Day 309: memories of second grade
Sep. 29th, 2012 12:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maeve66Again, completely random memories. This was my last year at Marquette Elementary School, in Madison, because we moved that next summer to Evanston, Illinois.
This was the year that I cut the corner off of the American flag in an act protesting the Vietnam War (how it did that, I do not know... it may also have been a protest against the Pledge of Allegiance... GOD, I hate having to hear that every morning).
I remember really, really liking my teacher, whose first name was Rose. I think her last name was Germanish? Now I can't remember. Schneidman? Something like that. I used to remember. She was the first youngish teacher I'd had, and I didn't have another youngish teacher until seventh grade and Ms. Noznick, with whom I fought a great deal, but to whom I was extremely memorable.
Literally the only other thing I remember from that year of school was that in one Science unit, we took apart and then rebuilt little devices with batteries. That was cool.
Oh, and a new girl came to school, whose family had just moved to the US from Bolivia. I was convinced they were political refugees (and they may have been) but in any case, my enthusiasm for Mercedes led the teacher to make me her mentor/guide, what have you. And we became close friends, often playing together after school. Her older teenage sister, Patricia, was amazing to me because she had a microscope and showed us our hair and blood, and because she was taking French, and told me she would take me to France with her when she went, as an adult. This was actually the first time I encountered the notion of studying French, even before our family vacation three years later to Quebec and St. Pierre.
This was the year that I cut the corner off of the American flag in an act protesting the Vietnam War (how it did that, I do not know... it may also have been a protest against the Pledge of Allegiance... GOD, I hate having to hear that every morning).
I remember really, really liking my teacher, whose first name was Rose. I think her last name was Germanish? Now I can't remember. Schneidman? Something like that. I used to remember. She was the first youngish teacher I'd had, and I didn't have another youngish teacher until seventh grade and Ms. Noznick, with whom I fought a great deal, but to whom I was extremely memorable.
Literally the only other thing I remember from that year of school was that in one Science unit, we took apart and then rebuilt little devices with batteries. That was cool.
Oh, and a new girl came to school, whose family had just moved to the US from Bolivia. I was convinced they were political refugees (and they may have been) but in any case, my enthusiasm for Mercedes led the teacher to make me her mentor/guide, what have you. And we became close friends, often playing together after school. Her older teenage sister, Patricia, was amazing to me because she had a microscope and showed us our hair and blood, and because she was taking French, and told me she would take me to France with her when she went, as an adult. This was actually the first time I encountered the notion of studying French, even before our family vacation three years later to Quebec and St. Pierre.