In which I find my true home: the stage
March 19, 2012In fifth grade, we return to Good Hair. Which is all that matters, after all.
Look how happy I am! How confident! Except for the funky teeth situation, I look pretty good--as if I might just avoid those weird-looking teen years after all. I mean, how wrong can THIS go?
(Spoiler: very, very wrong.)
My fifth grade teacher was Mr. Townsend (I KNOW, I know, so many male teachers! It wasn't my doing, I swear), and he was FINE. After Mr. Klein/Klyne/Himmler, it was a relief to have a teacher who liked me. Honestly I remember very little about his teaching. What I remember from fifth grade is limited to this: my classmate Barbara getting something or other published in Kidsday--which was, OF COURSE, the kids' section of Newsday, the Long Island paper of record-- and feeling sick with envy; Mr. Townsend admonishing us, on a particularly hot day, not to fan ourselves with paper, because the act of fanning would make us even hotter (I thought this was the most insane thing I had ever heard in all my days); and performing a one-woman (one-girl?) one-act play for the entire school, in which I was a witch. (There were other acts, performed by the rest of the class, but for whatever reason I was on my own. Either I was a formidable talent, or my ego was a danger to others.) Mr. Townsend stood right in front of the stage mouthing the lines to me, so anytime I got stuck I would merely pretend to be thoughtful and look down to receive my cue. This is called acting, kids. That's a little trick used in the theater.
Next up: sixth grade. Right before the steep descent into Awkward.
How was your fifth grade year? Did you Work Well with Others?
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Reader Comments (30)
Fifth grade was the best ever, and actually sent me hurtling down my eventual career path. My English teacher that year was Mrs. Watrous, a towering (at least 6 feet tall, and not just in memory) force of nature who had (*gasp*) authored a BOOK, and spent most of the year working with us on our writing skills. She was so amazing. Take-no-prisoners tough, incredibly high expectations, and she changed my life. We had editing tests in addition to normal spelling tests every Friday, and had to use the real editing marks that (spoiler alert) I'd end up seeing every day once I was on staff at a magazine. I loved those tests with a fiery passion; loved fixing the poor broken sentences with the clever marks and then rewriting them as neatly as possible underneath. Once my group of tablemates was the only one to pass the test on the first try, and she gave us ribbons for our wrists and cushions to sit on while we drew and the rest of the class tried again.
We wrote everything from fairy tales to 60+-page autobiographies that year. The autobiographies required research into our family histories, and interviews with our relatives, in addition to the actual writing. We had to type everything on the little Apple II computers in the new computer lab, and we bound the books with laminated covers. Then she threw a book party, and our parents came to celebrate our accomplishment with us.
(I actually just teared up. Wow.)
I was devastated to leave Mrs. Watrous and my safe little elementary school and plunge on to middle school, but she organized a writing group for her most enthusiastic "graduates," which met at her house every month or so and included guest author appearances and a trip to Seattle to visit the Sunset Magazine offices.
By 8th grade I chose a local journalist as my mentor for a big career project, in high school I ran a staff of 50 as Editor-in-Chief of the paper, and in college I interned everywhere from EW to NPR before eventually landing at Fortune Magazine after graduation. All because of Mrs. Watrous, who showed bookwormy little me that words were something I could play with for a living.
OMG! These posts and comments are so much fun to read!
My fifth grade was the weirdest of those years. We had two teachers. Mornings were with Mrs. Landon. She was cool and I loved her. Then after recess we got Sister Amelia. She was little, shrunken and about 120 years old. And whooha was she ever mean. She would sometimes fall asleep and we would sit silently not wanting to wake her up. But you know kids, we would get loud and startle her. Then she would lecture us about manners for hours. Eventually she started being late and many times would not even show up. (she lived in the nun's home next door). We never told any of the other teachers when she did not show up because we obviously did not like her. One bit! She was a mean and scary old nun. Eventually someone ratted her out (side eye to Vicki Vi0la). So we got Mrs. Landon all day. It was also the year my first big crush hit.
You like happier here than your fourth grade photo. haha Oh how nice to reminisce the good years. I can't recall anything special neither bad memories during my fifth grade. But I do remember my teacher, Mr. Dennis, was a nice guy.
Oh Grade 5
The true start of all the angst. My sensitive self did not take well to the new hormones and the new rules of the playground. My teacher was Ms Stewart. She was wonderful, although there were times I certainly didn't think so. She actually expected us to like do our work. God!
This was the year that I really truly no longer fit in with the masses. I never fit in that well, but a girl I had known at church moved into our school, and we became best friends and since nobody really liked me anyway I hung out with just her. All the time.
Our teacher got us in this sweet program that got us free lunch at pizza hut for reading books. It was the highlight of the year. We were forced to learn and recite the poem Disiderata.
Oh, you are not kidding about the good hair.
Love it.