The makings of dark star hollow

Hello readers, I hope you are finding a cool zone to escape the heat and enjoy the "series" on jesse's succinct news today. As we continue the drama from my early schooling I want to present some facts that will repeat and become increasingly important as the tale and series continues. Most of this documentation will relate to education, both in the home and in public schools and how political influences and games became dangerously incorporated into the legal and educational systems. Let me take  you back to my "snapshot" of a day, the first day of school for me in stamford ct. I remember patiently waiting for that day to come as for many months i would watch my older sister leave our home to walk to school and the day finally came for me. I remember oddly enough, the smell of my red oxfords, the leather and the color so bright. I remember my mother carefully preparing my clothes for me to wear on the first day. It seemed to be a big "hype" for sure. All my essential supplies in my pencil case, the new lunch box and every little detail managed by my mom and dad for the "big day".. I thought school would be "magical" and the friends i would meet would be exciting. I knew nothing about my teacher though and had some serious "fears" about who she or he would be. While i remember being so happy to leave my nest and home behind , I also had anxiety about what would lay ahead that first long.. very long day where i would be expected to mesh with whatever classroom and with whatever teacher. The walk to school seemed edited.. it seems i was on the steps of the doorway to the old building in a blink..and squeezing my moms hand, i suddenly decided it was "too sudden".. and didn't want to enter the building without her. The school was dark and old and seemed "enormous" to my little kindergarten "frame". I remember the "shadows" were somewhat "overwhelming" as the teachers and students were in flows like people rivers ,  to the appropriate classrooms. The kindergarten was not unlike many in public classrooms in the 50's to accomodate the boomers who populated them. This school, which shall remain nameless as the name of my teacher will also remain nameless, happened to be an "old" school built at the turn of the century or 1900. Thereabouts..  I looked for any friends from my neighborhood and didnt see any that i knew. The faces all seemed to blend into one "unknown" mask.. The round tables served at least 7 or 8 children and there were at least 5 tables. Im guessing a student to teacher ration of a ridiculous 40 and more for one teacher. After the teacher introduction, the students all scurried out to the door where there were lockers for our lunch boxes, hooks for our coats and spaces for our boots or other gear. Like a scene from kindergarten cop.. we flocked to our "cubby" spaces dumped our precious belongings and flocked back to the tables where we were seated. Now things seemed to be going well the first few hours. It was only a half day so it seemed that the teacher and school were going to fit my plans.. at least my day to day survival plans. Before the day ended , there would be serious doubts. Doubts that i couldnt overcome or escape. There was a rest period , after snack..as i remember glimpses, looking back, of what was a traumatic day. snack time proved to be chaos with many students grabbing the snacks of others.. (mine included).. okay , you know what is valuable when you are a 5 year old and without mom and dad for the first time ever in your memory!! Damn straight..its that damn snack that your mother packed into the lunchbox with TLC and thats the only thing you can "hold onto" while you are being "endoctrinated" into the system. I mean the transition from home to school is a big one for any young child and those first experiences , either positive or negative , stay with you a lifetime..and longer.  So..as the grabbing of the snacks..like the "running of the bulls" could be risky and endanger some with bullies who gore you.. i frantically grabbed for my lunch box.. the girly one.. and opened it.. at the table. I don't remember who or what but something snapped my pink snowball cupcakes out of my hands before i could even utter a sound. That was the start of my first day at school. I had tears in my eyes as i reported this act of terror to my teacher . My teacher, somewhat on in her years and somewhat a grouch.. was without mercy.. She thumped my hands, both of them, with a yardstick.. though i had just cried out spontaneously about my cupcakes being "stolen'.. It appeared that the teacher..Mrs. G , for the purpose of my story, was randomly smacking the hands of all the children at my table..until they were red and stinging.. At that point i realized i couldnt call for my mom or dad..i couldnt have any defense or protection and i would lose my snack the first day.. and many days after to bullies. Rest period came and i can remember the air in the classroom was hot.. extremely hot and we were all dressed in our best fall and warmer clothing as mornings in new england start out cold in september and can go to extreme and quite "hot" in the days of indian summer by midday.. All the children seemed to be like me..uncomfortable , squirmy and hot as tamales. I had hoped that the terror of the yardstick and the pain that was still in my little fingers and hands, was over.. so while the students all rested their heads on the table and pretended to rest, i saw the teacher circling the tables.. If any one spoke, breathed too loudly, even giggled, you know what was coming!! There was the yardstick. i happened to speak to my neighbor, a little girl at the table, thinking it was safe, with my head down and only in a whisper. She was as upset as i was about the "snack thing". My hot tears still streaming in silence as i rested my head down on my arms. We had a short conversation of whispers but in an instant the yardstick was again...over and over hitting on my hands and fingers. The little girl next to me and many others would be receiving the same treatment. It was definitely a first day of fear..and dysfunction and negativity.. I certainly couldnt relate to the corporate punishment, having had a patient mom who never spanked or used violence or hit me with objects. I wanted to scream and run out of the school and home to my mother. i knew i was no more than a 10 minute walk at most to our first floor apartment  and the nightmare of taking another breath with Mrs. G waiting to take some of my hide was more than I could bear. Like waiting for a wild animal to come from the jungle and attack you from behind or from who knows where, that yardstick was the enemy and i was not going to take the abuse, i decided. The teacher was  having problems.. thats all i could think to rationalize what she had been doing for at least one hour of our short day. Why would she want to "hit" her students. We were following directions, doing our workbooks, doing exactly what we were told. I couldnt figure it out. The only comfort i had was with the "surroundings" i had known and symbols of freedom that i associated with. The picture of our first president, george washington on the wall. He at least had a gentle and kind face that i preferred to look upon, on the first and very long day. The flag that gave me a warm and fuzzy feeling.. as introduced by my parents and celebrations and the alphabet posted around the room where i could identify and feel confidence of having mastered the alphabet  at home with my mom. There i found my confidence and positive feelings. The identification of what i thought "school" was supposed to be.. All about my country's history and founding fathers. All about patriotism and academics woven together. There was nothing about a "yardstick" and stinging hands in my "first day of school" manual. Nothing about "teachers" who were "addiction" and "cruel" and so not "fit" to teach..to teach any child. Needless to say, my mother came to walk me home the first day..and i burst out of the doors of the classroom with red eyes and matching red hands and fingers. i squeezed her hand tight and started sobbing all the way home.. full of fear and pain, I began to see that I had a mom who cared and responded. One who gave me comfort and feelings of security. As we walked further from the school i felt stronger with each step.. I couldn't remember one positive thing about the first day of school. The other children were equally "unprepared" for the anger of Mrs. G.. the yardstick matron from hell.  The next day, wouldn't be easy. I had planned to protest and did, to my mother and father, saying that my teacher was hitting me and the other students , that other children were taking my snacks and bullying on the playground. Kindergarten became a "terrorist" camp and once there i had no protection or bodyguard. Day after day it would be the same exact pattern. The same tears, the same red hands and fingers.. the same fear. I was a social little girl. I did like to chatter but only at snack time or the times that were appropriate. when the teacher asked for quiet..the class would instantly go to the quiet as for a  "pin drop" routine. Still there was no mercy , and day after day, the academic lessons were faded into the yardstick ambush. Its amazing any of the children could focus at all, when you consider Mrs. G would randomly smack tiny hands for no reason. For no reason at all. After a number of weeks had gone by..and my crying all the way to school every morning  and and returning home every afternoon, my parents became concerned with the amount of anxiety and pain i had been suffering. They scheduled an appointment with the teacher and things began to change quickly. My father removed me from the school and we were moving to fairfield ct. , where i would be schooled until high school graduation in 1971. With a good school system for support and a neighborhood of boomers, it was the ideal location for our family. our new home was  Only one block to the beach.  we were all in paradise when we found out..that the home on Emmy street, would be ours!! Years later, i would find out that Mrs. G, was alcohol addicted and she was fired from her job at R school. I had no idea what transpired between my teacher in stamford and my parents but i can tell you my parents were not afraid to take "action" and "protect" me based on the ongoing physical abuses. My first day in fairfield..now that was something to remember!! a yard to play in and ride my new bike on.. a beach where i could swim with friends and the best part for a 6 year old child...babybooming friends all around who shared a love of discovery and were part of a "generation boom". We would all grow up with the beatles and other legends and icons that made our generation so memorable and sweet!! The days of pain and suffering in my schools seemed like a distant cloudy memory.. in a matter of days in my new home. My parents seemed happier too. we were no longer in the city of stamford, we were in the best community in ct. , fairfield. !  What was dark became light and what was painful was now joy!!! It seemed things were on a new path, overnite.!! I credit my parents for removing me from an "abusive" classroom to give me a good start in fairfield schools. This is a personal issue for me, as many who know me know, a parents "authority" is something you just cant lose when protecting your children.It  is your god-given right to direct the education of your child, to raise your child and to maintain your child's health and well-being. As this series unfolds you will see more assaults to "parental authority" by a govt. growing too large and too corrupt.
I hope to see you tomorrow..right here on jesse's succinct news . There are some who may have experienced classrooms as my first classroom experience and can speak of teachers who were abusive or damaged them. I had a few friends who reported to me that in catholic schools they suffered violence and abuse from "nuns". It's heartbreaking to hear that children could suffer this way in trust relationship. Education must be about "positive" learning experiences. If it is not, it is the making of a dark star hollow and there will be no "light" at the end of the tunnel . These are the children who fail in schools , whether by neglect or lacking protection from the system or unfit parents. I thank god my parents were fit and identified the problem, responded in time..used authority and took my complaints seriously. It was the teacher  and  not me!  Parents have to have a bond of trust and honesty. My parents knew I was telling the truth. How many parents listen , respond and take action?  Their decision was key in my success as a student in  the fairfield schools, where i received a scholarship for my academic standing in high school. Fairfield schools were the best in the nation. I was priviledged to live, work and attend school in fairfield. Fairfield was a community for families and founding father history as i will reveal in coming blog articles. stay with us for the summer.. stay cool..bring your lemonade and ice up.. There is more to come on "homeschooling street".
enjoy our sponsors and see you back here tomorrow.. its time to make "magic".
detective sparks signing off for now.. in the coolness of the mid-summer's night.