A Journey from
1944 to … Now
1953
We split the year in ’53—
’Twixt Oklahoma–Texas, see?
That war (Korean) ended soon—
So home we went (not by balloon).
My third grade year I finished there—
My teacher, Mrs. Ziegler—fair
And just and very well prepared,
Though sometimes I just sat and stared
At girls I liked. My life had changed.
Priorities were rearranged.
I know I was a little young—
The pendulum had really swung.
But I loved baseball—number one.
I couldn’t think of better fun.
Except for playing cowboy, Yo.
My life by then—a rodeo.
My friends that year were Pete and Jim.
And Archie—need to mention him.
And our dog, Sooner—my best friend.
I knew his life would never end.
And so my life seemed ever bright—
And everything (well, most) seemed right.
But here is something—a disgrace:
My Enid: segregated place.
But most of 1953
It was fourth grade—at last!—for me.
**
My fourth-grade year—one of the best.
My teacher, Mrs. Rockwell, knew
Just how to teach—to get right through.
I loved her class—was not a pest
As I had been at other times
When boredom ruled: I had to find
Some ways to occupy my mind,
So mastered several classroom crimes.
Like placing thumbtacks on some seats—
Like launching spitballs in the air
To land on classmates’ desks and hair.
Got caught some times—some brief defeats.
But fourth grade showed a different me—
I did my class work, read my books,
Enjoyed some classmates’ jealous looks.
Found pure delight—the Carnegie
(Our library—not far away).
I checked out books—impressive piles—
Enjoyed my parents’ happy smiles.
And learned to balance school and play.
(It wouldn’t last.)
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