Back to Class

A few weeks ago I had to drop off some information at the University of British Columbia. The instructions were vague but there should be no problem. A school is a school, right? Oh, not so my learned friend. A small city emerged with sections and grid patterns to follow. The first challenge was the parking lot, an experience all on its own. By asking directions both from students, and from teachers who looked like students, the appropriate cubical to drop off the information was found. On egressing (a new word for leaving) I made the comment that "it was just yesterday we took turns going outside and getting firewood for the big pot bellied stove in the center of our schoolhouse". The smell of the melting rubber boots and wet socks a little too close to the stove still lingers on my nose hairs. I clearly remember the teeth-gritting sound of chalk screeching across a black board (later changed to green for a major technological upgrade), recess and baseball...and there was this thing called 'the strap' and, of course, the back house is but a precious memory away. Later on we had a brand new brick school built with bathrooms, lockers and even fire drills. Electricity now enabled a P.A. system to inform the whole school when we were being called to the office. We had a huge gym and a sports field. One teacher actually taught two or three subjects instead of all of them and we had pride in being chosen for track and field. We all seemed to be good at one event or the other. We joined basketball and hockey teams and challenged other towns in tournaments. However, by the time even we got to grade 12 a lot had changed from our little one room schoolhouse. Over these past fifty years every "rule" has now been changed, modified, corrected or -because of legal and insurance problems - dropped. Education is now a major investment. We received our school books free and had butterflies in our tummies when getting our allotment of stationery - including the pink eraser that we carefully broke in half so we had a fresh one in reserve. Now computers, 'palm pilots', gps's (to find your class room?) and hundreds if not thousands of students in one small teaching city is normal. In those days we had to get home early to do our chores and if you were lucky enough to be a town kid you still had things to do. We had homework that frustrated our moms and dads because there were other things that had to get done depending on the time of year. Working on a neighbor's farm or cutting grass, delivering papers or even selling Regal Christmas Cards to gain some extra money for that special Christmas present. Sure there were the kids with silver spoons in their mouths. They had their own group but usually missed out on the good stuff like fishing in the creek, shooting muskrats and gophers for a nickel a tail, walking on the railway tracks or listening to the big clock in the station house. The young students of today will never know half the students in their grad class. For parents it is a major challenge to afford to send them to post grad education. University or Trade Schools cannot keep up to the demand for 'qualified achievers'. It's now a high tech world that needs and wants to take away the menial tasks and create a widget to save time and do it for you. Behind the eyes of most of us who read this is a quiet understanding of our serenity. We know the value of honesty and compassion. We also remember the sound, and the feel, of the strap and the look in the eyes of the Principal when he said, "You knew better". The time of the pigtails in the ink wells is over, but not forgotten. The "older" lady in the back of the office at the University showed a knowing smile about the wood stove and the pigtails. We are not that old...time just is simply going too fast for the human race.

 

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