2nd grade, a tale of TWO cities: Columbia & Alton (MO)

It's taken awhile to track down some missing pieces of this puzzle called my school career. I had some great help, though, so thanks to Cathy in Columbia and Lisa in Alton. These two ladies I contacted were able to help me fill in some blanks. After I wrote this, I did find a 2nd Grade photo, but I don't know whether it was taken in Columbia, or in Alton.

First part ~ Columbia, MO

We had lived in Columbia the summer of 1958 because my Dad was on some kind of construction job on the University of Missouri campus. When school started that fall, I was a 2nd grader at Thomas Hart Benton Elementary School. I was there a whopping 40-1/2 days and my teacher's name was Ms. Nettle. But the memories I have are quite clear, and there are three:

First memory: We sat in little chairs, in a circle, every day for "reading" time. We read about Dick and Jane, their whole family, and all their critters. Now, I didn't know I wasn't supposed to read to the end of the book the first day they gave me that book, so I was quite disappointed when I got to the last page to discover there really wasn't much of a plot. Thus, when I was called on for my turn to read aloud, it was just a re-hash for me of the plotless story line. I wondered what the other kids would think when they found out that this story was going nowhere.

Second memory: There was a little grocery store right across the street from our school. I don't remember the name of it. But I can sure see it in my mind to this day. Every day during our lunch in the school cafeteria, we could actually take our lunch tray to the principal's table and show him that we had eaten all our lunch, and ask permission to go across the street to the little store. There we could buy candy, gum, or soda pop, or anything else we could afford. He didn't always say "yes." But if we were one of the "good little boys and girls" chances are, he would. Now, the thing is, those good little boys and girls could give their unwanted lunch tidbits to their classmates, show the empty tray to the principal, then go across the street and have a candy bar and bottle of pop for lunch. My, my, how times have changed. I remember actually getting to go to the store a few times. It was pure magic to me that, as a six year-old, I would be on my own in a store, with a nickel in my pocket. Or--joy to the world--a dime!

Third memory: [Insert diabolical music here] dun dun DUN!!! This third memory is the memory that stuck in my mind the most. Probably the singular memory that was the cause of my remembering the other two things about good ol' Benton Elementary. You know, one of those memories you try to repress, but one day it just all comes flooding back. Well, here goes...

My Mom always dressed me like a little fashion plate for school. Our family didn't have much money, but I do remember that when school time rolled around, I always had some of the prettiest dresses and skirt sets of any little poor kid. And, apparently, for some of the less poor kids, too. My hair was always fixed impeccably when I went to school, too. At home, ripping and running and playing, not so much. But at school, or going out in public, not a hair would be out of place. And my dresses were always starched and ironed.

Anyway, one day after I got off the school bus and went home, my Mom took one look at me and almost went into hysterics. "WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR DRESS?" I guess by the dumb look on my face she could tell I was unaware that anything had happened to my dress. So she reached down and grabbed my dress in the back, and pulled it around to the front where I could see it: it was hanging in shreds! I told her I didn't know what had happened to it. Then she asked a very strange question: "Who sits behind you in school?" I told her another little girl sat behind me, but I didn't really know much about her. So Mom told me to take my dress off, she put it in a brown paper grocery bag, and the next morning, instead of riding the school bus, she drove me to school. I had no idea what was going on...

Well, my Mom showed the dress to my teacher, Ms. Nettle. There was some whispering between the two women, then Ms. Nettle called the little girl who sat behind me up to her desk and questioned her. I guess I should say they interrogated her. She broke. Confessed it all. She said she had taken her little blunt-nosed scissors, pulled the bottom of my dress through that crack between where the wooden seat folds up and down, and proceeded to methodically cut that part of my dress in tatters. My Mom and Ms. Nettle gave each other knowing looks. Mom said it was because she was jealous of my pretty dresses. I just looked baffled. I didn't really know what "jealous" was. I was just glad it wasn't something I had caused. And glad she had cut my dress and not my hair!

I don't know who the little girl was, nor do I know what sort of punishment was meted out for her act of sabotage of my dress. But it created that memory for me to hang my hat on for my second grade. Little did I know I would bid adieu to Benton Elementary in such a short time...

Second part: Alton, MO

Alton, Missouri, (NOT the Alton that is in Illinois and is hooked to St. Louis) is in the part of the state that my Mom was born and raised. In fact, I would venture to say if any car drives by you while you are passing through that little burg, it's a high likelihood that the persons in that car are related to me in some way.

So my Mom was back in her home town, among her home clan (the Bartons), and I was the "new kid" in the second grade. My teacher was Vera Dorris. Two first names. You see, my folks bought a little business called the Daisy Queen (sound familiar?) and it was a regular fifties juke-joint / ice cream parlor / gas station, just like the kind you see on Happy Days! It was one block from the school, so that meant I got to walk home every day for lunch and play waitress to the "big kids," the high schoolers, who went there for lunch every day. Boy, did I feel like all that! To top it off, I got to fix my own ice cream sundaes any time I wanted one. It was heaven to a kid.

We lived in a mobile home that we pulled in right next to the business. Now, my folks didn't know this until my brother and I told them about it years later, decades later, actually...but we would sneak over to the place during off-hours, I would stand on my brother's shoulders, push the floor vent up and crawl into the little burger joint, reach down and pull him up, then we would eat candy or gum or whatever else we wanted for breakfast. After we were sugared up, we would play pinball with nickels out of the cash register. Oh, glorious pinball! We knew that when the pinball vendor guy came to take his money out of the machine, any coins with fingernail polish on them meant that was our own money and he would give it back. And there was a bottle of fingernail polish conveniently sitting next to the cash register. Well, after he started finding more and more with the red dots on them, My Dad apparently figured out the extra pinball games we had been up to. Being the inventive genius he was, Daddy actually thought of a way we could use the same nickel over and over. He simply drilled a hole through it and tied a string on it, and after we dropped it in, played the game, we just pulled it back out. I'm sure that was probably illegal on just about every level, but I waited until he was gone to let that cat out of the bag.

Sorry, Daddy. But they can't come after you now.

Anyway, that was the last part of my 2nd grade. I didn't remember much about the school itself, but I do remember how good it was to be a kid whose family owned the juke-joint in town! Good old Alton R-IV Elementary Schools. If you look at the list of teachers there now, two of them are some of those "Bartons" I was telling you about.

Thanks again, Cathy and Lisa, for helping me with this part of the puzzle.

There are also angels in the pews

This time of year we are asked to give so "those less fortunate" can be blessed. And you know, that's a good thing. A great thing, in fact. However, I just wanted to present it from a little bit different perspective, if I may.

The Word of God tells us quite pointedly that we are supposed to take care of "our own" first. Our brothers and sisters in Christ are "family", and we all know what God tells us about family: That a man who doesn't take care of the needs of his own family first is worse than in infidel (I Timothy 5:8). Pretty strong stuff, that!

When we were pastoring some years back, we discovered something that we had always suspected, but which became quite clear while shepherding a flock of believers. There were many people in our own little church family more needy than those we were asked to "reach out" to. We also learned something else...those people in our church, who had such great needs, would never, ever ask for help, or put their name on any kind of list that was distributed for the purpose of asking for help. It didn't take long to realize that all we had to do was simply listen to that still, small voice to know what God was telling us to do, and to whom we were to do it. We were to bless those people....our family....first. Then God would bless us with an over abundant measure, so that we could then bless others outside our family.

Now, I'm not suggesting at all that people shouldn't give to those who have asked for help, or signed a list, or anything else like that. I am, however, encouraging you to just look around you. And to listen. God will allow you to see a lot of "angels" right in your own church family, sitting on the pews next to you, praying fervently--but silently--that somehow, God will meet some pretty heavy needs. Needs every bit as real and as great as those of people who have asked for help. If you bless those people, whether knowingling or anonymously, I guarantee you that they will praise God, and only Him, as the source of their needs being met. And you? Well, you will have the satisfaction of knowing that you ministered to one of God's own children, your own brother or sister! And there is no feeling greater than being used by God to answer a believer's fervent prayers!

Just think about it... If you don't choose to change the way you "reach out" that's fine. But reaching right across a pew to help someone can be even more of a blessing if you just try it.

Everything's coming up oranges

Anybody who knows me at all knows my favorite color: orange! Don't laugh. It's coming back into favor with the fashionistas now. I knew if I just held out long enough it would. Anyway, I digress...

When we bought our (first ever) house in the spring of 2009, there were lots of things we planned to do to it. After all, we now would have walls we would be allowed to paint, knock down, put a door through, or whatever we wished without asking permission.

Now, combine that first paragraph with the second paragraph, and what do you have? An ORANGE WALL, of course! And not just any old orange wall. An artistic, "faux parchment" wall that they would call on HGTV, an accent wall. One that stands out. Different. Like orange.

See, we didn't buy our house with the idea of how we could make it appeal to people who might live in it years after we're dead and gone. Huh? It's our house. If I want an orange wall to look at, I don't care if the HGVT crew comes in thirty years down the road and some little snip remarks about "Oh, that's dated, and ugly!" Ok, don't get me started on the HGTV snips. That used to be my favorite channel, but boy, that wore thin REALLY quick. Even watching it to get some ideas got to be too much to stomach. Digressing. Again???

Well, I knew I wanted white cabinets, and one orange "accent wall", and since I'm married to a virtual woodworking wizard, I decided I also wanted to replace the dark panel wainscot in the "dining nook" with something that would stand out. Something. Wasn't sure what yet. When I told Melissa about it, she said, "Mom, that sounds Tuscan." So that's it! I wanted a Tuscan kitchen! Now I had some other stuff I could look at to get ideas!

It didn't take much Googling to find a photo of almost exactly what I wanted. But I knew I didn't have the ability to do that "faux parchment" (their name for it) wall myself. A co-worker told me about a friend of hers named Susie Theroff who was a super talented artist, and she did that kind of stuff for people. And she also does full-blown wall murals! Long story short, Susie came in and looked at my wall, gave me a VERY reasonable cost estimate, then we scheduled an appointment. I wondered if she'd ever done an orange wall for anyone else. It turned out exactly like I had imagined and hoped! And Harold made new wainscot from scratch for me, I painted it white, and voila! Tuscan kitchen. Well, almost. Harold still has to build my white cabinets, but that's another whole project. He has his priorities...we both do. Next spring it's time to build a playhouse in our back yard for a certain little girl we know who is growing up way too fast. I told him the cabinets will still be here. But she won't always want to play in a playhouse.

Anyway, if you need any kind of artwork done in your house, give Susie a call. Or email her. She said it would be fine to recommend her in my blog. Here's how to reach her:

Designs by Susie
kentonsus@gmail.com
(573) 619-4361

Some "before" and "after" photos. I love before and after photos!!!

BEFORE: You'll notice the wall we knocked down and put a door through. FUN!

AFTER...so far. Still need some kind of window dressing: