A Child At Home

At the end of the 2nd grade school year, the entire class marches to the room where they will be for 3rd grade. This reduces the problems on the first day of school for the next year, in theory. This year, there are too many students for the class and students have to sit on the window sill and stand along the wall. The teacher has a reputation for being tough. To pass the time, she is rattling off math equations and wants students to yell out the answer; it goes like this: what is 3 plus 7 divided by 2 times 3 plus 3 divided by 3 minus 4. Immediately some kid raises a hand and yells 2! I'm wondering where my seat is and if I can have a piece of paper. Mercifully, the final bell sounds for the day and for the year; we all scatter, yelling and hooting.

On the first day of 3rd grade, I returned to the classroom with great trepidation; wondering how this year would be, if the teacher passes the time with complex math problems. It is a wonder that I did not suffer from math anxiety for the rest of my life. Much to my relief, I was informed that I was not in her class, that I had been transferred to another class; however, the teacher did not know where my new classroom was, so she sent me to the principal.

I only got within 15 feet of the principal when he yelled, "Room 4". I knew that Room 4 was my 2nd grade room and tried to tell him; he wouldn't listen; he just repeated "Room 4". I shrugged my shoulders and headed to Room 4. When I got there, I confirmed that I was correct. Faced with the problem of having nowhere to go and no one to ask for advice, I did the only logical thing: I walked outside, grabbed my sister's bike and rode home.

I was a little nervous about this and fell off my bike on a busy street. I survived and made it home. Not knowing what else to do, I opened a Coke and watched TV. This is where my brother and Joe the janitor found me an hour later. I was carted back to school and directed to my new classroom; I received a warm welcome when I arrived.