Can you ever go back to your old school again?

Ok, so here is my last blog regarding those two years I spent getting educated at the Tripoli School.

My first grade teacher, Mrs. Cummings, was young and had a plastic hand. I found it fascinating, her hand molded into one constant shape, held for eternity as if she was reaching out to shake your hand. As a kid, I naturally had no idea what had happened to her real hand, or even how far up her arm the fake one went as she always wore long sleeves. Whenever we watched a movie – the ancient kind on those big metal reels – she would hold her hand over the reel just as the movie ended. As the film pulled out of its reel, it would snap her fake hand, twhak, twhak, twhak, until the projector came to a stop. Is that a disturbing memory?

Tripoli School as it is today, no longer used as a school. You know what they say - you can never go home again, but I guess you can buy fireworks there.

Wow, this is where I was really long time ago

There we are. The Tripoli School kindergarten class of 1968. When I first dug this photo out of the basement archives, I thought I only remembered one of the kids. The boy on the far right in the back row. He passed away quite suddenly a few years ago. But as I looked at all the cherub faces, a few names came back to me, a few stories. The girl on the end in the front row who could walk on her hands, her friend down near the other end who tried to keep up with her. The boy I had a crush on in first grade (not going to point him out, I don't know what I was thinking at the time). Oh, and can you find me?

Along with this picture, the archives contained my report cards. In Kindergarten, the only thing I ever got marked down on was "relaxing during rest time". I'd keep playing with my plastic horses or talking to the other girls. Hard to believe. Coz now I can nap anytime anywhere. Just give me ten minutes of relative quiet and I am out. Guess I am still making up for the time I lost when I was five.