The Flipper lunch box is packed and the glass thermos is still intact.
The cleanest shirt you own is on your body along with a new pair of “back to school britches” and maybe some shiny new Chucks.
Not sure if the smile is in place as Mrs. Stricklen arrives and bus #2’s horn blares a few times at 6:30 a.m.
There’s no “front seat, heater side” to call in August. You just want all the windows down and some type of breeze as you begin the hour-and-a-half jaunt across Sunflower County picking up folks. The route would change a bit each year except for the Stowers. First ones on, last ones off. But all worth it when each of the Striklin ladies entered the bus – from Rhonda to Debbie to Renee to Phyllis to Tammy. You hoped all the seats were taken but yours.
Back to school memories indeed.
It's that time of year of new backpacks, mechanical pencils and hopefully you got the teacher you wanted. Football practice started molding champions weeks before the first school bell rings and that never changes. Survive and eventually thrive in the heat of August and kiss a trophy in November.
Not much changes as school begins. But there were no teacher choices in grades one through nine at Central Delta Academy. You, your mom, aunts and uncles, cousins and distant relatives all had Mrs. Woods as your first grade teacher. With a smile that never wavered she must have truly loved to teach. I can still feel the warmth of care she exuded on all of us. The first real teacher for hundreds if not thousands. I was doubly fortunate because she sat in the same church pews as us at Inverness First United Methodist Church.
Then you had Mrs. Jacobs and that deadly under desk pinch of your belly when called up for discipline. Mrs. Littleton manned the third grade room. I was scared to death of those two and know I learned quite a bit under their tutelage. I was too scared not to, lol.
Fourth grade was Mrs. Faulk and I remember cheating on a Spanish counting test. For some reason, uno, dos, tres, quatro, cinco, seis, siete, ocho, nueve and diez just wouldn’t settle in my pea-brain. I wrote them down and stuck the paper under my leg and got caught red handed. I don’t remember the punishment but I never cheated again.
Fifth grade was my Aunt Tom and Where the Red Fern Grows, first girlfriend Gwen Roberts (I think it lasted a month or two) and one of my first school concussions. One of my dingo boots didn’t clear the bench and my head met the concrete under the awning that connected the school the gym. Did it knock any sense into me? Probably knocked more out, lol.
Sixth grade was Mrs. Hunter and when we learned to fold and unfold and fly the American flag. We also learned that if Lewis Poindexter hits a shotgun shell primer hard enough with that overly huge chalkboard compass, it will go off.
Oh, and it’s loud.
Junior High had its challenges but Mrs. Hart implanted English knowledge that built the foundation for my writing career. Oh, and she never let me wear a hat in the hallway. I think she may have been buried with one of my John Deere hats. Mrs. Garrard instilled science and math in some folks. I scraped by and Coach Ervin managed to keep us all alive during Drivers Ed and actually drilled some Mississippi History into us. Mrs. Jones opened our minds to the possibilities in art and Mrs. Arrington opened our souls to music. Mrs. Kennedy took the slower learners on their own path to educational success. Those three were the Charlie’s Angel trio of CDA and yes, brought much joy to our little educational hamlet.
And our principal, Mr. Jacobs kept us all in line as he towered over us and helped us all learn John 3:16 at assemblies. The threat of his “electric paddle” kept the majority in line. And the lunchroom was always meticulous as were our school grounds thanks to Mr. Palmer who also ran the candy table. And Mrs. Bennett made the best hamburgers, chili dogs and even peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that would put any food truck or restaurant to shame.
Back to school. It’s the same but different and we were all blessed in Inverness. More than we ever knew. But I really don’t want to hear bus #2’s horn at 6:30 a.m. in the morning.
