I found my old elementary annuals earlier this summer.

New Paris Elementary School. Now some Bible college, I believe.

They were mixed in with some stuff leftover from my parents’ move.  Primary school memories are one thing, but revisiting them through actual imagery is pretty hysterical.

Little Libby in Kindergarten at the start of my public school education. Probably the most innocent I’ve ever looked in my life.

Now I have to preface all of this with the fact that I do understand that elementary is a battleground for a lot of individuals. Not like high school where maybe you weren’t popular or didn’t hang with the crowd you would’ve liked, but you could still maybe find a friend. Flying solo or being the odd duck wasn’t as humiliating as it was in those early formative years on the playground where nothing but fitting in was what was needed to build a healthy self-esteem. There’s no sense of self at that age. There’s no attitude of screw it, I don’t need these people.

And, kids are cruel. I think about the stuff we said and did and it was just plain mean. And I had a fairly good group in my grade. I don’t mean just cruel to each other, either, but cruel to the teachers and staff, too. I remember our art teacher. She was really one of the nicest ladies in a lot of ways. Was she beginning to go bald? Yes. And when you’re 7, 8, 9 and 10 years old (and sadly beyond), you don’t think about how mean it is to make fun of a grown woman who is losing her hair. You don’t understand hormones and menopause and genetics. You see a round older woman with bald patches in her dye job. How is that not funny when you’re that age? I think one of the things I heard was someone put glue in her hair. Rumor or real, I don’t know, but who does that? Kids. Kids do that. And their parents have no clue. We were really no different then to kids today in a lot of ways. It’s the same approach, just a different landing because of the era in which we live. We were bullies. We got bullied. The accessibility may not have been the same, but the intent was identical. Insecurities and influences abounded affecting our behavior as we grew and learned. Just like today.

But for all of that, I have mostly fond memories of elementary school. I didn’t always like my teachers. I didn’t always do what I was told, but I had a lot of fun doing whatever it was I did. One of the cool things about finding the yearbooks was looking back at the people who taught me, helped mold me, and nudged me in some way towards the person I am today.

Mrs. Hopkins! My Kindergarten teacher. Loved this lady. Look at us baby faces saying the Pledge of Allegiance. Do schools still do that today?

Old Mrs. Meyers. The most feared elementary school teacher around. She gave me my first and second detentions ever received … out of two. 

Mrs. Berger! My 2nd grade teacher. She was a total joy and what every elementary school teacher should be. Around The World was my favorite game in her class. Probably the only time I enjoyed math.

Mrs. Sherk was my 3rd grade teacher. I stayed in more recesses writing apologies for stupid things I said or did than I care to admit because of this lady. Her husband was a pilot, though, so that was pretty cool.

Mr. Hornberger … he was the perfect fodder for rotten children’s ignorant sensibilities. From his crazy haircuts, to his feminine mannerisms, he was the butt of many many jokes. But he was actually a wonderful teacher. He taught my mom, so he was kind of an institution.

Mrs. McFarland was my 6th grade teacher. Never met a teacher that played favorites like this one. I remember she tried to convince us one day we were getting a new student with AIDS just to guage our reactions and teach us about prejudices and ignorance. Like what color do we think the student is (to her all white class) and would we share the water fountain with them or if they were cut and bleeding all over the playground would we help them or just let them bleed? In hindsight, her mastertful trickery playing into children’s fears was probably borderline inapporpriate…

One of the funniest things was looking at the labels and practices used back in the day. Most of which you can’t say today without a lawsuit directed your way. For example, my folks used to tell me my kindergarten teacher  said my class had a lot of Chiefs but no Indians. You can’t say things like that anymore.

So here’s a little throw-back to the way things were…

Our principal and also my 5th grade teacher. He chose my year to go back to the classroom before retirement.

Of all the candids they could have used …

And then we have poor Cindy Packer – professional door holder. They couldn’t at least invent some sort of title for her?

I had just gotten an iPhone. I was sharing my apps with everyone. “I can do this with this one!” and “Look! I can do that with that one!”  (c’mon, it was my first) I even had a flashlight app! How cool was I? (less cool by the moment, but who’s counting?)

So I had just found an EMF detecting app and realized I could use my Voice Memo as an EVP recorder. I didn’t need any other ghost hunting equipment than that, right? I was set. Who’s with me? I recruited my little sister and her hubby.

Me, my little sister and her hubs. Ready for a serious hunt.

We’d been wanting to do a paranormal investigation for a while, (huge fans of Ghost Hunters) but we knew we didn’t know what we were doing. And who wants to join something only to embarrass themselves, right? (the new me, of course, but this is before then)

We were back in our hometown of New Paris in Indiana. Population of about 1500. In the day, it was the sort of place where anybody knew everybody. Very  hospitable and you could get away with murder. It had appeared to change some over the years. People seemed a bit more guarded. Signs were posted at properties saying “No Trespassing” and “Stay Out!” People had become skeptical, I guess. And in today’s age, who can blame them? So what we were about do now had great risk, but with great risk comes accidents, citations, arrests … Ghost hunting in the new version of our hometown was going to take some old school skillz (yeah, I just did that).

First stop was Jackson cemetery.

Jackson Cemetery. Scariest locale in our town.

This cemetery was legendary in our little town. It was down a long lane, up a hill and at the back of the cemetery there was a complete drop-off. People had witnessed fires in the cemetery, yet no one was around. There were also claims of seeing ghostly spirits and a light mist that rolls along the ground.

It wasn’t dark, but this cemetery still had a pretty high creep-out factor. It was also checked pretty frequently by the police, too. Vandals had made that necessary over the years. So we were past closing, but we could still see. I had declared myself the getaway driver (hey- it was my car). So I couldn’t get out in case we needed a quick escape. My sister decided she’d be the lookout. Which means we told the scary stories to her husband, kicked him out of the car with my phone and left him alone to find ghosts in the cemetery.

He got nothing. So we moved on. It was dark by this point and we decided to hit the Scout Cabin next. The good old Scout Cabin.

We thank you Boy Scouts of America for providing us this lovely little cabin and  the hill upon which it sits.

Seemed like it had been around forever. It was also home to one of two hills in the area. Surely it would yield paranormal evidence.

Now my sister’s husband had never spent much time in New Paris. And he’d certainly never seen the Scout cabin before. Again it was decided that I was the getaway, my sister was the lookout and that left her hubs to investigate. It was so dark, though, by this point he couldn’t see a thing. But WAIT!! I had the Flashlight app!

Flashlight app to the rescue!!!

New iPhone saves the day. I handed it to him. He stumbled over to the gate. We had all been struggling to see the new sign posted next to it. In all our years, there had never been a sign …

“Trespassing. Private Property.”

What? This may be the one group in America that’s always supposed to be prepared, but what were they preparing for? Tom Foolery?  Zombie Apocalypse?  The Girl Scouts? What happened to neighborly love and all that jazz? Another ghost hunting fail.

All right – onto the Baintertown cemetery.

Baintertown Cemetery. Our final resort.

A small little cemetery near the river preserve by our house. Practically a free pass. Only a couple of houses. No one drives along that road. We were good. But still, just in case … I needed to be the getaway, my sister needed to be the lookout and my brother-in-law needed to be as stealth as possible.

I’d given him my phone. He turned on the flashlight app that had just done him a solid. Then out of nowhere the lookout calls “car lights! Get down get down get down!” Her husband awkwardly dove back into the vehicle and we all ducked down so we wouldn’t be seen. Oh no!!!! The flashlight app!! I screamed “turn it off turn it off turn it off!” The car lights were almost upon us! Finally he managed to turn the app off. Whew! And we all crouched as low as possible so we wouldn’t be seen and reported to the cops for suspicious behavior.

The car passes by. We were safe! I had a black car. No one sees a black car in the dark. We were sure we hadn’t been seen. Till we realized the dome lights were on from my sister’s husband getting in and out of the car. Another fail. We headed home.

This is a no-take-back because I learned two valuable lessons that day.

1. I’m a fabulous getaway driver.
2. iPhones are awesome.

I’m jealous. I miss snow. I miss it a lot. I don’t miss shoveling it in May, but this time of year just isn’t the same without sub-zero wind chills and  a large white canvas calling my name. You really haven’t lived if you haven’t played in snow.

My siblings and I would build snow forts for our snowball fights (snowballs we’d spritz with water so they were rock hard – the only way to have a REAL snowball fight). I think one of my sisters may have been devious enough to put rocks in some of them as well. We were hardcore.

That’s right. One of our many mountainous snow hills.

Of course we’d build snowmen, too.

Is that a snowman with a pineapple on its head? Yeah, I had no part in the creation of this sad sad little man.

My cousin and I created a snow-Elmo. I was so proud.

And now you can see why my siblings weren’t the ones to go to art school.

Eventually we graduated from playful to perilous. My brother became an expert at building ramps for our sleds (we lived in Northern Indiana, people. Hills were few and far between the snow-covered corn fields.) Again, spritzed, or maybe drenched, with water so it could freeze and we could go farther faster. That’s how we roll.

There was one place we could go that was considered a hill by most stretches of the imagination… the good old Scout Cabin. Now when you’re a kid, it seemed like a mountain you had to climb and it felt like forever as you made your way to the top. In hindsight, it was probably two stories? Maybe?

One year, my brother, my younger sister and I decided to go sledding there. It was as risky as sledding could be for yester-year’s youth in my small town. My brother was the pusher. He would back up as far as he could with us, run (at what seemed like the speed of light) and let go. We would sail over the hill, screeching at the top of our lungs, wind smacking our face, snow on all sides, loving life and the freedom you felt for those twenty seconds of utter sledding bliss.

Except the time my brother pushed my little sister too hard and she went flying straight for the river. He shouted at her to roll off the sled repeatedly. I stood in awe. She kept screaming (but didn’t roll off …???). My brother sprinted down the hill. I stood, still watching in awe. She finally rolled over like a foot from the river and … it was done. My parents would have been SO mad! But it was AWESOME!!!

My brother pushing my sister. Her face basically looked just like that all the way down to the river. I guess it really can freeze that way.

Little daredevil stuff like that just isn’t the same in summer. For those of you that have it, go out and do something with it. Maybe salt on the roads and plowing out your drive isn’t your idea of fun, but you can make it fun. Be a kid again. Make an angel. Build a fort. If not for you, then so those stuck in a warm sunny climate that has no snow can live vicariously through you. Remember – it’s a no-take-backs life, baby!