Throwback Thursday – My First ‘Crush’

First Grade

I love the app TimeHop for the iPhone – it tracks your social media output over the years. So if you posted a picture to Facebook or tweeted two or three years ago, the app produces a daily summary of your ‘social media history for today’.

A couple of days ago on TimeHop I saw a picture I had re-shared on Facebook: someone had scanned our first grade class picture. That is me in the back row with the red shirt and bow tie. First grade was a transition for me – we started out on Page Street and at the North School, and in November moved to Leach Street and the Jones School (actually, for me it was the Clapp School).

But during my short time at the North School I developed my first crush, one I see staring back from the picture above through more than forty years … it was our teacher, Mrs. Weaver.

It is funny looking back at the picture – because I recognize so many of the names and faces. Looking at them as adults on Facebook is crazy – because we tend to freeze people to our own ‘experiential roots’, and they become that boy on the bus or the girl on the playground … instead of the late 40s adult we have all become.

Of course, that statement in itself brings mixed feelings. I was reading a remembrance recently of a friend on Facebook who lost her husband just over a year ago; names have come up over the years of people from our school class who have died in accidents or from disease. Then there are those who truly were frozen in time, like the 10-year old girl who lived up the street and died after the heart surgery after heart surgery just wasn’t enough anymore.

I also remember the first grade teacher after I moved, Ms. Botball (can’t remember her married name, or even whether she got married during our year or the following year). My memory of her is more as being mean, and not really liking her. Was that true, or reflected from the loss of my friends and classmates and a womderful teacher from another school? I’ll never know – nor does it matter … because I can look back and smile inwards about the fawning love of a little boy in a bowtie for his teacher.

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