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vanillafluffyThey bent the rules a little to get me into kindergarten. I was about a week away from being eligible, and I had to go in for an interview. Having always been the youngest one in the room, I had no qualms about talking to the adult in question, and they admitted me.
For some reason, my folks wanted to send me to a private parochial school, which is how I ended up spending nine years (K-8th grade) at St. Jerk's* Lutheran. My paternal grandfather, who died before I was born, had been a Lutheran minister, but our immediate family wasn't devout. We said (Norwegian) grace before dinner on Sunday, and that was IT.
Perhaps if I'd gotten Bible stories along with the Dr Seuss and other fairy tales, the indoctrination might have taken, but...not so much. Oh, there were five classes a week for religion, chapel on Monday morning and vespers on Friday afternoon, and stories about the usual suspects: Adam and Eve, Noah, Moses, David, Jesus and the Apostles, the Ten Commandments and the Liturgy---and it was as dry to me as Colombus and Magellan, the Pilgrims and the first Thanksgiving or George Washington chopping down the cherry tree. They were interesting stories, but didn't seem to carry over to Real Life.
(Although on my 9th grade field trip to the Ringling Art Museum in Sarasota, I raised eyebrows when I was able to rattle off answers about the subjects of the famous religious art they had displayed. Manna from Heaven and Elijah in the fiery chariot and whatnot. I got the hairy eyeball from my secular classmates, who clearly thought I was a little weird.
In a word, YES.)
What I remember best about actually starting school: Two things, first that I wore the green and gold poodle pin that had been a birthday present a few days before. (I still have it!) And second, it rained the first day of school, we missed the bus, and my mom took me there in a taxi.
If you've read Kindergarten Isn't Ready for Dean Winchester, then you already know about my teacher that year. I was mostly quiet and not a troublemaker, but "Mrs. George" wasn't the only harsh educator I would encounter during my tenure at St. Jerk's.
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* Names may have been changed to protect the guilty. Thanks be to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pwcorgigirl, whose adventures at "St. Procrastination" inspired my alma mater's nom du guerre.
.
For some reason, my folks wanted to send me to a private parochial school, which is how I ended up spending nine years (K-8th grade) at St. Jerk's* Lutheran. My paternal grandfather, who died before I was born, had been a Lutheran minister, but our immediate family wasn't devout. We said (Norwegian) grace before dinner on Sunday, and that was IT.
Perhaps if I'd gotten Bible stories along with the Dr Seuss and other fairy tales, the indoctrination might have taken, but...not so much. Oh, there were five classes a week for religion, chapel on Monday morning and vespers on Friday afternoon, and stories about the usual suspects: Adam and Eve, Noah, Moses, David, Jesus and the Apostles, the Ten Commandments and the Liturgy---and it was as dry to me as Colombus and Magellan, the Pilgrims and the first Thanksgiving or George Washington chopping down the cherry tree. They were interesting stories, but didn't seem to carry over to Real Life.
(Although on my 9th grade field trip to the Ringling Art Museum in Sarasota, I raised eyebrows when I was able to rattle off answers about the subjects of the famous religious art they had displayed. Manna from Heaven and Elijah in the fiery chariot and whatnot. I got the hairy eyeball from my secular classmates, who clearly thought I was a little weird.
In a word, YES.)
What I remember best about actually starting school: Two things, first that I wore the green and gold poodle pin that had been a birthday present a few days before. (I still have it!) And second, it rained the first day of school, we missed the bus, and my mom took me there in a taxi.
If you've read Kindergarten Isn't Ready for Dean Winchester, then you already know about my teacher that year. I was mostly quiet and not a troublemaker, but "Mrs. George" wasn't the only harsh educator I would encounter during my tenure at St. Jerk's.
=========================
* Names may have been changed to protect the guilty. Thanks be to
pwcorgigirl, whose adventures at "St. Procrastination" inspired my alma mater's nom du guerre..