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?

As I am completely tone deaf (ask anyone who has ever heard my karaoke renditions or sat next to me at church), let’s just say music class was not necessarily where I shined, so again, not my favorite elementary school events.

Our music teacher, Mrs. Leer, would usually have a predetermined theme for each performance. One year we did Disney. My grade shared the musical stylings of the Little Mermaid with our parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and siblings (the unfortunate folks forced to bear witness to young children’s ungainly on-stage ticks and off-key screeches). One year we did Broadway show tunes. To this day, I still can’t get the A Comedy Tonight, Mame and Shall We Dance mashup out of my mind…

These were celebratory performances marking the milestones we were hitting in our developmental years. Maybe the lesson was harmonizing. Maybe it was being able to read music. Maybe it was just understanding the weird hand motions Mrs. Leer made while mouthing the words to the songs. Whatever the lesson, our little musical display was designed to showcase the culmination of months of fortitude etched in hard work and determination….. hahahahahahaha.

Once in a great while, there would be the chance for a few children to step forward from the rest and offer their talents singly to the crowd. That could be anything from a teeny tiny solo line in the middle of a song, or it could be reading a poem or a quote into the microphone.

I was one of those children. I was Fred’s wife.

5^th grade. Winter school pageant. A Christmas Carol. I got cast as Fred’s wife. I had two lines and it was going to be amazing. I even had an understudy. This pageant was going to be my moment in a world of troubling tempos and unreachable registers.

I know nothing about acting. I’d never been drawn to the field, to be perfectly frank. But whether it was my competitive spirit or boisterous personality desperately seeking attention, I was so psyched to be cast in our little musical play.

My husband, Fred, would be portrayed by a 6^th grader. That was pretty cool, too, – an older man. I had a costume. I had a microphone. My non-stage stage dreams were coming true and I was so excited! I was going to nail my part so help me. I was going to be the best Fred’s Wife there ever was!

The night of the show, the play began to unfold with various Christmas melodies performed by students in grades 4-6. My 15 minutes was fast approaching. My set location (on the school gym floor) was under the Christmas tree.

Ready for my close up.

I think a couple of first graders were asked to play our children (did Fred and his wife even have children?) – I can’t quite recall. I was supposed to be mending something or playing with my kids, again, I’m a little vague on the action sequence of it all. Then Fred entered our “house”. He said whatever it was he was supposed to say. My heart was beating faster by the second. What was my line? What was I supposed to say? It’s coming … don’t mess up! Be loud. Be clear. Enunciate … what??!! That’s what Mrs. Leer had said but I was like 10. What the hell did enunciate mean?

Fred was looking at me. It must be my turn!! I felt the audience’s eyes upon me; Mrs. Leer and the entire 4^th grade standing on the risers were staring at me expectantly. Fake smile in place (after all, I was acting), I spoke into my microphone with as much Christmas cheer as an actress of my caliber could muster.

“I know! Let’s sing Deck The Halls!”

There it was. Nailed it.

The 4^th grade broke out into their loud and discordant version of Deck the Halls while I smiled on with my fake husband Fred by my side.

Mr. and Mrs. Fred

I can’t say the moment really birthed any sort of an acting bug within, though I did, and still do, continue to pull out the old drama card when the situation calls for it…

And for those of you stuck in the bleachers at those God-awful events this season and beyond, just know there is some kid at that concert whose night you’ve made by being there. It is not for naught.