When I was a kid, my mom often told stories of life when she and our dad attended San Augustine Colored High School in San Augustine, Texas.
School was obviously different in the segregated South in the early '50s. But it got me thinking about how different my schooling may have been from today's generation.
One big difference is corporal punishment. While schools in 33 states including California are prohibited from using corporal punishment, that wasn't the case when I was in elementary school in Virginia. In the second and third grade at school my teacher, Ms. Gore (Yes, that was her name) scared all of us students.
She was a big Black woman who, in my mind's eye, resembled the Rev. Al Sharpton. I'm talking about blue tracksuit, fat, 1980s Sharpton with the perm. If you misbehaved she'd shout your name like the voice of God and you'd slink up to her desk and extend your right hand which she pummeled with a yardstick.
If you got in trouble again, kids would go back up and try to hold the left palm out. Nope. You'd have to present the right hand for additional smacks.
My sixth-grade teacher at Tolenas Elementary, Mr. Encalada, employed a different method of punishment. If the class grew too talkative and unruly he'd simply stand at the chalkboard and write the word LAPS and draw a vertical line under it. If the class didn't quiet down, he drew a second line.
Whatever number he stopped on when the class finally piped down was the number of laps we had to run around the field outside. Great way to shut us up and associate exercise with punishment. Are kids still running laps today as punishment?
Years ago, my then teen granddaughter Lauryn asked me if same-sex couples walked hand in hand on campus in junior high and high school like at her schools. It was embarrassing to tell her that no, that would've never flown. You would've been socially ostracized at best and beaten up at worst.
At Grange Intermediate, I had a friend I'd suspected was gay. In high school, he dated the most beautiful girls so I thought I was wrong. I wasn't. It's a shame that so many people had to hide their true selves because of our collective bigotry.
There were good times at school, too. In Mr. Collier's psychology class at Armijo, one of the first things he would do on Monday mornings was stand up, dig in his pocket for cash and say, "So, who's going to make the donut run?"
And someone would volunteer to take orders and go across the street to Winchell's for donuts. This was back when Armijo had an open campus. It immediately endeared me to the man. He was one of the oldest faculty members but probably the best at relating to us kids.
Speaking of that open campus, lunchtime was amazing. You could go to any fast food place and get lunch. Often at Armijo that meant walking to Dave's for a fat juicy burger. Or you could go home and eat. But we ruined it by acting like animals, shoplifting and vandalizing and basically being irresponsible, so merchants and residents pushed to close the campuses.
Driving was huge when I was a teen. We couldn't wait to take drivers ed in school to get our licenses. Anecdotally, it doesn't seem like kids are as eager to get their licenses these days. What happened? Then again, back then, once you got your license, you could pack your friends into your car and go everywhere. Legally now, teen drivers can't do that. We also didn't have Uber and Lyft back then.
We could also smoke on campus! No, we couldn't legally purchase cigarettes. (Well, maybe not legally but some stores used to sell them to you with a note from your parents. "Will you let Little Johnny buy some Benson and Hedges Ultra Light 100's for me? Signed, Mama Johnny.") But area high schools had designated smoking areas until the state banned them in 1986. I said "we" could smoke but I was never a cigarette smoker.
Mr. Kenny, my 10th grade short-story teacher, would often read stories to us and some of the stories were loaded with profanity and one particular story had Tarantino levels of the N-word in it. No one tripped. It's hard for me to imagine a teacher willing to step into that minefield today, with so many quick to want to ban books.
But I chuckle at the memory of Mr. Kenny's aversion to gas. He'd stop mid-teaching and ask the class, "Who expelled flatus? Please go outside to do that." We'd laugh but no one would ever cop to it.
Culture, mores and rules change but what's universal are teachers that we'll never forget, cherished friendships, great memories and of course, an education. Peace.
Kelvin Wade, a writer and former Fairfield resident, lives in Sacramento. Reach him at kelvinjwade@outlook.com.