As their favourite Aunty, I am choosing to share my memories of primary school with them here. In a forum where they cannot run off or tell me I am silly and old. So here is an account of my early education, which took place 'back in my day':
I used to walk to the school with Dad (I am not so old as to say I did this in the snow, with cardboard boxes as shoes), to pick up my sister. I would ask her what she did that day, hoping for all the details. School life seemed so glamourous compared with kindergarten. Her response, though, was always the same: 'Oh, not much'. I was so excited to go to school and experience it for myself. And my Prep year did not disappoint. It was my show-off year. I could read chapter books and relished in declaring this to anyone who would listen. I also kissed my first boy in Prep (behind said chapter book) and spent the rest of my primary school days writing his name on my pencil cases. (On second thought, perhaps this is best not shared with my nephews?)
In Grade 1, when my sister was in Grade 4 and my brother in Year 8, I asked my teacher to give me some homework. It sounded like such a grown-up thing to do and besides, having time to play after school when my siblings were doing school work wasn't much fun. So my teacher gave me some colouring to do. It only took one night of 'having' to do homework to realise that instead of moping about having no-one to play with, I really should be teasing my brother and sister. I could play and they couldn't - ner ner!
Grade 2 was the year I had a very musical teacher. I soon learned that I was no good at music or singing. Once again, I received some male attention, sitting between two boys who took turns telling me how 'cute' I was.
Grade 3 marked lots of time ill with Tonsillitis. I felt so special that all my classmates signed a card for me, and having them ask what it was like being in hospital made me feel important. I also crashed into a boy's very hard head whilst playing Scarecrow Tiggy. I received a black eye for my trouble and never again played Scarecrow Tiggy.
In Grade 4, I was the teacher's pet. She was passionate about spelling, grammar and punctuation. And so was I. Being on the right side of the teacher was a great thing that year; she was well known around the school for giving the naughty children 'milkshakes', consisting of being dragged to the front of the class, grabbed by both shoulders and shaken. The 80s were obviously a time of relaxed political correctness.
My only memory of Grade 5 is of having a teacher with only one thumb.
Grade 6 was the year of the sporty teacher. And, therefore, the year I spent dreaming up reasons to be excused from playing those sports, in favour of staying in the classroom reading.I wonder what memories my gorgeous nephews will have of their time at school. I will be thinking of them tomorrow as they head off in their uniforms that they will 'grow into' and their shiny black shoes. I wish them the best of times in their school years.
To L and H, with heaps of love,