Write About School Memories

When you write your family stories or memoir pieces, what better treasure box to peer into than the one that holds your school days memories? If there was such a box, it would need a myriad number of compartments for each grade level from kindergarten days through college and graduate work.

Some of you went to school in the same town for many years. Others grew up in families who moved frequently. Still others were home schooled which brings an entirely different set of memories.

Look at the many categories of school memories you can choose from:

• learning to read
• playground activities
• favorite teachers
• least favorite teachers
• memorable field trips
• school assemblies
• school programs
• principals
• school parties
• graduation
• school nurse
• favorite subjects
• least favorite subjects
• school library
• school custodian
•  lunch ladies
• getting to and from school
• size of your school
• rural vs urban school
• hands-on learning
• school sports
• school choirs
• school newspapers
• school safety patrol 
• you as the teacher
• school romances
• writing theses
• taking tests

I taught 3rd and 4th grade and a class for emotionally disturbed children. The story below is a favorite memory from those years. See what stories you can write from your own school memories, either as a student or a teacher. 

Going Fishing

By Nancy Julien Kopp

Near the end of a wild ride during my first year of teaching, I announced a Field Trip to my 4th-grade students. “We are going to take a bus to downtown Chicago where we will visit the Shedd Aquarium and then have a boat ride on Lake Michigan.” 

Whoops and hollers greeted the announcement. My experimental class of 21 emotionally troubled kids liked field trips as much as any other students did. It would be a day off school and maybe they’d learn something, too. 

I’d been tested by the 10 very aggressive students and the 11 seriously withdrawn throughout the school year. “New Math” was really new that year of 1961. It presented a whole different way of grasping the traditional facts and figures these kids had learned in the first three grades. We struggled together as I, too, had to learn the new methods.

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When I told the class about the field trip, I noticed that Donnie stopped doodling in his notebook. He sat up straighter in his desk and gave me full attention. Rather unusual for this intelligent boy who had a major problem with reading. Unless the reading material had to do with Africa or anything African. Then, he could read perfectly. As a result, I scoured the library and magazines at home for Africa-related material for his reading work. I tried in vain to figure out why he could read so well about this most-loved subject but had trouble with any other type of reading. It had to be more than just interest.

Later that morning when the class was busy doing multiplication worksheets, Donnie strolled up to me. He shoved the shock of hair always on his forehead back, then leaned both elbows on the edge of the desk, hands under his chin. Eyes twinkling, he said, “When we go to the aquarium, I’m going fishing.” Then silence.

“No Donnie, we don’t fish at the aquarium; we look at fish and learn about the many kinds they house there.” 

He sauntered back to his desk and started on his math worksheet. I noted a little smile on his face as he worked.

At least once every day prior to the field trip, Donnie repeated his “I’m going fishing.” statement to me. No more, no less. And each time, I repeated my answer. He’d lope back to his desk, grin a bit wider each day.

Excitement reigned on Field Trip day as my class filed out the big double doors of our suburban school and boarded the bus. After an hour’s ride, we reached the famed Shedd Aquarium on the Chicago lakefront. Two of my students’ mothers had volunteered to help out on this special day. One led the children from the bus to the entryway and the other stayed about mid-way through the group. I brought up the rear. 

Donnie had been in the middle of the group but he let the others go by until he was near the end of the line. Suited me fine as I could keep an eye on him. As we neared the entryway, a fellow-teacher from one of the other fourth grades hailed me. I went over to see what she wanted, then hurried after the rapidly disappearing line of my students.

I was the last one to go through the revolving door into the lobby area of the aquarium. The first thing that caught my eye was a lovely, large pond and garden area filled with lush vegetation. A waist-high wrought-iron fence circled the area. Fish of all kinds were darting through the water. The second thing I noted was Donnie, feet on the bottom rung of the fence. He was leaning over with a long string that ended in a fish hook. As his arm went back above his head, ready to spin his line right into the pond, two things happened.

My heart did a double-dip lurch, and I ran toward him. An aquarium guard hollered and ran toward the fisherman from the opposite side. We reached him at the same moment, stopping the fishing expedition. Donnie looked up at me and quite calmly stated, “I told you I was going to go fishing here.” 

The guard kept the fishing line and I assured him I’d keep my student next to me during our visit. Donnie was right. He had told me he was going to fish on our field trip. He’d been perfectly honest and I’d been just plain stupid to think my answer about only looking and learning had been enough to squelch the plan. We’d caught him before he’d hauled in any fish.

Donnie stayed near me for the entire visit at my bidding. If he strayed even a bit, I held his hand—mortifying to a fourth grader. I breathed a sigh of relief as we left the aquarium to eat lunch and board the boats. Silly me.

Mr. Fisherman tried again on the boat ride. I spent my time counting heads off and on. On about the third count, one head suddenly turned into a small behind instead. There was my boy, leaning over the far side of the boat, another string and hook dangling in Lake Michigan. Why hadn’t I checked his pockets?

I lunged and grabbed the waist of his shorts and hauled him back onto the seat. “I told you…” He got no farther as I hissed at him. “Don’t say it!”

This time, I searched all his pockets. No more fishing lines but the darned kid smirked at me all the way home. He’d warned me multiple times and he’d carried out his plan. It stinks when a little kid wins out over a grown woman.

Much later, when I didn’t have to worry about being tossed out of the Shedd Aquarium or losing a child overboard on a boat, I laughed about the way Donnie had fooled me. Oddly enough, we established a bond that day and he proved to be a model student the rest of the school year. Teachers regularly charge their students to listen. After my experience with the would-be fisherman, I learned that I also needed to listen more carefully to my students.