On the first day of school, most kids worry about something. Some worry about their clothes, others the way their hair looks. Still others worry if they’ll be unlucky enough to get that one teacher that nobody wants to get. So what was the one thing yours truly worried about while attending the world of academia, you might ask? Well, it wasn’t just one thing. It was three.
Third on my worry list was the seating arrangement, and for good reasons. On the first day, I’d get to class as early as possible. I’d learned one important thing in school; if you’re the first person in class, most teachers allowed you to pick your own seat. No matter the grade, mine was always the same – third row over and third seat back from the front of the room. This was essentially the center of any classroom.
Two kinds of kids sat on the front row – the really smart kids who wanted to sit up front and those that got to class last and didn’t have a choice. Either way, if your desk location was on the front row, teachers would always call on you for the answer. I didn’t sit in the very back of the room either. That’s where the bad kids sat, and they never had the right answers. Because I didn’t consider myself bad, and I actually had some of the answers, third row over and third seat back in any classroom seemed just about perfect.
Second on my worry list – would a certain bully land in my class? At Mt. Olive Elementary School, he did. My seating arrangement in Old Mrs. Crabtree’s third grade class was perfect for another reason. Bullies always sat in the back of the room. My seat in the middle of the room was as far away from Down the Street Bully Brad in back as I could get without have to answer too many question from Mrs. Crabtree up front. Unfortunately, it wasn’t far enough.
The number one thing I worried about on the first day of school was being tagged with a bad nickname, especially in the third grade. Get a really cool nickname, and it will make your entire year, but a bad nickname could stick with you for a lifetime, or at least until summer vacation. Guess which kind I got? The person who said, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me,” never met Bully Brad.
To be honest, I never saw it coming. Not making eye contact with Mrs. Crabtree so she wouldn’t call on me had taken all my attention that first day, otherwise I might have been able to avoid the wet projectile hurled from the back of the room by none other than my archenemy. At the same time, I could’ve also avoided the worst nickname in all of third grade.
The giant spitball struck the back of my head with a splat so loud it stopped the smartest kid in the room, Preston Weston III, from answering Mrs. Crabtree’s question in mid-sentence. Silence was followed by a collective gasp that almost sucked all the air out of the room.
Horrified classmates quickly vacated seats all around me. Laughing so hard, Bully Brad was barely able to speak the words I still haven’t forgotten, “Welcome to third grade, Spitball.” He got ear-pulled all the way down to the office by Mrs. Crabtree for that incident. Even though the wet paper wad quickly slid down the back of my shirt, I got a nickname that stuck all year long.
Yes, nicknames were the worst things I feared on the first day of school, but that’s not the end of this story. In the fifth grade, my nickname was Patricia. Don’t ask why. Just know that after two years being called Patricia, Spitball didn’t sound so bad after all. I finally left Mt. Olive behind along with all those hurtful nicknames. Surely kids would be more mature in high school. I was in for a rude awaking.
I attended Briarwood High School, Home of the Mighty Buccaneers for five years. The first day I arrived at school early to pick out my seat in homeroom – third row over and third seat back. But it didn’t matter. It was going to be a bad year. I also arrived with the worst case of acne the school had ever seen – or so all the kids making fun of me said. For the next five years I suffered so many fights, insults, and horrible jokes simply because I looked different that I eventually lost count. And I lost something else – most of my self-esteem. Throughout those years, I made a solemn promise. Never would I treat others like I had been treated. That promise framed the rest of my life.
It’s been over 40 years now since I walked the hallowed halls of Briarwood. Longer still since I played in the sand pit at Mt. Olive. Looking back, stick and stones hurled by Bully Brad or his counterparts in high school would’ve been preferable to their insults. At least physical injuries can eventually heal. Tell your kids to be careful what they say – not just on the first day of class, but everyday of class. Words spoken can make an impression that last forever.
[Rick Ryckeley, who lives in Senoia, served as a firefighter for more than two decades and has been a weekly columnist since 2001. His email is storiesbyrick@gmail.com. His books are available at www.RickRyckeley.com.]
