My Story — School Years

children.jpgFrom kindergarten through high school, I went to a Christian school in Dallas.  My parents, along with a number of other parents, helped begin this school just before I entered kindergarten.  I have only a few, vague memories of kindergarten.  I can remember Mrs. Rich, my teacher, who was a warm and lively person.  For some reason, I can also remember playing outside.  Our kindergarten class (the first class of this new school) met in a church building that would later become the Highland Oaks Church.

 

The following year as our new school building was being built, this entire new school, K through 12, met in the Pleasant Grove Church building (the home church for our family).  Finally, we moved to the new school building at 6916 Lake June Road.  (Why do I remember this address?)  I remember a few things about these early years.

 

2nd grade — My teacher was Mrs. Smothers.  I remember thinking that she was very "pretty."  One of her special students that year was Louise.  Louise had no arms.  I remember watching her, amazed at what she could do with her feet.

 

3rd grade — My teacher was Mrs. Rinks, who also went to our church.  She was a single parent who had a son named Ronnie.  She was full of life and energy.  She laughed a lot and had a way of making me feel good when I was around her.  One evening she came to our house for dinner.  I overheard her tell my parents that she needed to talk with them sometime.  I imagined that she was wanting to move me up a grade.  I thought that perhaps she was going to recommend that I bypass the fourth grade and begin the fifth grade right after I finished the third grade.  Uh, no.  I’m not sure where I got that idea but it certainly wasn’t from her.  Anyway, it is a good thing I stayed in the third grade.  After all, that is when Howard Jones taught me how to put peanuts in a coke (bottle), shake it up and then drink it all.  At the time, that seemed quite amazing.

 

4th grade — Mrs. Lipscomb was my teacher.  She was the oldest elementary school teacher that I had.  Now this was a Christian school, so we had daily chapel.  Chapel took place in the auditorium of a church building that was next door to our school building.  One day we had a guest speaker.  Mrs. Lipscomb told me to introduce him.   He was Paul Billingsly’s dad.  (Paul was another student.)  As I waited for the time to do the introduction, I thought about how silly that was.  "Why should I introduce him when everyone knows he is Paul’s dad?"  So, I decided not to make the introduction.  When the time came for the introduction, I looked at Paul’s dad and pointed to the speaker’s stand.  I then looked at Mrs. Lipscomb.  She was very unhappy with me. 

 

5th grade — Mrs. Walker was my teacher.  She and another teacher had come from Harding University.  This may have been her first year to teach.  I was in her class when President Kennedy was assassinated.   I was in her class when a boy in the senior class drowned at White Rock Lake while on a senior picnic.  I was also in her class when I met Pamela who sat behind me.  Pamela would probably be referred to today as "a special needs child."  She seemed to fall a lot.  I can remember turning around in my desk to see her wiping blood off a newly skinned knee.  That seemed to happen quite a bit.  I remember feeling very guilty and ashamed one day because I laughed at her.  I can still remember how hurt she looked.  It is interesting how such a mental snapshot can stay with me all of these years.    

 

Somewhere during these years, God was at work.  How?  I have no idea.  I do know that when I was a child, good people such as my mom and dad prayed for me.  Yet, I have no idea how to explain exactly what God was doing.  I do believe that he was at work, preparing me for a future life.

 

More later.  

Please note: I reserve the right to delete comments that are offensive or off-topic.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

6 thoughts on “My Story — School Years

  1. Frank– Good to hear from you!  There is something about those memories that are very important to me at this chapter in my life.  (I’m not real sure as to why this is so important so me.)Anyway, you are a very important part of these memories.