Happy Tuesday, My Friend!
“School days, school days, good old golden rules days!” What? You don’t know that song? That song was written in 1907. Was that a bit before your time? That was even before my dad’s time!
It’s hard not to think about school days right now, though. Where I live, kids head back to school later this week. Ads on TV and displays in stores are rife with school supplies. I still get excited about “back to school,” and it’s been 12 years since I went school shopping for any of my kids! I like to put some start-of-the-school-year goodies out in my Little Free Library to kick off the year.
It got me thinking, do I remember any of my first days of school? OK, OK, I hear your thoughts right now. That was a really long time ago, Patti. By chance, did you have to watch out for dinosaurs on your way to and from school? Or did you have to help power the bus by sticking your feet through the floor like Fred Flinstone? I don’t necessarily remember any first days, but I do remember having some trepidation about starting the 4th grade. My best friend, Julie, convinced me we should have fear and trembling as we began that year. You see, it would be the first year we’d have . . . scary music plays . . .
A “man” teacher. Cue horrified screams and footsteps frantically running into the distance. . .
Yes, it was true. Gone were the days of Kindergarten through 3rd grade when we had those sweet female teachers. We were nine years old now, buddy, and ready for the tough stuff. Bring it on, Man Teacher! I’m not scared of you!
But I was.
And as it turned out, I had nothing to fear. Mr. Nevala was one of the nicest teachers ever. (Little did I know then that 4th grade would be my favorite year of elementary school.) I did have one itsy-bitsy run-in with him, though. And, as I always do, I’m blaming it all on my friend Julie.
You see, we had these funny little rubbery toys we got in cereal boxes. It was a little blue rubbery Rocky and a corresponding Bullwinkle. (Not familiar? Ask the Google.) I can’t remember if I had Rocky and Julie had Bullwinkle or vice versa. I just know that we had these little rubbery critters out on our desks when we shouldn’t have, and Mr. Nevala caught us red-handed. He didn’t make a big tadoo about it but just casually walked over while in the middle of a lesson and collected Rocky and Bullwinkle from Julie and me. He then walked back up to the front of the classroom, reached up, and stuck them on one of the rolled-up maps mounted on the wall. (Remember when every classroom had maps that the teacher would pull down? Is that a thing anymore??)
Julie and I were mortified. Well—I was mortified; Julie was pretty “un-mortifiable.” Not only had I done something “bad” in class, but would I ever get my dear Rocky back? (Or was it Bullwinkle?) I heard nothing more of what Mr. Nevala taught that morning. He must have noticed my guilt-ridden conscience as we lined up to go to the lunchroom, as he assured me we’d get our rubbery friends back at the end of the school day. I was terrified he’d forget they were there, pull down the map to show us something, and send our beloved Rocky and Bullwinkle flying to parts unknown. Or worse, sever one of their heads while yanking on the map.
That was about my biggest worry that year. I learned my lesson and left Rocky (or Bullwinkle) at home from then on.
Oh, how I wish that were all today’s kids had to worry about.
It’s a different world for our kids today. Even though my kids are grown up and out of school, I have grandchildren in school, and even if I didn’t have them, I’d still be concerned for my neighbors’ and friends’ kids and grandkids.
We had fire drills. They have active shooter drills. I don’t know if they are called that, but the purpose is to prepare for encountering someone entering their classroom with the intent of killing them.
Dear God that breaks my heart.
OK, so I didn’t mean to bring you down. This letter is always meant to encourage.
Not having little kids anymore, not having my grandkids nearby, and not being able to be at every door of every school in Wellington, Florida, to protect every kid can make me feel a bit “useless to help.” I’m just one person wanting to save so many kids.
And what about all the other stuff that kids need protection from? What about the mean kids in the cafeteria? The ones who laugh at another’s clothes? The list can go on and on.
I can’t be at my granddaughters’ two schools in California or my grandson’s preschool in Florida. I can’t be at all the schools in my community. But God can. And He can take care of things much better than I can. (I like to give Him suggestions on how to fix things, but He rarely takes my advice.) Prayer might not seem like “doing much” in any given situation, but man, I’m not going to not pray for my kids, that’s for sure!
We sing a song in church that says this: “Even when I don’t see it, You’re working.
Even when I don’t feel it, You’re working, You never stop, You never stop working.”
And there’s this verse: “This is the confidence we have in approaching God: that if we ask anything according to His will, He hears us.” (1 John 5:14)
Praying is my work. I do believe God hears my prayers, and of course, it is His will that kids are safe. I can’t explain why so much horrible stuff happens other than we live in a fallen world where evil exists. But, dang, if I can pray and help place some people in God’s hands, I will surely do it.
Are there any kids in your life you can be praying for as school starts afresh? Kids? Grandkids? Neighbors? Maybe even let them or their parents know you’re praying for them. What a comfort and encouragement that could be!
And you know those rubbery Rocky and Bullwinkle toys? You can buy them now on eBay for a pretty penny! I asked the Google and found them!
But, shhhhh! Don’t tell Mr. Nevala!
Written with love – – – Patti XOXO
PS – – Teachers! I’m praying for you too! May God bless you real good!