teachers and tums

Ms. Locker was a fifth grade teacher at my school. She was old enough to be my grandmother. The top drawer of her desk contained two things: a tube of bright pink lipstick and a jar of Tums, which she'd take a handful of every half hour. A fairly mild-tempered teacher, she would rarely yell but had a punishment much worse (and far more embarrassing) than raising her voice at you in front of the class. If she reached into her top drawer and didn't pull out her container of Tums, it meant trouble. Lecturing all the while, she'd lather her lips with lipstick (in a shade complimentary to her nail polish) and slowly walk towards you slightly limping because of her bad hip. Grabbing your face in her hands, she'd bend down and apply what she affectionately called a "kissy-poo smashy-face," directly on your cheek. Luckily I never fell prey to such a kiss, but I can still picture the faces of those who did. And, I am most certain their souls still bear emotional scars of such smooches.

bobcat days

It's summer's end and I can now hear the school bell from my bedroom window. It chimes several times a day, announcing the beginning of a new year and new adventures for all Bonneville Bobcats.

* * *

On most nights, Dad would read to us. He'd sit between our two twin beds at 1936 and prop himself up against the wall. I'd always ask if he wanted a pillow, but he hardly ever said yes. First he would read from the scriptures. He'd open our big blue family copy, studiously fingering the verses to see where we'd left off the night before. My sister liked to say, "We were on the part that says, 'And it came to pass.'" He started to read "The Hobbit," but I made him stop because I was too afraid; especially when he would do his Gollum voice. Instead, he read "Where the Red Fern Grows" and "Ramona the Pest."

Sometimes I would walk to the neighborhood library after school with Ashley and Katie. After a failed attempt at liking "Sweet Valley High," (which is what Katie and Ashley liked best) I read everything Beverly Cleary on my own. I was certain that although she was younger, Ramona the Pest was just like my older sister, and I was like Beezus, the sister who never did anything wrong.

In fifth grade I stopped reading Beverly Cleary. In fifth grade I had Mr. Miller. He loved math, Michigan, and U.S. history; and his face turned really red when he got mad. Sydney, a girl in my class, liked to read the dictionary when she was bored. Mr. Miller would get mad at her for not paying attention when he was trying to teach us the state capitols. Once, he turned me upside-down in front of the whole class to demonstrate inverted fractions. My face got pretty red.

That same year, I was Charlie Chaplin in the Great Americans Parade. Natalie was Benjamin Franklin. She wore knickers and a vest and stuck a pillow up her shirt. Her mom made her wire bifocals and she carried a hot dog skewer with a kite on the end. She had to tell the audience about how she discovered electricity. I didn't have any speaking lines, I just had to waddle like Charlie Chaplin in front of the whole school, which was worse. I had a crush on the boy who played Paul Revere and a secret crush on the boy who played Nathan Hale. I still remember all their lines.

Our required reading that year was a chapter book about the Revolutionary War. Natalie and I would go home for lunch to finish our reading. We'd eat macaroni and cheese while my Mom read to us about Bunker Hill, tea parties and taxes.

One Sunday morning we woke up to toilet paper streaming down from trees in our backyard. By the time we were ready to leave for church, Brad and his little brother were outside with a broom, reaching high up into the cherry tree to clean up their mess. I watched them bundle all the paper up and walk back down the street to their house. I wished it was the boy who played Paul Revere and not Brad and his brother. Fifth grade was the first time I went toilet papering. I spent the night at Katie's house and we toilet papered her next-door-neighbor at eleven.

* * *

I hear children trickle out to recess. Slowly, the playground fills with excited voices, bouncing balls, and girls skipping rope.

all that glitters is gold

A few months ago, I was cleaning out an old box in my parent's house. Along with soccer team pictures, birthday cards and junior high games of MASH (which were quite hilarious, if you must know), I found a small white box, perfectly square, with a silver sticker on top. In silver lettering, the word sparkled back at me: glitz.
* * *
It's Friday. Kates and I are headed up to Foothill Village, our usual TGIF ritual. I've got a ten in my pocket, Alexander Hamilton happy to be amongst a small list of things to purchase from this hip strip mall, just a few minutes walk from my house. Red pen, soccer stickers, pink pad from Gregory's. Katie's list is similar, although I'm sure it includes red nail polish from Robyn Todd. We'd compiled our lists via phone Tuesday night, comparing and contrasting and, most likely, and even though we didn't know it, using the same pen and paper. I do everything Katie does. She is the epitome of cool and I'm determined to garner her girlish 12 year-old coolness. There will be just enough to left over for frozen yogurt, or potato logs, I think to myself as we round the corner near Zion's bank.

We hit up Stevenson's first, working our way backwards, towards Gregory's (the toy store with all the cutesy stationary and the slide at the entrance, which we're really too big for, but we use anyway). But, on the way, like a beacon begging to be perused, is the glitz counter full of all the sterling silver jewelry a 12 year-old girl could ever want. We have to stop. We always stop.

I lean over the jewelry case and tap three times, signaling Katie to come near. These, I say. Tell D to get these. D is my boyfriend, but I wouldn't dare call him that. Instead, I say we're going out. That's what Emily says. Emily is in junior high and her brother is in high school. Going out (I'm pretty sure) is the cool way to say it. Making a mental note of my choice, Katie then waves me over to the other side of the display case to point out the necklace she wants from J. Katie and J are going out, too. It's totally cute - the necklace. (Katie and John are cute, too). I'll tell him about the necklace.

Maybe, just maybe Katie and I will have the guts to call them tonight and tell them to meet us at glitz to convey our deepest jewelry desires. Katie will talk to D and I will talk to J. Usually, we cave. We call and hang up at the first sign of a voice on the other end. I think D's family might have gotten Caller ID. I think it means they can tell if we're calling. At lunch today, Ash said something about dialing *67. It's like free Caller ID. It's totally going to ruin our plan. If all else fails, we can talk to them in person. Yeah, right! That would require days of preparation, pep-talks over the phone, and, if necessary, a sleep-over dry-run. I think we should have the sleep -over, no matter what. I have some new categories to add to MASH slash MASHO.

Delightfully digesting potato logs and with pink pads in our pockets, Katie and I talk about the boys on the way home. J looked so cute today in his Banana Republic t-shirt with the map on the back. And D wore Gramicis, a step up from Umbros, for two days in a row this week.

A few days later, I found a white box with a silver sticker in my desk at school. K got one, too. We both gushed at recess, revealed our glitz gifts, and immediately put them on. I got dolphin earrings, and K got a silver and black necklace. They beat us to the punch! So sneaky. Apparently Dave and the rest of the guys went up to Foothill last weekend, and they all bought something. I put my dolphin earrings on right there on the playground. The dolphin looked like it was going to jump right through my ears. It wasn't the set of earrings I had hoped for, but knowing D had picked them out himself was priceless. With such a momentous occasion, a sleep-over was definitely in order.

That very weekend, Katie and I sat in her newly-remodeled bathroom with the separated sink/shower room, college ruled paper and red pens in hand. (We saved the Gregory's pink paper to write notes to Libbie and Emily and Ash). As any respectable lady would do, we sat for hours composing the perfect thank you notes while trying to keep Taylor out of the bathroom.

The plan was this: We'd arrive early on Monday morning, with just enough time to casually slip our notes into D's and J's desks. I'd utter a silent prayer they won't spill out along with math books and geography assignments. That would be embarrassing, for sure! I'll look inside at the mess that is D's desk and think, And yet, I love him. I'm even wearing my dolphin earrings today to prove it.
* * *
I opened the white box to find a tarnished pair of dolphin earrings. February 14, 1993 was written inside on a pink piece of paper with red pen. I held the earrings and the box in my hands for a few minutes as my mind wandered back to the glitz counter and our Fridays at Foothill. I could almost taste the potato logs. With a tiny bit of sadness, I tossed the box (earrings and all) into the trash can near the desk. Glitz left years ago, as did Stevenson's, but I think you can still get potato logs at Dan's. Kates, let's make a date of it. On Friday, of course!

{image from here}