Keep Your Dentures In Your Mouth

Going to church every Sunday was not something we discussed on Saturday night.  It was understood, no questions asked.  We were supposed to look our very best, wear our best clothes, and act like somebody!  We weren’t to chew gum at church, and we absolutely weren’t supposed to laugh, unless it was appropriate.

One of the gentlemen in our church felt the call to the ministry.  He was a sincere man, so Daddy let him have the pulpit one Sunday.  I was in the choir, which had a perfect vantage point when it came to being able to see everything that was going on in the congregation, and behind the pulpit.  My sister was sitting next to me…bad mistake! 

The preacher got his ‘preach’ on.  He was slapping his Bible against the podium, and walking from side to side across the stage.    All of sudden, we caught sight of something flying across in front of us.  It was his false teeth!  Evidently he had not used his Polygrip that morning.  He immediately covered his mouth and called on someone to pray.  “Dear Father…” the prayer began as he hit the deck to retrieve his teeth.

My sister and I got so tickled that the movement of our shaking shoulders was vibrating the pew.  There’s nothing worse than having to stifle giggles.  Our faces turned red, and tears began to stream down our faces.  We could not control the laughter.  Every time we would dare to glance each others way, it would start all over again. 

We weren’t successful at sinking our teeth into that sermon.  However, we did catch Hell, once Daddy got us home.

First Grade At Inskip

Inskip.  What a name for a school!  But, that was the name of the elementary school I attended, and also the name of the community.

I couldn’t wait to go to first grade.  With four older siblings going to school and leaving me behind every day, I was more than ready.  September was quickly approaching.  As the time grew closer, I began to get a little nervous.  I told Mother,  “They won’t want me at school.  I don’t know how to read or write.”  Mother explained that was the reason I would be enrolling in first grade.

Our school was overcrowded.  The post-war years had produced a lot of us.  That’s why we are called the Baby Boomer generation.  My first grade class had to meet in the boys locker room, off of the gymnasium.  I recall our library tables being in the shower room.  My teacher didn’t think it was at all humorous when my curiosity got the best of me.  I just HAD to see if the shower worked.  It did!

I settled into first grade and discovered that I loved to learn.  Arithmetic was fun.  Mrs. Wilcox was so sweet.  I adored her.  She woud give each of us ten Popsicle sticks.  We would use these to “take away” and “add”.  She didn’t call it addition and subtraction. 

About six weeks into the school year, Mrs. Wilcox left.  We got a new teacher.  This new gal was a screamer and I did not like that!  One day, she had yelled, and screamed, and hollered until I couldn’t take it anymore.  I got my 5 year old behind up and headed for home.  I walked the long route home, steaming, but still proud of myself for taking such a bold stand. 

When I arrived at home, Mother was stunned.  “Pamela!  What are you doing home?”, she asked.  “Well, I’m tired of that teacher yellin’ and screamin’ at me.  She’ll look out and see I’m gone, and she’ll be sorry!”,I stood firm in my beliefs.  Mother put my baby sister and me in the car and drove straight to the school.  When she drove up to the door, she could hear the teacher screaming.  Boy-eeee!  My mother whipped in there like no-body’s business and gave that teacher a talkin’ to.  “I can hear you all the way outside.” she said.  “Could you really?”,asked Teacher.  She promised Mother that she would do better, but I don’t remember having to go back to the classroom that day, and the teacher didn’t keep her promise.  The whole year was so bad, that I have blocked her name from my memory.  Maybe it will come to me when I tell you about the day I got to visit the Principal’s office.