I so desperately wanted to get back to third grade. I did everything in my little -big girl power to show Mr. Luna. I handed in my math homework on time. This time without any ketchup, mustard or hot sauce stains. Hey no judgement please! I even washed the dishes.
However, the only way to do homework was over a bowl of tomato soup and sometimes if I’m lucky spicy grilled cheese. Of course I added the hot sauce. My big-haired sister complained. “Mama Krissy’s using all the hot sauce again.” To that mama would answer, “I better have enough for my spicy fried chicken!” I quickly put away mama’s special hot sauce and finished multiplying by two’s.
Yes homework was a breeze but reading to kids my own age was terrifying. Somehow I got up in front of the whole class everyday, like I knew what I was doing.
Mr. Luna finally caved-in about half-way through the second grading period and welcomed me back to class.
O’h was I over the moon and back again. So much so, I volunteered to staple all the Holiday Papers for Christmas break. Mr. Luna gave out a serious warning “Krissy with so many papers to staple, be extremely careful.”
There I was watching the clock, could 2:45 pm go any faster? Never mind that! I had four stacks of paper to staple and deliver to every student by 3:05 pm. Christopher Jones shouted “there’s no way she’s gonna finish in time!
Thoughts started jumping in and out my head o’ he’s so-o-o- right. What was I thinking? That’s the thing, I wasn’t thinking. I had to be miss goody two-shoe. Staple everybody ‘s paper and now I’m in deep water.
I turned my head for a split second, to say something back to Christopher Jones. Before I could muster up a smart remark. I heard a very loud crunch. I look down. I didn’t start freaking out right away. Its just when the paper and my thumb started bleeding.
Mr. Luna had no words, just pointed me toward the door. I knew I’d blew it. There I was sitting in the nurse’s office. Mrs. Polk, the nurse, had glasses that hung off the edge of her pointy nose. She said, “what is it this time? I stapled my thumb. Mrs. Polk snickered “Krissy, I’m not even a bit surprised, you’ll live.” And it turns out, staples go straight through thumbs if your not careful.
P.S. If you’d stayed all the way till the end, from my heart to yours, thank you. And if you’d like to know what happens next stay tune,
I’ll be back with more stories from my real life third grade childhood.
Back to the days of 3rd grade. Where I felt, I was becoming, as my mama put it, “Little Miss Know It All,” in Capital letters. I took it as a compliment. The radio alarm buzzed. I hit the snooze button for the fifth time. My school clothes weren’t the neatest for a few reasons.
One, I was lazy. Two, I hated the iron with a sincere passion. Three, the iron and I have never really been good friends. I think that iron had it out for me. Just as much as I could never figure out the spout and pressure quite right. I mean- tell that to my good leg, with the burn-mark on my right knee! Humph, I rolled my eyes and walked past that evil metal-thing.
Since we didn’t own a washer and dryer. We took our clothes to the laundromat on most weekends. However, today is not Friday nor Monday. Its’ Camel lost its hump-back stupid Wednesday. I took in a deep breath and bubbled out as many spit balls as I could. Before my big haired sister Colleen, threatened to sell my baby rabbit Honey to our neighbors.
In that case, I replied, “Colleen you wouldn’t dare! Which she added “watch me” and she stuck out her cherry red tongue. After that, little spat with my sister I had to get on with it.
So did what most eight year old dreamers do. I got out, my always there when I need’em. When my hair is so crazy. Or I played too long in my grandpa’s ole’ beat up shed. Same thing, I used to spot checked my legs for fleas. Using my handy, dandy, hairdryer. My hair dryer should of been renamed superhero for all girls.
I blew out as many wrinkles as I could, in my pleated flannel skirt and dark green top.
I even made it to school on time. Read to the class. Mr. Luna sent me. Everything seemed to be fine. Nothing out of the ordinary here. I walked down the hall for lunch. I grabbed a tray of Chicken fried steak and mash-potatoes with cold peas and sat down.
That’s when Christopher Jones, tried to warn me. Some kids are daring each other in the Cafeteria. I waved my hand. “Yeah, yeah, nothing to freak out about.” Just as I uttered those very words, I heard a kid named Tommy yell “f-o-o-d fight!”
By the time, I put my fork in my mash potatoes. Scooped up one bite. I had to duck for cover. Think fast Krissy, under the table I went. Boy! O’h boy, did I pray. Please oh’ please, don’t hit me. That’s when I felt the cold ooze of chocolate milk smack into the back of my head. Drip down into my back.
No use hiding. Food was flying left and right. Mash potatoes, cold peas, chocolate milk. My dark green shirt was covered in sticky-icky milk.
Everything seemed to be going down in slow motion. I stood up very slowly. The milk crawled its way down into my shoe. My hands went into tree pose. I limped slowly out of the lunch room. Down the hall to girl’s bathroom. To see if any amount of toilet paper and hand soap would salvage what was left, of my Camel lost its’ Hump-back stupid Wednesday. Ugh! I should’ve brought my hair dyer.
kindness sister Krissy
P.S. I have lots more to share about trials and triumphs in 3rd grade. ( true stories from my childhood) As always, if you made it this far, from my soul to yours, thank you ( feel free to share any food fight days you’ve had)
I wanted to count the days a little longer. Stay under the brightness of the winter-storm. Snow and sun, and snow, slightly picking up mesquite winds. Although our worlds are shifting.
Our Merciful prayers have never been the same. The baby birds were cooing underneath the misty drizzle. The temperatures steady but dropping. The sky and I, weeping over something weak and terrible.
I think we were enjoying too much of self pity as of late. Tasting salt droplets, like leftover pudding. Cream still there just harder, firmer now. Puppy wrinkles for eyelids and the sky too. Didn’t seem to matter much. Neither one of us seem to help the other.
Then my soul goes off without me, as if it should, wondering about darkness, sickness bending one and the same ashy-twig, frantic but holding.
Dear God, the weakness inside my soul seeps out like weeds.
the needs of your people, ever-growing but God, this is where you crack our heads open with miracles unfolding.
Through the years, I’d stumbled lightly over the term “growing up” Looking over the silliest complexities in growing. I can remember the tender age of eight. The best thing ever, since slice bread. I brought to my class, on Show and Tell, a brand new rabbit. I was so happy, I could have slapped myself. (okay I probably did)
When Mr. Luna said “good morning class.” My hand shot up like a rocket in the air. My bunny-rabbit was neatly tuck away in a cage, with a warm grey cotton top. I was’ leaping in my chair like it was a trampoline. And I was trying out for the star role on the Olympics.
Mr.Luna : who would like to be first?
Me: o-o-h, me, please, me, me.
Mr.Luna: Alright Krissy you can go first.
I slowly stood up, beads of sweat and joy building upon my forehead. I was prepared for it. I took out Kwanana’ brown’s birthday napkin. I’d saved in my desk for times like these. Usually in high pressured moments, I’m one to sweat heavily under the armpits. I guess all the extra toilet paper and baby powder that morning, the sweat had nowhere else to go.
So there I was lifting the soft grey cotton top. My fluffy grey and white rabbit with its brown button nose. I could hear the class o-ohs’ and aw’s. I carefully lifted my rabbit, that I’d named Honey’ by 8:00 am that morning.
Tasting nothing less, than sweet victory. I’d steal the crown, The Class’ Favorite Show-And Tell, starring Honey!
I smiled, like I’d won the lottery on the 6:00 o’clock news. I presented myself, hi” everybody, my name is Krissy. This is my beautiful baby rabbit Honey. I’ve always wanted a pet. Mom always said no. Then she found out that the mail-lady had gifted me an abandoned rabbit almost three years old.
Mom said the rabbit could stay as long as I kept up with: cleaning it, feeding it, washing it and all my other chores. I didn’t care that Honey was a lot of work. I truly wanted Honey.
In the middle of my big speech Christopher Jones said “Whoppi-doo,doo. Honey can’t do tricks, can she? I shook my head, “not at the moment.” So what’s so special about Honey?
I had to think fast. That’s when it hit me, all the church services I’ve attended. All the songs I’d listened to. Watching the saints’ and those who came close including me.
“Yes,” I replied, Christopher Jones. You believe in God don’t you? Before he’d muster up an answer. I revved back in little girl preacher mode, swallowed a lump of spit and said,
“Well this is one of God’s gentle creatures.” By this time with my church finger swinging in the air. “You know, they don’t bite. In fact, its probably proven, that bunnies, can alleviate stress. I know it does for me.”
“Honey brings me joy when I’m sad.
Honey has taught me things like rabbits don’t eat carrots.
Honey is kind and sweeter than sugar to me.
Honey has saved my life, more that I can count,
probably even my childhood.”
That being my last word, I wiped my face. Somehow drenched in a bucket of water and took my seat. The class cheered and applauded.
your kindness sister Krissy (true stories from my childhood)
In the south, way-way back in the woods stood my old -home-church. A small off-white building. Where I learn to play the drums, direct the youth choir and for the life of me- I don’t know why, I do believe.
I would take off my Sunday shoes and race on that dusty- dirt road. Covered in dirt from the waist down. Felt like, I did, some of my best running back at that ole’ church.
I remember the hot sweaty air, accumulating down into my off white stockings. My off white stockings slipping pass my hips. My long piano fingers -pinching my waistline for dear life. All I wanted to do was win.
Kick my heels back, point my chin to the sky, taste sweet nothings’ in the breeze, close my eyes and feel like I’ve been running for miles, only to go fifteen meters toward the church steps.
Dust off my ruffled black skirt and walk up the stairs like the wind had been knocked out of me. All the while I could hear the joyous music of praise and jubilee.
I know its been said “all we need is love” above all else, what else can mankind render if not love? I find myself -talking to myself- taking long walks around this abandoned track. One in fact used to belong to a middle school. Which closed about fours years ago. I could see that world has abandoned its truest nature to love. However, I know love’s most effective promise- is that of love, when it is given and given again. Love can never be lost.
I am Eva -former refugee, doctor and a writer. My parents were Holocaust survivors, I escaped communism. I wrote a novel, mixing family stories and fiction. A novel about Holocaust, communism, racism and emigration. What makes people leave, and what happens to the ones who do, and to the ones who stay. I believe these old stories are more important now than ever before.