A VERY REAL TRUE STORY
In 1967, starting “big school” meant entering the
first grade. It was an exciting time for a six year old as
entering the first grade represented experiencing many of Life’s firsts: first book satchel, first pair of saddle
oxfords, first fat pencils and lined tablets, reading with Dick & Jane, first lunch boxes (mine was “Twiggy”), and, most
especially, experiencing first time puppy love.
I attended Leslie
Steele Elementary
school in Decatur
and I have vivid memories of visiting the school for the very first time. My mother escorted me down the large hallway
that, regardless of how recently the floors had been waxed, had the distinct
effervescent scent of new crayons, cupcakes and old vomit. Upon entering my classroom, my first grade
teacher introduced herself. She was at least six months from retiring and her
name was Mrs. Gross. Girl Scouts' ['Thin Mints'] honor – her name was “Mrs. Gross”. (Cross my heart…)
I sat in the very first desk of the very middle
row of Mrs. Gross’ first grade class. Right
behind me sat the cutest boy in the entire, whole first grade. His name was David and I had the most gushing
crush on him.
I was beyond smitten.
He had a golden tan all year long and the Biggest. Brownest. Eyes. He was rather shy and didn't talk very much, but that was okay - his cuteness spoke volumes and I could talk plenty for the both of us!
I was beyond smitten.
He had a golden tan all year long and the Biggest. Brownest. Eyes. He was rather shy and didn't talk very much, but that was okay - his cuteness spoke volumes and I could talk plenty for the both of us!
It was a Monday and I was still giddy from an
all-day Saturday shopping spree with my grandmother at downtown Atlanta ’s Rich’s
Department store. No amount of Bridge
Mix and hot cashews from the candy counter or even lunch on the Bridge could top
my excitement over wearing a brand new navy wool jumper ensemble to school that
day.
The morning work had passed quickly; it was time
for lunch followed by a quick run outside for recess. David had not seemed
himself all day despite my best efforts to be my entertaining version of
precious and chatty in my fabulous new outfit. After returning to the
classroom, Mrs. Gross began the afternoon lesson on the chalkboard.
And that’s when IT happened.
I suddenly felt a warm and somewhat heavy
sensation on the back of my head, down my neck and across my shoulders. Then,
the aroma
hit me.
My cherished first grade love - David - had
thrown up his lunch all. over. the back of me.
The highly coveted position of front
and center was now the focal point of David’s long withheld and
unexpressed love in the form of dripping chunks of Monday’s cafeteria
special. Needless to say, “Chatty” was ready to leave the
building.
Mrs. Gross sent us both to the office – David
to the first aid clinic… and Me?
I was sent to an outlying room of isolation UHway from everyone within gag-reflex distance. Meanwhile, a phone call had been made and my
[former Marine] father was on his way to collect me and my condition.
Upon his arrival, his assessment, and the onset
of the Eau de` vomit fragrance wafting over him, I was immediately
demoted to the rank of my father’s bird dogs and sentenced to ride home in the
back of his truck, thus avoiding all retching possibilities.
Apparently, vomit stamina is not a priority of Semper Fi.
That would be the first and last time I would ever
wear that outfit to school. Gushing
crushes of love? Who’s to say how many times a person must suffer
from Love
Regurgitated before it’s the real thing.
HKJ
Copyright © 2013
All Rights Reserved.
__________________________________________
"First Grade Love: Regurgitated" has been featured on Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop here:
http://humorwriters.org/2013/02/25/first-grade-love-regurgitated/
__________________________________________
"First Grade Love: Regurgitated" has been featured on Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop here:
http://humorwriters.org/2013/02/25/first-grade-love-regurgitated/
