and I have always liked the rain.
In fourth grade, I can remember the rain outside the classroom windows.
The room seemed cozy and calm.
That is the only year I remember the rain.
That is the only grade in which I was in a “real” classroom.
Kindergarten was in the basement of a church and the teacher drew cakes for us on the chalkboard for birthdays.
First grade was in a high school. We had lockers and the bathrooms were really big.
They scared me and I cried that year.
Everyday I would wave to Nancy in her typing class as we went to eat in the cafeteria with the high school students.
They were really big.
Second and third grade were in a high school annex.
No playground. No cafeteria.
Miss Dinkle was the teacher next door
and she yelled all of the time.
She scared me and I cried that year.
Fifth grade was on the top floor of an old, condemned high school.
It was the library at one time.
My teacher was getting pretty old and we just sat around most of the time
working on United Nations models.
Sixth grade was in a basement locker room of that old high school.
People were always getting spanked
and it scared me.
Fourth grade was in a “grade school.”
It had a cafeteria with just little kids.
It had a playground with swings.
My teacher walked us downtown to the library so we could get books.
I never attended an elementary school with a library.
We didn’t have any books to read,
except our Dick and Jane readers.
My dad would drop me off at my grandmother’s
before he went to work and
I walked to school each morning.
I walked home through the field.
I don’t remember my mom those years.
I don’t remember dinners.
I don’t remember who fed me at all.
I just remember the rain.