Sure he was only seven years old, but Peter Hargrove was a dick. He used to stab me with his sharpened pencils. There’s a rectangle-shaped hole in my second grade class picture where Peter’s portrait should be. Twenty-three years later I can name nineteen out of twenty children in the class, first and last names. There’s Raphael Campos, he used to push me down and kiss me on the playground. And Lindsay Henderson, she had a sweet Southern drawl. There’s that little pipsqueak Tommy Siske, he owned my heart in 1990. We were just a bunch of kids at Seymour Elementary, but it was my whole world back then.
My kids go to a public school that first opened in 1923. Recently my PTO duties had me perusing old photos and letters that were discovered in storage at the school. The class photos are beautiful, but a letter from one of the school’s original 1923 students stopped me in my tracks. Adrienne Griffith Birge wrote an account of her days at Washington which is so eloquent and sweet. It had me crying like a sad, little baby. Adrienne wrote My Washington School Days near the time of the school’s 60th Anniversary in 1983. It’s a heartwarming letter and it makes me very proud of my kids’ school.