into his office. I went back to sitting.
Adults drifted past, some went into the office the man had come from.
“Did I not tell you to wait here for the Principal?” said a voice from above.
“Yes.” Seemed like an odd question.
“Then why did you lie to me when I asked you?” asked the man from the office.
Now I knew that when I went to school I would meet my teacher. I had no idea of the purpose or role of a "Principal". So I was not lying. But they didn’t see it that way.
“I dunno,” was about all I could muster.
“Then you will just sit there until I tell you to leave.”
The school continued to hum. I continued to sit.
Eventually the “Principal” told me to come into his office and sit down. He talked to me about hitting and fighting and being a good neighbour, or at least I assume he did. I remember nothing about what was said. He took me to my classroom (finally) and we arrived just as the bell rang for Recess. My teacher told me to go back out on the playground with the rest of the kids.
Within moments of setting foot back on the playground I heard other grade three’ers asking “Are you Joey?” (Our teacher always tried to tack on the “Y” at the end of our names. It was stupid. And it wasn’t fair. Dick – Dicky, Joe – Joey, but not Darren or Hannah. ) They found me pretty fast and I was pretty scared. “Come with us Joey,” said one of them, “we like how you stuck up for our cousin. We’re your protectors.”
I was kind of glad that I had worn long pants that day. Nobody could see I, too, was wearing two different coloured socks.
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