The Very First Day of School (1945) Essay -- Personal Narrative

My mother took me to tutor on my first day. Mother had been telling me for weeks prior to the plentiful day how wonderful school was exhalation to be, so I was dutifully excited. She failed to mention that she was going to leave me with s til nowteen little strangers and one large lady. The large lady seemed to think that she was in control. I later learned that she was the teacher. She was trying to explain to Mother that I was not eligible to attend first grade because I would not be half-dozen until November of the following year. My mother was having none of that. She wanted me out of the house and into school and she did not care what the rules were. We had just moved from New Orleans to the woods of St. capital of Montana Parish, where school had started two weeks before we arrived. Although it was 1945 in the rest of the world, it was still 1920 in St. Helena. Our home in New Orleans had had indoor plumbing, a gas stove, and galvanizing heaters. In th e country, however, we had an outhouse. Every drop of water we used was pumped and carried inside. We chopped wood for our stove and heaters. The corroborate breaking, never ending labor did not taunt me as much as having to live in such a degrading manner. I hated the woods. I missed the comforts of the city and I hated the primitive conditions of our new country life. I missed my good-natured little playmates who had treated me so kindly for the first five years of my life. I missed the gentle accents spoken in soft voices by my friends and neighbors, and the endless hours of playtime that we enjoyed. But now I was going to have to go to school For a while, I thought the rule that a child had to be six before entering the first grade would rescue me. School rules back then, li... ...At lunchtime, I offered to share my cookies with a very angry girl. She had been staring at them ever since I had taken them out of their wax paper wrapping. They were further vanilla wafers, and certainly were not my favorite. She told me that she had never tasted store bought cookies, and pronounced them fit for a king. She became my lifetime friend and protector. She remained an angry person, but seldom got angry with me. The big boy dumped me in the fifth grade for a girl who had matured very early. The first day of school, I learned these valuable lessons. Accents only expire strange to people who have different accents. Never bother arguing with my mother. Crying does not help, but sometime you just have to do it anyway. A little sweetness can make an angry person nicer. Flattery goes a long way with a guy sometimes it can even go as far as the fifth grade.