My educational career began in 1976 at a school with a number I can't remember for a name in Buffalo, New York. Before the year ended, my family moved to Las Vegas, where I attended ten more schools before finally graduating in 1989:
Eleven schools. Eleven stops and starts. Eleven chances to forge and forget relationships in the whirlwind of instability that was my childhood. Aside from Eldorado, I spent the longest time at Rex Bell, where I finished kindergarten and remained through second grade. Despite my time there, I remember very little, other than going on a field trip to Pizza Hut one year, and a song I made up for my mean first grade teacher, Mrs. Malene ("Mean Malene, rollin' down the stream...").
The memories of my other schools are equally as fleeting. I remember the lunches at Dondero, where I started third grade, were incredible, especially when compared to those that came before and after. Aside from the immaculate slices at Dondero, pizza in the Clark County School District in the mid to late seventies was served in the rectangular cardboard tray that it was baked in. One peeled back the cellophane and hoped your "slice" hadn't merged into the cardboard as it was baked, which was often the case (an absurdity only highlighted by that cruel field trip to Pizza Hut... Maybe that's why I didn't like Mrs. Malene).
Unfortunately, I didn't get to finish third grade at Dondero, having moved into a neighborhood zoned for Ruby Thomas about halfway through the year. My memories of Ruby Thomas involve being the only third grader on the fifth grade kickball team, thanks to my booming right foot and the insistence of my older brother Mike. Also on the team were two Iranian brothers. This made from some interesting banter at practice, with the Iran hostage crisis leading the nightly news, but we didn't care where they were from as long as they played well, and they did. Another reason why Ruby Thomas stands out is because we would have to pass the Boulevard Mall to and from school everyday. My brother and I would often stop at the mall on the way home to "restock" our merchandise for the booming scented eraser business we had going at school.
This foray into entrepreneurship was cut short by another move and another school for fourth grade (Pittman). Key memory - taking fourth place in the softball toss on field day. Then a rezoning moved me to Helen Marie Smith for fifth grade, where a friend and I got stoned sniffing rubber cement and tried to remove our math teacher's toupee. Another move meant there were two schools for sixth grade, both notable for being a product of the cockeyed and unequal desegregation efforts in Las Vegas that saw students from black neighborhoods bussed to schools in white neighborhoods for eleven of their twelve years of schooling, while white children only had to leave their neighborhoods for one year. Things I remember: being outside during recess as a swarm of monarch butterflies flew through the playground, and my first kiss behind the portables with a girl whose name I can't remember. How magical might it have been if our first kiss had happened the same time as the monarch swarm... I might have remembered her name.
I went to two schools for seventh grade. I started at Brinley, where I carefully tailored my image to fit in with the stoners that were perched atop the school's social hierarchy, only to see my Krokus shirt rendered useless at Robinson, where I had enrolled after another move. There, stoners occupied the bottom rung, behind the poppers and lockers and the Air Force brats.
Eventually, I adjusted at Robinson, finding my niche as a graffiti artist (on paper. Mostly) as my family settled down. From there, the only other school I attended was the result of the natural matriculation from junior high to high school. Those years of movement, the faces and places I passed before really getting to know them has undoubtedly impacted my ability to - at the very least - remember. Most of the very real people I encountered moved past me like the generic crowds in cartoon car chases; their featureless faces repeating in a lonely blur.
It's odd that someone who attended so many schools would decide to make his career as an educator, but that's exactly what I've chosen to do. Perhaps the person I am now is overcompensating, looking to retroactively create the stability I missed in school as a child by creating stability in the same environment as an adult. But the one thing that my career as an educator has in common with my time as a student is that while the building remains the same, the faces of the kids in front of me changes year after year. And now, like then, I can't remember all of their names once our time together ends.
- Rex Bell Elementary
- Harvey Dondero Elementary
- Ruby Thomas Elementary
- Vail Pittman Elementary
- Helen Marie Smith Elementary
- Kermit R. Booker Sixth Grade Center
- CVT Gilbert Sixth Grade Center
- J. Harold Brinley Junior High
- Dell H. Robinson Junior High
- Eldorado High School
Eleven schools. Eleven stops and starts. Eleven chances to forge and forget relationships in the whirlwind of instability that was my childhood. Aside from Eldorado, I spent the longest time at Rex Bell, where I finished kindergarten and remained through second grade. Despite my time there, I remember very little, other than going on a field trip to Pizza Hut one year, and a song I made up for my mean first grade teacher, Mrs. Malene ("Mean Malene, rollin' down the stream...").
The memories of my other schools are equally as fleeting. I remember the lunches at Dondero, where I started third grade, were incredible, especially when compared to those that came before and after. Aside from the immaculate slices at Dondero, pizza in the Clark County School District in the mid to late seventies was served in the rectangular cardboard tray that it was baked in. One peeled back the cellophane and hoped your "slice" hadn't merged into the cardboard as it was baked, which was often the case (an absurdity only highlighted by that cruel field trip to Pizza Hut... Maybe that's why I didn't like Mrs. Malene).
Unfortunately, I didn't get to finish third grade at Dondero, having moved into a neighborhood zoned for Ruby Thomas about halfway through the year. My memories of Ruby Thomas involve being the only third grader on the fifth grade kickball team, thanks to my booming right foot and the insistence of my older brother Mike. Also on the team were two Iranian brothers. This made from some interesting banter at practice, with the Iran hostage crisis leading the nightly news, but we didn't care where they were from as long as they played well, and they did. Another reason why Ruby Thomas stands out is because we would have to pass the Boulevard Mall to and from school everyday. My brother and I would often stop at the mall on the way home to "restock" our merchandise for the booming scented eraser business we had going at school.
This foray into entrepreneurship was cut short by another move and another school for fourth grade (Pittman). Key memory - taking fourth place in the softball toss on field day. Then a rezoning moved me to Helen Marie Smith for fifth grade, where a friend and I got stoned sniffing rubber cement and tried to remove our math teacher's toupee. Another move meant there were two schools for sixth grade, both notable for being a product of the cockeyed and unequal desegregation efforts in Las Vegas that saw students from black neighborhoods bussed to schools in white neighborhoods for eleven of their twelve years of schooling, while white children only had to leave their neighborhoods for one year. Things I remember: being outside during recess as a swarm of monarch butterflies flew through the playground, and my first kiss behind the portables with a girl whose name I can't remember. How magical might it have been if our first kiss had happened the same time as the monarch swarm... I might have remembered her name.
I went to two schools for seventh grade. I started at Brinley, where I carefully tailored my image to fit in with the stoners that were perched atop the school's social hierarchy, only to see my Krokus shirt rendered useless at Robinson, where I had enrolled after another move. There, stoners occupied the bottom rung, behind the poppers and lockers and the Air Force brats.
Eventually, I adjusted at Robinson, finding my niche as a graffiti artist (on paper. Mostly) as my family settled down. From there, the only other school I attended was the result of the natural matriculation from junior high to high school. Those years of movement, the faces and places I passed before really getting to know them has undoubtedly impacted my ability to - at the very least - remember. Most of the very real people I encountered moved past me like the generic crowds in cartoon car chases; their featureless faces repeating in a lonely blur.
It's odd that someone who attended so many schools would decide to make his career as an educator, but that's exactly what I've chosen to do. Perhaps the person I am now is overcompensating, looking to retroactively create the stability I missed in school as a child by creating stability in the same environment as an adult. But the one thing that my career as an educator has in common with my time as a student is that while the building remains the same, the faces of the kids in front of me changes year after year. And now, like then, I can't remember all of their names once our time together ends.
Header art by T. Guzzio.
CONNECT WITH TOM:
In addition to editing Prodigal's Chair, Tom is a teacher, father, husband, writer, artist, futbol fan and slightly maladjusted optimist. He lives in Beverly, Massachusetts with his wife and their newly adopted cocker spaniels Lexi and Freckles (who are both amazingly cute). You can connect with him on Twitter @t_guzzio, or via email at [email protected].
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