In September 1955 I started school at Adrian grade school. There were two first grade classes located at the west end of the building on the lower level. I was in Mrs. Comer's class, right in the northwest corner of the building. Mrs. Comer was an older woman—at least she seemed so to six year olds—and her grandmotherly ways made her a favorite with us.
I don't remember much else about that first year of school except we would have a nap and story time each afternoon after lunch and a snack later in the afternoon.
Once in the spring we took a field trip and walked the few blocks from the school to the post office to learn about how the mail works. I doubt there are many post offices in this whole country as small as the little one in Adrian, Oregon, but we were impressed in our little way by how the whole system worked.
The last day of school each year was a big field day with races and games and awards and food all up on the high school field and no regular classes except to get report cards. And then the busses would take everyone home early that day. I loved to ride the school bus. We lived about as far away from the school as we could get in our particular direction, so we were always nearly the last ones off the bus at night and nearly the first ones on in the morning.
Some of my older brothers—maybe all of them—had attended grade school at Big Bend, a little white country school about a mile and half or two miles west of where we lived. I can remember visiting at the school when some of the others had been going there, but for some reason, perhaps because schools were being consolidated by the time I came along, I never went there but started in Adrian.
Once we went to the Big Bend school to get shots. I don't know if I had one on that particular occasion; I may have been along just to watch. But I do remember that Gene, who was supposed to get one, broke away and got out of the building and was off and running through the fields to escape his shot. We finally chased him down in our car.
My parents had nine children—eight boys and finally a girl. I was their seventh son. These are the stories from my life that I want to share with my children and their children and so on down until the end of time. I am grateful for the great goodness of my God and acknowledge His tender mercies in my life.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
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