Okay, I got the first year of real school out of the way. It was time to start second grade. The first day of school, I walked past my first grade classroom. There was a line of kids waiting to go inside. In that line, I saw someone who was in my first grade class the year before. He had been left back. He looked at me and rolled his eyes. I could tell he didn't want to do the first grade all over again.
When I was in the first grade, one of the first things they taught us was math. We learned stuff like 1+1=2, 1+2=3 and so on. On the first day of second grade, we learned 1+1=2, 1+2=3. What? We learned this last year! Why aren't we learning something new? My father said it's because too many students forget too much stuff during the summer and a review is in order for the first few days of the school year. Well, if that's the case, why did that one guy have to do the first grade all over? Why isn't there some sort of test we can take for those of us who remember everything we learned so we can go on to the next grade?
So, aside from that, second grade was fairly uneventful. It was almost the same as first grade, but we had to stay in class an extra half-hour. I'm just going to move on to third grade.
In third grade, we finally got to do some more advanced stuff. For starters, we learned cursive writing. I will tell you that my cursive writing is absolutely terrible. I always got bad marks because of my handwriting. The teacher kept screaming at me to make the letters like they do in the book. When I got older, I heard it explained that the smarter you are, the worse your handwriting is because your hand is trying really hard to keep up with your brain in writing down your thoughts. This actually made sense as I noticed those who appeared to be the D and F students had the most beautiful handwriting. They seemed to have time to write their words with care. Teachers have to have seen the phenomenon all the time, so I'm surprised that my teacher hollered at me so much about it.
I also want to discuss something that started in third grade and plagued every student in Artesia for this and the next three years. This was the year we learned how to do multiplication and division. While there would be issues with that by itself, the big problem was the new textbooks we received. One thing you need to know is that the State of New Mexico's education program has a special fund that can only be used for getting new textbooks every four years. I would always watch TV sitcoms in which the younger characters would always complain about how their textbooks were 20 or more years old. That bewildered me. We got new textbooks on a regular basis, so I couldn't identify with that.
When I was in first and second grades, our math books were designed to give the main lesson on a few pages and then we would do the problems written in the book, tear those pages out and give them to the teacher. I know that there were similar books for the third and fourth grades because I had seen them. But when I got to the third grade, we got these thick books that were published by Harcourt Brace and Holt. These did not have pages that you could tear out. Now, the books included the lessons on a few pages, followed by a page with problems on it. We were supposed to copy the problems onto a piece of paper and solve them. That wasn't the problem. The issue was that the font size was very small and included all the problems in as many as 10 or more columns and rows. The teachers would assign the entire class to complete one page of the problems without realizing they had just assigned 100 problems or more. (And these are supposed to be math teachers). Now, I'm smart, and it would take me about 15 seconds to solve each problem. That means I could do it all in about a half hour. Now, imagine that it takes a below average student at least a minute to solve each problem. Add to that that they were required to re-write the problem from the book, which we didn't have to do before. They would be working on that single page for almost two hours or more. It's no wonder a lot of students could not stand math. It was more work than it was worth. The fact that the whole four years that I used those books, I never once saw a teacher assign less than the full page means they weren't paying attention to the havoc they were creating and were probably wondering why so many students just did not do very well.
We didn't get new books until the 7th grade and I was so relieved to see we got a much thinner math book with fewer problems. However, by that time, calculators became more prominent. If we had had calculators in the 3rd grade, we would have more students able to whiz through their homework.
The third grade was also the first time I got in trouble with the principal. A fellow student had asked me to watch his jacket. After waiting awhile, I kind of felt put upon and threw the jacket over the school fence into the bushes on the other side. He told the teacher and we had to go to the principal's office. The principal made me go around the fence and through the bushes to get the jacket. He then gave me a spanking with his paddle. He didn't hit me nearly as hard as my dad did. It wasn't even punishment.
As you can see, my first three years in school were really not very eventful. No, the fun didn't start until the fourth grade. We'll get to that in a later blog post.
Monday, October 7, 2013
Friday, October 4, 2013
Disneyland and more!
For our first family vacation, we actually went a lot of places. It was a rather dizzying tour of the West Coast.
I remember we left Portland and went north. I was somewhat asleep in the back of the camper shell when I heard Mom saying that we were in Washington. I thought that meant we were going to go to Washington, DC. They didn't teach us much about geography in the first grade. (What was surprising was that when I was in the 11th grade, there were about 10 students in my History class who still thought Washington, DC was in Washington state. And this was after Mount Saint Helens erupted. One of those students wondered why the Federal government wasn't being affected by it.)
I don't remember us doing much in Washington state. I remember going to Canada and visiting a few places there. I remember eating at a Space Needle-type restaurant and then going to a planetarium. One of the first images they showed was of the surrounding city and that building could be seen in the background.
I knew one of the highlights of this trip to Canada was that we were going to get to see The Banana Splits. It started off with a parade. We got to see the Splits pushing some go-cart. In front of us, one of them was able to get it started and then they drove off. It was exciting to watch. The strange thing was that Fleegle's fur was this light green color instead of the shades of brown that I was used to seeing on TV.
This parade led to something called "The Land of Milk and Honey," which looked like a state fair of sorts. There were a lot of rides and activities. We went to a show featuring the Splits. For about 30 minutes, they performed a few songs and comedy routines to what I later determined was a pre-recorded track. We ran around the Land of Milk and Honey for a few hours and saw another show with the Splits in another location at the park. It was the EXACT SAME SHOW! I wanted to see something different.
One other memory I have about Canada was getting hit in the head by a bear holding a giant key. Actually, it was a statue of a bear with a low-hanging key. I just didn't see it before hitting my head against it. It hurt.
So we worked our way down to Southern California and Disneyland. We got there early in the morning before the park opened. It was a lot of fun packed into one day. Back then, you had to purchase a packet of tickets to go on the various rides and attractions. If I recall correctly, there were A, B, C, D and E tickets. The C tickets were for the rides, and for whatever reason, we had fewer of those tickets than the others. Once you ran out of tickets, you went home. Because of this system, lines were not a problem at that time.
We took some pictures of us at Disneyland. In one of them, Loyd and I are posing with Pinocchio and I am crying. I don't remember why. I guess I might have been freaked out by the sight of this giant Pinocchio standing next to me.
A lot of people seem to have this same experience going to Disneyland: When we left the park, we were unable to find the car. (I guess we parked in the "Itchy" lot.) We walked around and around and just could not find the car. Finally, Dad had the rest of us stay put in one place while he ran around to find the car. About 15 minutes later, he showed up with the car. I got mad because that hour we spent looking for the car would have been better spent inside the park.
Our next stop was the San Diego Zoo. I don't remember a lot about the zoo, aside from some of the photos that were taken. And I really don't recall driving home immediately after the zoo. Apparently, Dad drove for 22 hours straight to get us home. I think we had run out of money and didn't have enough for a motel room.
So, that was our first family vacation. There were more to come, but not a lot more. I probably won't get to go into much detail about them, but this one was special because it was our first as a family.
I remember we left Portland and went north. I was somewhat asleep in the back of the camper shell when I heard Mom saying that we were in Washington. I thought that meant we were going to go to Washington, DC. They didn't teach us much about geography in the first grade. (What was surprising was that when I was in the 11th grade, there were about 10 students in my History class who still thought Washington, DC was in Washington state. And this was after Mount Saint Helens erupted. One of those students wondered why the Federal government wasn't being affected by it.)
I don't remember us doing much in Washington state. I remember going to Canada and visiting a few places there. I remember eating at a Space Needle-type restaurant and then going to a planetarium. One of the first images they showed was of the surrounding city and that building could be seen in the background.
I knew one of the highlights of this trip to Canada was that we were going to get to see The Banana Splits. It started off with a parade. We got to see the Splits pushing some go-cart. In front of us, one of them was able to get it started and then they drove off. It was exciting to watch. The strange thing was that Fleegle's fur was this light green color instead of the shades of brown that I was used to seeing on TV.
This parade led to something called "The Land of Milk and Honey," which looked like a state fair of sorts. There were a lot of rides and activities. We went to a show featuring the Splits. For about 30 minutes, they performed a few songs and comedy routines to what I later determined was a pre-recorded track. We ran around the Land of Milk and Honey for a few hours and saw another show with the Splits in another location at the park. It was the EXACT SAME SHOW! I wanted to see something different.
One other memory I have about Canada was getting hit in the head by a bear holding a giant key. Actually, it was a statue of a bear with a low-hanging key. I just didn't see it before hitting my head against it. It hurt.
So we worked our way down to Southern California and Disneyland. We got there early in the morning before the park opened. It was a lot of fun packed into one day. Back then, you had to purchase a packet of tickets to go on the various rides and attractions. If I recall correctly, there were A, B, C, D and E tickets. The C tickets were for the rides, and for whatever reason, we had fewer of those tickets than the others. Once you ran out of tickets, you went home. Because of this system, lines were not a problem at that time.
We took some pictures of us at Disneyland. In one of them, Loyd and I are posing with Pinocchio and I am crying. I don't remember why. I guess I might have been freaked out by the sight of this giant Pinocchio standing next to me.
A lot of people seem to have this same experience going to Disneyland: When we left the park, we were unable to find the car. (I guess we parked in the "Itchy" lot.) We walked around and around and just could not find the car. Finally, Dad had the rest of us stay put in one place while he ran around to find the car. About 15 minutes later, he showed up with the car. I got mad because that hour we spent looking for the car would have been better spent inside the park.
Our next stop was the San Diego Zoo. I don't remember a lot about the zoo, aside from some of the photos that were taken. And I really don't recall driving home immediately after the zoo. Apparently, Dad drove for 22 hours straight to get us home. I think we had run out of money and didn't have enough for a motel room.
So, that was our first family vacation. There were more to come, but not a lot more. I probably won't get to go into much detail about them, but this one was special because it was our first as a family.
A new vlog for Friday!
A lot of stuff happens in school that you just don't get answers for.
I can only recall one specific student who I know for a fact went into that new classroom. I would like to run into him after all these years just to find out what they told the students who got re-assigned. However, I have a feeling he wouldn't remember.
I can only recall one specific student who I know for a fact went into that new classroom. I would like to run into him after all these years just to find out what they told the students who got re-assigned. However, I have a feeling he wouldn't remember.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
My first plane trip!
With Little League out of the way, we were ready to go on our first family road trip!
As I mentioned in my previous post, my father had spent the first few weeks of the summer working for his uncle in Portland, OR. He drove up there. I remember he took a package of peanut patties with him. There were nine patties in the bag and it was going to be a three-day road trip for him. I wondered if he would eat one patty for breakfast, one patty for lunch, etc. for the next three days and that would be his entire food supply. I don't think that's what he did.
The day after the attempt to throw me to another Little League team, Mom, Loyd and I took off for Albuquerque, where we were going to fly to Portland. (For the life of me, I cannot remember the arrangements for how we got to Albuquerque. It's possible someone drove us up there, but unless that person was going to Albuquerque anyway, it would have meant eight solid hours of driving. I really do not remember how we got there. Neither does my Mom, who I called in hopes of getting an answer to this question.) We stayed overnight with one of my Dad's cousins.
The next day, we went to the airport. This was going to be the first time on a plane for Loyd and me. Mom had us take some air sickness pills when we got to the airport. I swallowed mine. Loyd chewed his. AAAHHH! It tasted terrible! He had to spend the whole time at the airport with a wet washcloth in his mouth.
On TV, I had only seen airplanes boarded from the outside. This was how I thought we were going to get on the plane. We walked down this long hallway. Then, we appeared to be in some sort of vehicle. I thought this was the shuttle that was going to take us to the plane. Somehow, I realized that we were actually on the plane.
We had assigned seats. Every row had three seats on each side. Mom decided that, since we were going to be changing planes in Denver, Loyd would get the window seat on this flight and I would get the window seat on the flight from Denver to Portland. I didn't really mind, but Loyd was asleep virtually the entire time.
We got off the plane in Denver and got on the connecting flight. This plane was much bigger, with a section in the middle. The sides had two seats in each row. The way the seats were assigned, we had two seats in the middle section and one seat on the left side. This meant that I didn't get a window seat, again. I suddenly got mad about the situation because Loyd had wasted his window seat sleeping and I never got a window seat. Even worse was that it would be 11 more years before I got on a plane again.
I guess we got in late at night. I also don't remember how we got from the airport to my great-uncle's house in Portland. I just know it wasn't Dad who picked us up. I remember going inside and walking down a long stairway to the room where we would be sleeping.
The next morning, I woke up and walked up the stairs. I saw Dad at the top. He looked different. He had grown a mustache. I don't remember this part, but Loyd did not recognize Dad with the mustache after not seeing him for more than a month. He saw Mom kissing on this guy and wondered what was going on.
Dad had been working for his uncle so he could make some extra money for our road trip, in which we went through Washington state, Canada, and back down to Southern California and Disneyland. We covered a lot of ground during that first family road trip. I'll be going into more details in the next blog post.
Looking back at this, I'm surprised by how much I remember, but also at how much of the mundane, such as getting to Albuquerque and being picked up at the airport, has vanished from my mind.
As I mentioned in my previous post, my father had spent the first few weeks of the summer working for his uncle in Portland, OR. He drove up there. I remember he took a package of peanut patties with him. There were nine patties in the bag and it was going to be a three-day road trip for him. I wondered if he would eat one patty for breakfast, one patty for lunch, etc. for the next three days and that would be his entire food supply. I don't think that's what he did.
The day after the attempt to throw me to another Little League team, Mom, Loyd and I took off for Albuquerque, where we were going to fly to Portland. (For the life of me, I cannot remember the arrangements for how we got to Albuquerque. It's possible someone drove us up there, but unless that person was going to Albuquerque anyway, it would have meant eight solid hours of driving. I really do not remember how we got there. Neither does my Mom, who I called in hopes of getting an answer to this question.) We stayed overnight with one of my Dad's cousins.
The next day, we went to the airport. This was going to be the first time on a plane for Loyd and me. Mom had us take some air sickness pills when we got to the airport. I swallowed mine. Loyd chewed his. AAAHHH! It tasted terrible! He had to spend the whole time at the airport with a wet washcloth in his mouth.
On TV, I had only seen airplanes boarded from the outside. This was how I thought we were going to get on the plane. We walked down this long hallway. Then, we appeared to be in some sort of vehicle. I thought this was the shuttle that was going to take us to the plane. Somehow, I realized that we were actually on the plane.
We had assigned seats. Every row had three seats on each side. Mom decided that, since we were going to be changing planes in Denver, Loyd would get the window seat on this flight and I would get the window seat on the flight from Denver to Portland. I didn't really mind, but Loyd was asleep virtually the entire time.
We got off the plane in Denver and got on the connecting flight. This plane was much bigger, with a section in the middle. The sides had two seats in each row. The way the seats were assigned, we had two seats in the middle section and one seat on the left side. This meant that I didn't get a window seat, again. I suddenly got mad about the situation because Loyd had wasted his window seat sleeping and I never got a window seat. Even worse was that it would be 11 more years before I got on a plane again.
I guess we got in late at night. I also don't remember how we got from the airport to my great-uncle's house in Portland. I just know it wasn't Dad who picked us up. I remember going inside and walking down a long stairway to the room where we would be sleeping.
The next morning, I woke up and walked up the stairs. I saw Dad at the top. He looked different. He had grown a mustache. I don't remember this part, but Loyd did not recognize Dad with the mustache after not seeing him for more than a month. He saw Mom kissing on this guy and wondered what was going on.
Dad had been working for his uncle so he could make some extra money for our road trip, in which we went through Washington state, Canada, and back down to Southern California and Disneyland. We covered a lot of ground during that first family road trip. I'll be going into more details in the next blog post.
Looking back at this, I'm surprised by how much I remember, but also at how much of the mundane, such as getting to Albuquerque and being picked up at the airport, has vanished from my mind.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Thrown off the team
One of the unusual aspects of school is the concept of the "last day of school." I had no idea there was going to be a last day of school. I guess it didn't sink in my mind why my family would go live in Portales for a couple of months each year and not teach school during that time. The idea of a summer vacation was very foreign to me even though I had experienced it several times before without realizing it. I just thought that we kept going and going to school and it would just never end and that we students would eventually become the teachers. That's what seemed to happen with my parents.
Toward the end of the school year, some cards were passed around to the boys inviting them to take part in Little League. I knew what Little League was. My father had coached the Little League team at the school next to our home the previous year. I was very interested in playing baseball. My parents bought me this funky green cap with white polka dots and a baseball glove. I was ready to play.
This particular summer, my father had gone to Oregon to earn some extra money working for his uncle, who was a developer in Portland. This meant that he wasn't around to help me learn how to properly play baseball. The plan was that my mother, brother and I would go up to Portland after a few weeks, meet up with him and we would start our first family summer road trip.
One thing that I may not have mentioned is that, up until I was almost 10 years old, we lived in the farming community about 10 miles outside of Artesia. That meant that going to town was a major undertaking and we always needed a good reason to go to town, like to go to work, go to school, get groceries and go to church. There were also social occasions which would require us to make that drive to town.
What that means is that if my mom was going to drive me up to Little League practice, she needed to find something to do to make the trip worthwhile. So, she would drop me off at practice and go run errands for an hour and then come back, pick me up and we would go home. We did this Monday through Friday. One particular day, the coach made us stay an extra half hour to practice. My mother had gone to the grocery store and had gotten some ice cream. She was so angry that the coach didn't let anyone know ahead of time that he was going to make us stay extra long that day and the ice cream melted.
Now, I had a good time at the practices. I got to hang around with some boys I went to school with and got to know some other boys who went to the other elementary schools. The Little League teams were not necessarily broken up by the five elementary schools in town.
I was having such a good time that I didn't realize that in competitive sports, you need to perform well, or else you're not going to get to play. The coach was always yelling at me for not touching all the bases, not knowing how to slide and being completely inept at catching a ball and batting. I didn't know this was a real problem. We were just having fun, right?
The day before we were supposed to make the trip to Portland, the coach had three of us players get into a car with one of the assistant coaches. We were driven to another elementary school where they were holding Little League practice. We met the coach there and he explained to us that we were going to have to start showing up and practicing with their team. He grabbed the funky green cap off my head and said he was going to get me a real baseball cap. The three of us were stunned. We didn't know what was going on. We got back into the car. One of the other boys asked, "What's wrong? Does the coach not like us?" The assistant coach said something to the effect that the team we saw didn't have enough players so we were being sent over there.
When my mom came to pick me up, I was about to tell her what happened, but the assistant coach talked to her first. She told him that it really didn't matter because we were going to go to Portland the next day.
Looking back, I realize that regardless of whether the other team needed more players, we were still sent over there because we didn't play well enough. That was surprising, considering that one of the other two boys was remarkably tall for his age, so you'd think that would be considered an asset. I guess incoordination comes in all shapes and sizes.
It also appears that my parents just put me through a big tease with Little League. They knew full well I was not going to be able to complete the season or play any games because we had already planned that big trip, which I will go into further detail in my next post.
The next year, toward the end of second grade, I got the Little League card again. I told my father I wanted to play. He said no and didn't offer an explanation. I think he thought I wasn't able to play and didn't want me to be treated badly by the coaches again. And I guess Little League would have been a lot less fun if we lost due to me making mistakes, but there was no way of knowing if that was going to happen.
Toward the end of the school year, some cards were passed around to the boys inviting them to take part in Little League. I knew what Little League was. My father had coached the Little League team at the school next to our home the previous year. I was very interested in playing baseball. My parents bought me this funky green cap with white polka dots and a baseball glove. I was ready to play.
This particular summer, my father had gone to Oregon to earn some extra money working for his uncle, who was a developer in Portland. This meant that he wasn't around to help me learn how to properly play baseball. The plan was that my mother, brother and I would go up to Portland after a few weeks, meet up with him and we would start our first family summer road trip.
One thing that I may not have mentioned is that, up until I was almost 10 years old, we lived in the farming community about 10 miles outside of Artesia. That meant that going to town was a major undertaking and we always needed a good reason to go to town, like to go to work, go to school, get groceries and go to church. There were also social occasions which would require us to make that drive to town.
What that means is that if my mom was going to drive me up to Little League practice, she needed to find something to do to make the trip worthwhile. So, she would drop me off at practice and go run errands for an hour and then come back, pick me up and we would go home. We did this Monday through Friday. One particular day, the coach made us stay an extra half hour to practice. My mother had gone to the grocery store and had gotten some ice cream. She was so angry that the coach didn't let anyone know ahead of time that he was going to make us stay extra long that day and the ice cream melted.
Now, I had a good time at the practices. I got to hang around with some boys I went to school with and got to know some other boys who went to the other elementary schools. The Little League teams were not necessarily broken up by the five elementary schools in town.
I was having such a good time that I didn't realize that in competitive sports, you need to perform well, or else you're not going to get to play. The coach was always yelling at me for not touching all the bases, not knowing how to slide and being completely inept at catching a ball and batting. I didn't know this was a real problem. We were just having fun, right?
The day before we were supposed to make the trip to Portland, the coach had three of us players get into a car with one of the assistant coaches. We were driven to another elementary school where they were holding Little League practice. We met the coach there and he explained to us that we were going to have to start showing up and practicing with their team. He grabbed the funky green cap off my head and said he was going to get me a real baseball cap. The three of us were stunned. We didn't know what was going on. We got back into the car. One of the other boys asked, "What's wrong? Does the coach not like us?" The assistant coach said something to the effect that the team we saw didn't have enough players so we were being sent over there.
When my mom came to pick me up, I was about to tell her what happened, but the assistant coach talked to her first. She told him that it really didn't matter because we were going to go to Portland the next day.
Looking back, I realize that regardless of whether the other team needed more players, we were still sent over there because we didn't play well enough. That was surprising, considering that one of the other two boys was remarkably tall for his age, so you'd think that would be considered an asset. I guess incoordination comes in all shapes and sizes.
It also appears that my parents just put me through a big tease with Little League. They knew full well I was not going to be able to complete the season or play any games because we had already planned that big trip, which I will go into further detail in my next post.
The next year, toward the end of second grade, I got the Little League card again. I told my father I wanted to play. He said no and didn't offer an explanation. I think he thought I wasn't able to play and didn't want me to be treated badly by the coaches again. And I guess Little League would have been a lot less fun if we lost due to me making mistakes, but there was no way of knowing if that was going to happen.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
The real schooling starts
So, here I am, in an actual school, in the actual first grade. Do you remember how I mentioned earlier that my family lived next door to the school where my father taught? (No? Then read the rest of my posts!) Well, they closed that school this particular year and sent its students and my father to Hermosa Elementary. He taught fourth grade there. One thing I should mention is that when we lived next door to the school, my father would bring home puzzles for my brother and me to play with on a daily basis.
The one thing I will focus on during the first grade is that a few weeks in, my teacher had me taken out of class once a week for at least two weeks. I was driven to another location in town. There, this man asked me several questions and had me solve puzzles. I had no idea what was going on and I really don't know why any of the other students weren't taken out of class to take part in this. I just know that the second time, I arrived back at the school late for lunch, literally with five minutes to eat before class started.
I was never taken out of class again. I never asked what was going on. Nobody explained what happened until I was about 25 years old. My father told me that when I was in the first grade, the teacher noticed that I could put the puzzles together really fast. These happened to be the same puzzles my father used to bring home. They moved them from the old school to Hermosa, so I was very familiar with them. Add to this that I could already read at least at an eighth grade level. The teacher is trained to recognize advanced mental development and had me taken out of school to be tested. My father says that what they determined was that I was of average intelligence, but I could put puzzles together really quickly.
I don't buy the "average" intelligence label, but I was definitely not "off the charts" intelligent. All the same, I have no idea what they would have been able to do if I had been. Maybe they would suggest I be sent to a private boarding school somewhere. There was definitely nothing in Artesia designed to accommodate someone at a "gifted" level of learning. Gifted programs in Artesia weren't put into effect for another 30 years.
And this brings me to my biggest complaint about public education as I experienced it. What does a school do with a first grade student who is able to read and write at least at an eighth grade level? Well, they just keep him in the first grade and keep him with the other students his age in order to raise the school system's standardized test score average.
Another problem is that the teachers were very ill-prepared to deal with students who were clearly several grade levels above their peers. One of the things I would do during down-time in class is read ahead in the book. You have no idea how many teachers would get angry when I did that. Usually the problem was that you would learn something, and then later in the book, it would explain that there were several exceptions. Trying to point out these exceptions during the first encounter with the material really irritated the teachers, who were trying to teach the material according to the agenda set forth in the book.
When I was in the sixth grade, one of the teachers had a newspaper clipping showing a picture of a 10-year-old boy who was attending college in El Paso. I really don't know what the point of this was. Was it something for us to aspire to? We were already 11 years old. It was too late for us to go to college. The thing that got me about this is that the teacher who passed around the clipping was one of those who got on my case for reading ahead in the book.
Something else that gnawed at me about that story was that there was this kid, who was going to graduate from college in four years. He was going to get on with his life. In my mind, he would be considered an adult and could move out of his parents' house, get a job, get a car and start really living. I now know that's not how it likely worked for him. He probably had to go to college at least another three years to get a Master's, become a doctor or a lawyer and still be living at home. But again, in my lack of life experience, that was how I viewed his situation.
I should point out that I was not the only one who was not properly serviced by this approach to exceptionally bright students. I met several who were much smarter than me and definitely deserved a better level of education than the one we got. And there was nothing we could do about it.
I don't know that I would have had a better life if I had been able to finish school any earlier. I just know I was miserable later on in high school and would have done anything short of dropping out to get it all out of the way.
I will have more on my issues with public education in an upcoming blog post.
The one thing I will focus on during the first grade is that a few weeks in, my teacher had me taken out of class once a week for at least two weeks. I was driven to another location in town. There, this man asked me several questions and had me solve puzzles. I had no idea what was going on and I really don't know why any of the other students weren't taken out of class to take part in this. I just know that the second time, I arrived back at the school late for lunch, literally with five minutes to eat before class started.
I was never taken out of class again. I never asked what was going on. Nobody explained what happened until I was about 25 years old. My father told me that when I was in the first grade, the teacher noticed that I could put the puzzles together really fast. These happened to be the same puzzles my father used to bring home. They moved them from the old school to Hermosa, so I was very familiar with them. Add to this that I could already read at least at an eighth grade level. The teacher is trained to recognize advanced mental development and had me taken out of school to be tested. My father says that what they determined was that I was of average intelligence, but I could put puzzles together really quickly.
I don't buy the "average" intelligence label, but I was definitely not "off the charts" intelligent. All the same, I have no idea what they would have been able to do if I had been. Maybe they would suggest I be sent to a private boarding school somewhere. There was definitely nothing in Artesia designed to accommodate someone at a "gifted" level of learning. Gifted programs in Artesia weren't put into effect for another 30 years.
And this brings me to my biggest complaint about public education as I experienced it. What does a school do with a first grade student who is able to read and write at least at an eighth grade level? Well, they just keep him in the first grade and keep him with the other students his age in order to raise the school system's standardized test score average.
Another problem is that the teachers were very ill-prepared to deal with students who were clearly several grade levels above their peers. One of the things I would do during down-time in class is read ahead in the book. You have no idea how many teachers would get angry when I did that. Usually the problem was that you would learn something, and then later in the book, it would explain that there were several exceptions. Trying to point out these exceptions during the first encounter with the material really irritated the teachers, who were trying to teach the material according to the agenda set forth in the book.
When I was in the sixth grade, one of the teachers had a newspaper clipping showing a picture of a 10-year-old boy who was attending college in El Paso. I really don't know what the point of this was. Was it something for us to aspire to? We were already 11 years old. It was too late for us to go to college. The thing that got me about this is that the teacher who passed around the clipping was one of those who got on my case for reading ahead in the book.
Something else that gnawed at me about that story was that there was this kid, who was going to graduate from college in four years. He was going to get on with his life. In my mind, he would be considered an adult and could move out of his parents' house, get a job, get a car and start really living. I now know that's not how it likely worked for him. He probably had to go to college at least another three years to get a Master's, become a doctor or a lawyer and still be living at home. But again, in my lack of life experience, that was how I viewed his situation.
I should point out that I was not the only one who was not properly serviced by this approach to exceptionally bright students. I met several who were much smarter than me and definitely deserved a better level of education than the one we got. And there was nothing we could do about it.
I don't know that I would have had a better life if I had been able to finish school any earlier. I just know I was miserable later on in high school and would have done anything short of dropping out to get it all out of the way.
I will have more on my issues with public education in an upcoming blog post.
Memories in my corner of the car
You may remember my post on my first actual memory and how I had a set of rules to correspond with selecting what it was supposed to be.
I've also experienced a large number of other memories from my early childhood that will pop up from time to time due to suggestion. However, I'm not going to write about all of them.
I've also experienced a large number of other memories from my early childhood that will pop up from time to time due to suggestion. However, I'm not going to write about all of them.
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