Soapbox By Kay

I was so excited to start school. The half-day private kindergarten at the local Baptist church had given me an idea of how school worked, and I think helped me learn the Alphabet Song, if not the actual letters themselves. (This was a few years before Sesame Street – does anyone remember Romper Room?) Mom said she walked me to my first-grade classroom, gave me a kiss, and I was off through the doorway without even a glance back. I was going to learn to read!

I was an eager student, curious about everything, and by mid-year, I was reading at a third-grade level. Learning was fun. Being able to read to myself was amazing. Having playmates was wonderful. School was everything I’d hoped and imagined it could be – until the day I witnessed an act of violence and (likely) gore that changed my feelings about school forever. Well, at least a week, I’m sure.

A child in the adjacent first-grade class showed his teacher his loose tooth. I have no idea how I was able to see this, unless they were standing in the shared bathroom with the door open, but that teacher took a string, tied it around the boy’s tooth, and yanked that tooth right out of his head! I was horrified! One moment, all his teeth were in his mouth, and the next, a single tooth was dangling from a string in the teacher’s hand. I don’t remember if there was blood, but even if there had been, I could not have been more terrified.

As soon as Mama picked me up, I relayed the entire gruesome tale, I am sure in great detail, and insisted that she write a note to my teacher, telling her that no one had permission, ever, to pull any teeth out of my mouth. Armed the next day with a missive I likely couldn’t read, as it would have been in cursive and we were still just learning to print, I had full faith that my mother had written exactly what I’d asked her to. Handing the note off to my teacher, I once again felt safe at school. Mostly, anyway….