My Cheeks were red–All My Cheeks!

105182105411111CDP      I still have a terrible memory of the year they replaced the small pot-bellied coal stove with an oil burner in our country school. The memory is “burned” into my brain cells. One day, in third grade, I suffered an embarrassing injury. Before the day was through, my cheeks were red; I mean all my cheeks.

Our farm was three miles from the country school I attended until sixth grade. The school house was a dignified, small white wooden building with several windows on the south side, paired with a sagging and rickety gray board barn, where a couple of the older boys stabled their horses after riding them to school, and around which we played “Ante Over,” or Kick Can Run at recess.

Old school 4

A picture by our country school. Me with my two classmates.

Usually about six grades of eight to twelve students crowded into the one school room, learning about and from each other. Small students watched how older students acted; older students sometimes tutored younger; all students learned how to play together.

If you wanted a softball team, you had to choose every age and size. The older boys helped the first and second graders by putting their strong “grown-up” arms around them to help the smaller hands hold the bat, lending strength and accuracy to the swing. What a thrill to feel the crack of ball to bat and take off running to first base—a real member of the team. A priceless modeling of behavior.

Pot Belly Stove JPEG

A friend’s old Pot Belly Stove

But smaller students had to watch out when a gopher was spotted running across the grassy schoolyard, and stay out of the way of the bigger boys with the bats as they ran after the little guy. Annual Gopher Day in town rewarded savvy hunters five cents a tail. Every kid had a coffee can of treasured tails, salted and dried, awaiting redemption.

Years later, driving past that empty building still brought memories. Memories of being cracked on the head with a colored Easter egg by the older boys, drinking out of a pond in the ditch on a hot spring day when I forgot to bring the can of drinking water for the day, learning later that the only kids who got sick from the water were two first graders.

But, back to the “terrible memory.” When they ripped up the old stove, it had stuck and taken the smooth surface off the floor boards in the spot where it sat. No one fixed the floor.

One memorable day for me, we had a tug-of-war game going with a rope down the middle of the room. On one of the few days I would wear a dress to school. Anyway, I fell/sat down right as our losing line was pulled across the rough and splintered floor.

With everyone watching, great strength was needed to still the welling of tears in my eyes. Also, to sit down for the rest of the day.

The teacher boarded at our house; my dad brought us to school and didn’t return till school was out. Telephones were in homes, not school houses.

Took quite a while after school for my Mom to remove all the splinters with tweezers and paint me with good old-fashioned red mercurochrome, an antiseptic and a precious commodity current generations can’t buy in the US anymore. It had real mercury in it, and actually worked to prevent infection and reduce soreness.

But the stain lasts a long time, making all my cheeks red!

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11 Responses to My Cheeks were red–All My Cheeks!

  1. Doris says:

    Ican see it all happening. What a memory, and glad you shared it. For myself it was a three roon schoolhouse with all twelve grades. Only for four years, then a new school was built. Those early memories are special and ones most young people don’t understand. Doris

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    • Wranglers says:

      Yes, while there were a few times kids may have wrangled over something, most of the school year was about learning new things, forming relationships, sharing and accepting. It felt like a family and the kids I went to school with “way back then” still feel like family to me. And I couldn’t get far out of line with the teacher boarding at our place some of those years and being a neighbor some others! Thanks for comment. Neva

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  2. Wow, that was quite an incident. I bet you thought twice before playing on a splintery wooden floor again.

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  3. sstamm625 says:

    Wonderful memories! My older siblings attended a one-room school. It was long abandoned by the time I came along, but we used to walk there and wander through the room, and write on the blackboard (literally black-painted boards) with some remaining stubs of chalk. My elementary school (grades 1-8) had five classrooms. Grades 1 & 8 each had their own room. 2 & 3 shared, 4 & 5 shared, and 6 & 7 shared. There were 12 students in my 8th grade class.

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    • Wranglers says:

      Your school experience was much like mine when I started town school in 8th grade as country school closed for good. Two grades shared a room, and in highschool they only taught two years at a time, so two age groups took the same subjects. I took Sophomore subjects my Freshman year and vice-versa next year, same for Junior and Senior years. But smaller numbers in classes made for better control and easier learning I think. Great memories anyway. Thanks for reading! Neva

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  4. What a trip down memory lane. Thank you so much for sharing with us. We always lived in town and went to a public school with separate grades and teachers. I always wanted to go to a one-room school and did have the chance for one week while my parents were on vacation. Loved it!

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  5. Wranglers says:

    My grade school and high school were both large. 1 through 8 in grade school. But, we still had a lot of the same experiences. Loved the vividness and the visions I had as I read your blog. A very cute photo of you. We burned coal when I was a child, so I relate to the stove. Cher’ley

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  6. Gayle Irwin says:

    Great post, Neva! I loved the story when you shared it at Writer’s Group — such a classic memory! You have a knack for storytelling, and I hope we’ll see that transpire into a book or two one day soon!

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  7. Nancy Jardine says:

    Definitely an ouch moment. I might carry that image for a while every time I pull out the tweezers for something, Neva. I love reading about your childhood stories- thank you. They are very different from what I was used to.

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  8. erinfarwell says:

    You poor thing, but you tell it well. Thanks for sharing.

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