August 24, 2004
-
Outhouse In the days before childhood labeling, I began my trek to the two-room country schoolhouse of my early grades with the knowledge that I could already read some thanks to my father who felt he could recover from his own heart bruises by making me perfect. Besides the Dick-and-Jane-books superiority, I stood out because my mother dressed me in pants and long brown socks that came up to my butt – my mother who convinced me the world was an unsafe place without her in it (and to this day I think that’s probably true). I read till my eyes fried, till they skipped me over second grade and right into third in the same room with grades 1-4 sitting by the wood stove in the winter in the middle of the room to stay warm. I shrank into my books and the approval of my teacher, Mrs. Torney, who pointed me out often to the rank and file and one day in all the agitation of it, unwilling to risk even further notice by requesting a trip to the outhouse, I peed my pants right into the yellow sweater I had tied around my waist to soak it up. Of course, that was the day I had to stand in front of the teacher’s desk with my back to the class for a spelling contest – which I won by spelling “acre” – so the kids could see the large green stain like a flag of some country where all outcasts lived.
(Dedicated to coopster911.)
Deep Thought: It’s funny that pirates were always going around searching for treasure, and they never realized that the real treasure was the fond memories they were creating.
Today I am grateful for: Indoor plumbing
End of Day – 9:14 pm
+ = Went back to my women’s group tonight and read a few of my Things That Refresh My Soul to them. I’m finding it a way to slowly let myself be known – such a task always for me.
- = Feeling bad for my son and his family who chose these past several days for the last camping trip before school starting and Oregon got an unexpected drencher. Haven’t heard the report yet though.
Comments (7)
oh God. You know, the thing I hate most about schools is their celebration of mediocrity. Anything you do that makes you stand out is bad. I can guess why being the dumbest kid in the class has its problems, but I didn’t even understand then why my status was higher than the smartest kids. The things we do to children.
hello, fellow bookworm…Loved your story, and picture of the outhouse…..I lived for years with an outhouse…not that long ago, either….
great story. it is what i used to want, to be the smartest, but i guess we all have r problems no matter what. thanks
Wonderful read.
Love the story, and narrator’s comment.
Great story.
Many of my relatives live in Pennington Gap, VA. Outhouses are still plentiful, there!
When I went with my mom to visit, she and my uncle told many one room schoolhouse stories.
I remember wetting my pants once when I was in 2nd grade. Very humilating (I was too afraid of the teacher to ask if I could go to the bathroom). Funny how things like that stay in our memories. Good read!