The Day I decided my First Grade Teacher Was Kind of Silly
Back in the Stone Age (the 1960s), my elementary school was about as non-racially diverse as could be. I might have been the most racially diverse, being Caucasian, Native American, and African American. But I easily passed as caucasian with a tan, and in first grade I didn't know about any of that anyway. To me, the most exotic kid in the class was Stanley. He was extremely skinny, with red hair and freckles. Lots of freckles. I had not seen freckles before, so to me, Stanley had orange hair and lots of spots. I thought that was really cool.
Early in the school year, our teacher had us circle up. Then she told us to hold hands. (Must have been some game, but I don't remember the reason.) I have always been touch avoidant, and she was telling us to hold hands. Even my parents didn't make me hold hands. Some dark haired girl on my left grabbed my hand. Normally, I would have quickly moved away, but the teacher had said hold hands, so I reluctantly allowed it. Stanley was to my right, and he was holding out his hand, but I couldn't bring myself to grab his hand, because that seemed wrong. I didn't want to do something to Stanley that I wouldn't want him to do to me. I just stood there looking at his hand, not knowing how to obey the teacher AND grab someone's hand. Possibly my first moral dilemma (I didn't keep track.)
When the teacher saw me standing there staring at Stanley's hand, she angrily told me to take his hand. She said his freckles would not rub off on me, and I wouldn't catch freckles from him. I had no idea what she was talking about. I had never heard of freckles. She went on about how some people are different, and we need to treat everyone the same whether they are like us or not. I agreed with that completely. I thought everyone knew that. I couldn't see what being different had to do with anything. At some point it occurred to me that maybe she was calling Stanley's spots freckles. I thought it would be cool if I got spots from Stanley.
Since the teacher was mad at me for some reason, and she had told me to take Stanley's hand, I very reluctantly did so. I gripped his hand as lightly as I possibly could, but that made Stanley grip harder (so we wouldn't slip apart I guess). I was so focused on the unpleasant feeling of holding someone's hand, that whatever activity we were doing, I was fairly oblivious to it. (Probably why I can't remember what the activity was.)
I do remember continuing to wonder why my teacher had gone on about treating different people the same as familiar people or why she had been mad at me when I hadn't done anything wrong. I just figured she was silly.
Back in the Stone Age (the 1960s), my elementary school was about as non-racially diverse as could be. I might have been the most racially diverse, being Caucasian, Native American, and African American. But I easily passed as caucasian with a tan, and in first grade I didn't know about any of that anyway. To me, the most exotic kid in the class was Stanley. He was extremely skinny, with red hair and freckles. Lots of freckles. I had not seen freckles before, so to me, Stanley had orange hair and lots of spots. I thought that was really cool.
Early in the school year, our teacher had us circle up. Then she told us to hold hands. (Must have been some game, but I don't remember the reason.) I have always been touch avoidant, and she was telling us to hold hands. Even my parents didn't make me hold hands. Some dark haired girl on my left grabbed my hand. Normally, I would have quickly moved away, but the teacher had said hold hands, so I reluctantly allowed it. Stanley was to my right, and he was holding out his hand, but I couldn't bring myself to grab his hand, because that seemed wrong. I didn't want to do something to Stanley that I wouldn't want him to do to me. I just stood there looking at his hand, not knowing how to obey the teacher AND grab someone's hand. Possibly my first moral dilemma (I didn't keep track.)
When the teacher saw me standing there staring at Stanley's hand, she angrily told me to take his hand. She said his freckles would not rub off on me, and I wouldn't catch freckles from him. I had no idea what she was talking about. I had never heard of freckles. She went on about how some people are different, and we need to treat everyone the same whether they are like us or not. I agreed with that completely. I thought everyone knew that. I couldn't see what being different had to do with anything. At some point it occurred to me that maybe she was calling Stanley's spots freckles. I thought it would be cool if I got spots from Stanley.
Since the teacher was mad at me for some reason, and she had told me to take Stanley's hand, I very reluctantly did so. I gripped his hand as lightly as I possibly could, but that made Stanley grip harder (so we wouldn't slip apart I guess). I was so focused on the unpleasant feeling of holding someone's hand, that whatever activity we were doing, I was fairly oblivious to it. (Probably why I can't remember what the activity was.)
I do remember continuing to wonder why my teacher had gone on about treating different people the same as familiar people or why she had been mad at me when I hadn't done anything wrong. I just figured she was silly.
