I decided to jump in this week with a few memories in response to Mocha With Linda's prompt:
What are your dental memories of childhood? Who pulled your baby teeth and how was it done - with a tissue, string, or other method? Was it a traumatic experience or no big deal? Did you have to have any teeth pulled by the dentist? Did the tooth fairy visit your house? If so, how much did you get for each tooth and how long did that last? How old were you at your first dental visit? Did you go regularly? Did you have any/many cavities as a child? Was dental hygiene taught in school? Was flossing a big deal when you were growing up? Did you have braces and, if so, for how long? Did you have to wear rubber bands, head/neck gear or other additional "accessories"? Did you need braces but your parents couldn't afford them? Have you had braces as an adult? Do you have any fond/funny//traumatic memories of old relatives or friends and their false teeth?
I must have had cavities because I have vague memories of two or three teeth pulled by a dentist in Evans City, PA, during our furlough year.
Most of my teeth-related memories have to do with the two years I wore braces. I write them now as a way of saying a huge THANK YOU to my parents for spending generously from their missionary budget to correct the surprising mess in my mouth as my permanent teeth emerged crooked, pointing out, sidweays and forward, some in front, some in back causing a split bite. If it weren't for orthodontics, I would not feel as free to open my mouth, smile and laugh as much as I do.
I must have been fourteen when the procedure began. We were living in Don Bosco. I had to travel by bus to a city 15 or 20 minutes away and walk a few blocks to the orthodontist for the bi-weekly adjustment. Back then the wrap-around metal braces were in use as well as the tiny rubber bands to hold the jaws in place.
This past year we were able to pay it forward and give the granddaughter the opportunity of a mess-free smile. She has braces that are glued to her teeth and come in the colors of her choice. She does not have to go to the orthodontist as often, more like every other month. The last time happened to be Valentine's Day and they gave her a rose! How times have changed!
Mocha with Linda has done it again, she's come up with another great prompt! How does she do this on a weekly basis? Those of us who are trying to research and remember our childhood days are very grateful.
What new inventions or technology came out when you were growing up that you remember being amazed at? Were your parents "early adopters"--did they get the "latest and greatest" pretty quickly or did they stick with the "tried and true"? What are some things that you remember being a big deal when your family got them? (These may be items like stereos or kitchen equipment or bigger things such as carpet.) Were your folks prone to updating their furniture periodically or did they keep their old furniture forever? How was the way they were raised impact the way you were raised? And how did your upbringing influence the way you are today?
I began by googling the inventions of the fifties. Though I was born in the forties, my memory and awareness probably go back to the 50s. I thought. However, as I looked at the images, I realized that the things our family had in Argentina were a decade or two behind the times.
For example, phones.
In 1950, "Telephone Answering Machine created by Bell Laboratories and Western Electric." No way. Not for us, not even a phone. The waiting list was long. When we finally got one we were among the privileged few in the neighborhood. We did not use the phone often, it was more for emergencies. I remember three things: it hung on the wall, you had to crank it, dial and yell! It was on the left wall as soon as you walked in the house at the bottom of the stairs. This is the closest image I could find.
"TV color broadcasting began in 1953." Are you kidding? We never had a television throughout all of my growing up years.
For the longest time we had a Maytag wringer washer.
When my parents tried to import a washer and dryer, it was held in customs forever. The agents were waiting/hinting/expecting a bribe. My father's conscience would not allow him to go that route, so we never recovered those appliances.
Many expatriates now consider bribing a cultural necessity. What do you think?
Do any of you have one of these egg beaters in your kitchen?
I don't any more. But this old photo proves my mother had one back then when I was very small.
Among the 'oldies' I found a photo of my father in the print shop they ran when serving in the Bible Institute in later years after I had left for college. I wondered how the equipment they used back then would compare to today's.
My father was always a handyman. He could build or fix most anything. So, no matter what the age or condition of his tools, I know he would have been resourceful enough to make them work.
He built much of our furniture, so no, they were not prone to updating their home decor often.
Both of my parents were raised to be thrifty and hard working. Mother was a preacher's kid in a family of six brothers and sisters. Dad had nine siblings. The family was very poor, yet remarkably all, or most of them, went on to higher education.
My missionary upbringing has definitely influenced the way I live: I don't waste anything and can make do and be creatively resourceful...to a fault.
I haven't participated in this weekly exchange of memories for a while now, mostly because the topics did not apply to my experience. For example, How did you celebrate Christmas at school? I didn't, it was during summer break. And also because I had no recollection of things like, Christmas presents, what, when, how, etc.
This week, however, in my attempt to get back into a writing routine, I chose an unforgettable episode of my growing up years that applies to the marked section of the prompt.
How strict were teachers when you were in school? What were common methods of discipline? No recess? Writing sentences? Being sent to the principal's office? Were "pops" or "swats" allowed? Did you ever get in "big" trouble at school? If so, what was it for and what happened to you? Were you ever suspended from school? If you got in trouble at school, what happened at home? Was school lunch a pretty relaxed environment or was discipline maintained in the cafeteria as well? If you are a teacher, what have you vowed never to do as a result of your experiences growing up?
After some hesitation, I decided to share it with you:
“What have you done?” asked my mother as soon as she saw us. I came back from school very early, red-eyed, tear-stained AND accompanied by my boyfriend. Why was I not in school? Why so distressed? And what was he doing there anyway? We didn't go to the same school, or at least not at the same time.
Our budding adolescent attraction had not gone unnoticed by my parents. I knew they disapproved. Their fear and worry was evident. They could not forbid us to date, that social custom did not exist in Argentina as we know it in the U.S, nor could they keep us from participating in youth group events and outings. As young people we were quite involved in ministry. We used to travel, five or six of us, by train to a neighboring town, then walk to an open area where I began to play the accordion, the children gathered and we taught them Bible lessons.
What my parents did not know was that J and I were seeing each other more and more often outside of those planned times. J lived around the corner from my house, a mere two short blocks away. He waited for me at the corner every morning and walked with me to the bus stop. There were no school buses, we used public transport if necessary. As time went on, we spent more and more time together. He began to accompany me on the fifteen to twenty minute bus ride, and then walk with me to the school, a dozen or so blocks away even though this meant he would have to make his way back home only to turn around a few hours later and return to the same school building for his classes. The Normal school, for teachers, convened there in the morning; the college prep school system, Nacional, met in the afternoon; and there was another secondary-level institution that used the facility in the evening.
When we were apart, we left little notes in nicks in the classroom walls or tree hollows in the school yard. Usually these were rolled up bus tickets where we had written Te quiero over and over and over.
One morning J hung around longer than usual, he lingered outside the school fence and we were surreptitiously talking when the disciplinarian, the preceptora, came over, reprimanded us harshly, called me into the office and I, the perfect little student, was sent home, suspended, not allowed to return until the next day and only if accompanied by my parents. This had to be the worst day of my life.
J was waiting for me, not about to let me face parental wrath on my own. He was there to explain and take the blame. I don't know if his bravery paid off or not. We were in big trouble.
I don't think we met much after that. But our special friendship continued, albeit through many ups and downs. When the time came for my parents' furlough from missionary service, the parting from my friends, and J in particular, was very difficult.
My mother returned this painting not too long ago. It hangs on a wall downstairs by my sewing area and our bedroom, and will forever remind me of that school, the fence, and that terrible day. It is the only recovered art piece from high school days. The assignment was to find a spot in the school yard and paint what we could see from that point of view.
I am eager to read your stories and interested in hearing from you whether you think my experience was unusual or not because of being a TCK (Third Culture Kid) growing up in another culture.
Even if I am late linking up, I do want to participate in this week's Friday Flashback though I may only be answering a couple of the prompts.
Did you like to read when you were a child? What were your favorite genres, books or series? Did you read books because of the author or because of the title/plot? Did you own many books? Did your school distribute the Scholastic book orders (or some other type)? Did you visit the library often? Was there a summer reading program when you were young, and did you participate? Do you have any particular memories of your school libraries? What were your favorites and least favorites among the classics (the ones high school English teachers assign!)? If you didn't like reading, do you like it more today than you did then?
My memories are few. I remember most distinctly being drawn into the Elsie Dinsmore series as a teenager. There was some kind of a book exchange program among the missionaries that allowed me to read all if not most of the twenty eight books. My mother had a hard time dragging pulling me away.
Another series, a family favorite from generations back, was Annie Fellows Johnston's Little Colonel Stories . They were favorites in my mother's home and remain treasures handed down, read and passed on to children and grandchildren. I own three original volumes, tattered, taped, in precarious condition.
Moody Press's Danny Orlis series by Bernard Palmer, was the Christian version of Nancy Drew or such mystery fiction. My brothers and I went through many of those, I believe, though I can only speak for myself. I own a token copy of Danny Orlis makes the team.
When I was younger I read and loved the Susie and Johnny series. The books were very small and thin. In her adventures Susie, if that was her name, always won, of course, but her weapon was to "heap coals of fire" on her enemies by doing good to them. That advice from Romans 12:20 stuck with me. That particular 1940's series, which we owned and my parents bound in a small volume, has since gone missing and is most likely impossible to replace.
A favorite children's classic was Caps For Sale. When I did my student teaching in Argentina, I chose that tale and fully illustrated it for the class and, of course, read it in Spanish.
When I began writing, I thought this would be a brief post. I am surprised to have stirred up so many memories. Mine was a childhood enriched by many books and stories, never distracted by television. We also had recorded dramatized Bible stories and children's programs that we listened to over and over.
I do love books. Perhaps it all started here, at my father's side.
I have a strong aversion to BTS ads! It never fails--summer vacation ends too soon!
Two grandsons have already started school, and the other school-age grands begin next week.
Why not keep the old tradition--all schools begin on the same day, right after Labor Day?
Anyway, Mocha with Linda picks up the BTS theme with the following prompt:
Did your family have any back-to-school traditions when you were growing up? Were you generally eager or reluctant to start school? Was buying school supplies a big deal or did you order them through the school? Were there any school supplies you particularly loved? Did you take your lunch or buy it at school? Brown bag or lunch box/thermos? Does the first day of school from any grade stand out? Did you ride the bus, walk, or go by car to school? Do you remember how early or late school began/dismissed each day? Did you go to kindergarten? Half-day or whole day?
I found two old photographs that I hope will help jog my memory because, to be honest, I do not remember much.
This wrinkled photo is the only remaining reminder of my first public school experience--second grade in Winona Lake, IN. Mrs. Little was my teacher and she did not live up to her name.
I wonder if I combed my own hair? Was that one of my mother's perms?
I do remember that for Valentine's Day, Mother made the best decorated heart cookies for everyone in my class.
Here, back in Argentina, I am wearing the typical uniform--guardapolvo--the white-starched-pleated mothers' nightmare. And I am carrying the brown leather portafolio.
The date on the back says August '53, which is strange considering classes began in March. Maybe that's when the roll of film was developed. In any case, that was my first public school experience in Argentina. I started in the third grade. Sooooo much was new, especially considering that when we returned from a year in the USA, I could not remember Spanish. It must have come back to me quickly because I do not have any traumatic memories, and I may have had some time to recall the language before entering school. I do know my teachers were very kind and my report cards reflect very favorable outcomes.
Delia, the girl around the corner, walked to school with me every day. She is still a dear friend to this day and we are in regular contact via e-mail.
To answer the questions posed by Linda:
--no memorable traditions
--I was usually an eager student
--we had to purchase our own school supplies: cuadernos (notebooks), carpetas (binders and paper), útiles (pens, pencils, erasers, geometry tools, etc.), libros (books), as required for each grade level. And, of course, the uniform and brief case mentioned above.
--No need for lunch. We either attended primer turno in the morning, or segundo turno o turno de tarde in the afternoon.
--Elementary or primary school was in our town and we walked the seven or eight blocks.
Secondary school was in another town and we had to take the public transport bus and then walk some ten blocks.
--No kindergarten back then. I did not do first grade either, so my parents must have taught me to read.
This exercise in dredging up childhood memories is very helpful, especially for someone who hopes to complete a memoir of those years. Thank you, Linda!
I encourage readers to go to Linda's blog for many more reminiscences.
Sometimes life is too full for any extras; one only has time for the basics; blogging becomes a luxury item.
However, I do so appreciate Mocha with Linda's Flashback Friday prompts. I look forward to them on Thursdays, and begin to ponder the subject. Digging through the rubble of long-ago memories is a very good exercise and my findings will contribute to the memoir I hope to continue writing. Therefore, I have decided to respond anyway and give it a different title, one I have used in the past--Memory Monday. I may even attempt to link up with the others, but first I must compose this post.
Did your family attend church when you were growing up? What are your earliest memories of church? Did you attend VBS (Vacation Bible School) when you were young? Sunday School? Other church activities? Was faith a Sunday-only thing or did it impact your life and the things you did? If faith and church were not a part of your growing-up years, when and how did you begin and what drew you to God?
My parents were missionaries so I grew up in the church, almost literally. At first the services were held in our living room until the congregation grew and was able to build.
My father was not only a 'church planter', he was also a church builder, literally. And my mother always worked right along side him along with the men and boys that joined in the digging, brick laying, plastering, painting and all the aspects of construction.
I have memories of listening to many a sermon. As children, even as babies, we sat in the service, there was no nursery.
Dad was not only good with his hands, he was a great Bible teacher and preacher. He could sing beautifully and play several instruments. I took piano lessons and eventually became the 'organist'. Well, not really, the instrument was a harmonium, a small pump organ that looked something like this:
I was very young, maybe three and a half, when I heard and understood that the Lord Jesus wanted to have a relationship with me personally and with each one who would simply invite Him into their lives. The famous image of Jesus knocking on the door and the words of Jesus in Revelation 3:20 (Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him...) are what stand out in my childlike experience. What has been true my whole life is the ongoing relationship that follows ...and dine with him, and he with Me--a wonderful friendship and fellowship.
I don't think I ever confused 'church building' with the Church, meaning the body of believers worldwide. In our travels we have seen a wide variety of church buildings. Some huge and ornate, built over centuries, still standing and in use hundreds of years later. (See Saturday's post.) Others smaller, simpler. Our tradition tended to put less emphasis on the physical structure and more on the spiritual teaching, just different.
God is worthy of great honor and glory, even pomp and ceremony. Yet He looks on the heart of each person no matter where or how they worship.
Jesus said, God is Spirit, and those who worship Him must worship in spirit and truth. John 4:24 He also said, I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me. John 14:6
What sort of sayings, colloquialisms, or proverbs did your family say when you were growing up? When were they used? What do you find yourself saying that you vowed you would never say? What do you say that drives your kids nuts? Is there a regional aspect to your speech? Do you have an accent and were you ever teased about it?
I was at my Mother's when I read this week's prompt, so I asked her what she remembered. She said that when she knew thought us kids were lying not being truthful, she would quote "Hablad verdad cada cual con su projimo." ("Speak the truth to each other")
I then asked whether that worked brought out the true story. She thought so.
While visiting Dad at the Health Center during lunch, Mother commented that his nose drips often. Somehow that unwanted dribble reminded me of what we used to say to alert someone that they needed to wipe their face or chin. "Mr. Jones is at the door."
I'm sure my brothers will remember many more.
Girls in Argentina or Spain have certain sayings to communicate with one another about their monthly condition: "My aunt or unwanted friend is visiting."
The Spanish language is replete with proverbs, one for every imaginable situation. I love that about the Hispanic culture. Although I am considered bilingual, I have often felt deficient in that area, unable to respond with a saying for whatever circumstance.
I am asking my family members to comment and respond to some of the questions posed by Mocha With Linda.
A few words about words, or the lack thereof. I was thinking this week about the nourishing effect of conversation. When days go by where hubby and I are unable to conversate (is that a verb?), for a variety of reasons, I seem to wilt, grow quiet, even feel shunned. It could be that words are my love language.
When words fail, actions speak. How do you like this show of affection?
"Scratch my back, I'll scratch yours."
We saw these ponies at the top of the hill overlooking Donostia.
Now a question for all about hurtful words. Can words hurt more than actions or is the "Sticks and stones may break my bones / But words will never hurt me." saying always true?
Who was your first friend? Did you have lots of friends when you were growing up or just one or two close friends? Share memories from your childhood friends. For women, were "mean girls" an issue when you were growing up? Or were you a "mean girl"?! How did your friends shape who you are today, for good or not-so-good? Do you still keep up with your childhood friends today?
This will be brief because I just returned from Spain, have a lot of catching up to do. Even though I had very good childhood friends, and still stay in touch with several of them, I will only talk about one, because today is her birthday--June 17th when I am writing this.
We must have met when we were very small because our father's were pastor's in the same fellowship, but we did not see one another very often as our families lived in different provinces and only got together at summer camp and/or annual general conference.
There was one time, however, when Mirtha and her family came to Buenos Aires for medical reasons. She had contracted polio as a baby. I believe this is the first photo of us together during the time they stayed with us. She is on my left.
I do believe that after that stay we corresponded faithfully for many, many years, long and often illustrated letters. Mirtha has a thick binder with all of mine and recently reread them to her great amusement.
I wish I were able to post the PowerPoint I created to tell the story of our friendship and for language teaching purposes. You could learn some Spanish! I will save you the effort and include only some of the photos.
Polio affected her spinal column, left her with severe scoliosis, and endangered her vital organs As a bedridden teenager she wrote a novel that won third place in a Moody writing contest.
This article was published in 1965.
Mirtha has since led a very full life as a literature prof, editor of a magazine for children, married 20 years, step mother and grandmother, writer and speaker, and encourager of many.
Three years ago I was privileged to visit her, only too briefly.
Happy Birthday, dear friend!
After you read this, you may want to go over to Mocha With Linda and read more stories of friendship.
Do you have siblings? (If not, keep reading - I'll get to you.) How many and are they boys or girls? Where do you fall in the birth order? How did you view your "spot" in the family compared with the others? If you are the oldest, did you resent the things the youngest got to do that you didn't? If the youngest, what did you want to do like the older ones? And if you are more of a middle child, how did that impact you? How do you think your birth order shaped your personality? Did you and your siblings like each other growing up or did you fight all the time? Are you close now? Or at least friends with each other?! What memories stand out about you and your siblings?
If you are an only child, how did you like that? Were you glad to have all the attention or did you want to have a brother or sister? What advantages were there to being an only child? What disadvantages? Which side of the fence is greener?!
For everyone, did your sibling experiences (or lack thereof!) affect your decision to have kids or to have a certain number?
No direct access to photos this time tho' I would have some cute ones on my computer at home. Here in Northwest Spain where I am for a couple days, internet access is sporadic. Right now in the middle of the night, I can't sleep but I can blog. So for as long as my luck lasts, I will try to respond.
I am the oldest of five and the favorite daughter ;)
Always hoped for a sister, however that never happened so I maintained my favored position in the family. Of course, with privilege comes responsibility. I sometimes was required to look after my brothers, but I was bossy and mean at times and thus was relieved of the duty. Yes, believe it or not, I made my younger sibling cry and beg to be allowed back in the house, red-faced eyes swollen. I don't know if I gave in or not. Believe me, I am not proud of that.
Another time I was swinging and urged him to come closer and closer to see how close I could get to flying over him. It didn't work and he ended up with a gash in his forehead. Again, I can't believe my mean stupidity.
The next brother broke his arm when he jumped off the big tricycle I was pushing him on. Probably my fault.
How they survived and still love me I do not know.
The youngest was in luck 'cause he was only months old when I went off to college.
Our family was spread out enough that each of us lived a different phase of our missionary family experience.
All of us, without exception, are grateful for our upbringing in Argentina, and all of us have returned a time or more. Two have served there as missionaries at one time and another is there now.
We all love one another and try to stay in touch as much as possible.
Attempting to bring back the memories of my growing up years in Argentina has brought me closer to my next sibling (the one I tormented). He has an excellent memory and is helping me recover those lost years.
All for now. It is 3 a.m. I am going to try to get some sleep.
What were summers like when you were a kid? Did your family have any particular traditions? Did you sleep 'til noon or get up early? Did you attend camps? Spend lots of time at the pool? Was it a neighborhood pool or in your backyard? Did you take swimming lessons? Did you live near a beach? (And do you call it the beach or the coast?!) Did you attend VBS (Vacation Bible School)? Did your library have a reading program that you participated in? What types of prizes were available? Did you get to buy treats from the ice cream truck? Did your family go on vacations? If so, what is a memorable one? Do you associate any particular songs with summer?
This is Mocha With Linda's weekly prompt. Others may have linked up by now, and I am just beginning my response. We have little time as we are very focused on getting ready for our trip to Spain. But I didn't want to miss the opportunity to once again delve into the old photos and memories. I will be brief.
My parents were Grace Brethren missionaries in Argentina, so as a family we were involved in the summer activities of the mission or denomination: summer camps for different age groups and the general conference.
The camp grounds in the sierras of Córdoba, always near a stream or river, el arroyo o arroyito, provided delightful afternoons of swimming and playing in the water. If I remember correctly, boys and girls, or men and women, were assigned separate swimming areas.
The following photos prove that I was taken to camp from a very early age.
Looks like I had plenty of lovely young women to keep an eye on me.
This area holds the most memorable summer memories. I own a painting by my late friend, artist and pastor Juan Colle to remind me of those happy times all the years I was growing up into a young adult.
Official swimming lessons? Not till I took a course in college.
No pools or beaches nearby.
No reading programs or special traditions. I do not remember going on family vacations either.
We did have VBS programs. No special memory stands out.
So, I will leave it at this. I will probably not be able to join you all for the next couple weeks. We will be visiting friends in Spain near a beach and a pool! More water fun awaits!
Once again Mocha With Linda has outdone herself thinking up prompts to jog our memories and bring out all kinds of interesting things from those days long forgotten. Here is prompt # 10. After reading my responses, go to her blog and be entertained by the other anecdotes from bygone days.
Tell about your senior year in high school. Were there any special traditions such as getting a senior ring? Were there lots of activities and parties as you neared graduation? Were you in any extra-curricular activities that had traditional "rites of passage" or "passing the baton" too the next class? Were awards given out - either serious or fun? Did you send out graduation announcements? Did your school have a Baccalaureate Service in addition to the graduation ceremony? If you attended church, did your church recognize/honor Seniors in any way? Did you keep your tassel - did you hang it from the mirror of your car or do something else special with it? What sorts of things did you get for graduation gifts? Was it a tradition to display the gifts in your home?
And once again, my answers are different from everyone else's, like as far removed Argentina is from the USA.
This is my senior class photo, the only one, no individual pictures nor fancy artistic poses and all sizes of prints to hand out or hang on the wall. Can you find me?
No need to tell you we wore uniforms. They were every mother's nightmare--pleated, white, starched, ironed, buttoned-in-the-back and tied at the waist guardapolvos (=to protect from dust).
You might wonder why there were only two boys in my class. It was a Normal school, i.e.to train elementary teachers. The boy/girl ratio is probably not very different here in El Ed programs.
One more note of interest. There were three sections of 5th year and each group stayed together all the time in the same classroom, no moving around. The teachers came to us.
I look at the faces, some names have faded from my memory. I wonder where some of them are and what they are doing??? No high school reunions for me.
Here is the only photo of the simple graduation ceremony from the Escuela Normal Mixta de Quilmes Almirante Guillermo Brown, November of 1963. I pinned a flower on my father's lapel and he pinned our class emblem on my uniform. That is all I recall, folks. There were no diplomas, tassels, awards, open-houses, church recognition, gifts, cards, parties. At least, that I can remember.
Now I'm going to go link up and see if anyone can top that odd tale!
Another great prompt from Mocha With Linda. After you've read my Flashback, be sure and read the other stories--always interesting, informative, and often reflect the similar experiences of an era.
How old were you when you got your first (paying) job? Did you work during the school year? What stipulations, if any, did your parents put on spending, saving, etc.? What types of jobs did you have before you were, oh, 21 or 22? Did you go to college or a technical/trade school? If so, did you work while you were pursuing your post-high school education? What were your favorite -- and least favorite, if you wish to share! -- jobs? What did you learn from those early jobs?
I did not have a paying job as a teenager and I do not remember that any of my Argentine friends worked. It was either an unknown concept, or there were no opportunities, or school was our work. I cannot imagine being able to do anything besides school studies. I was even exempt from home chores, for the most part.
Consequently, I hardly had any experience with money (spending or saving) until much later, nor did I receive an allowance that I can remember.
My first paying job was probably as a waitress. (Was it when I was in college or seminary or both?) The Westminster Hotel in Winona Lake had a smorgasbord. I worked for a cranky cook, Mr. Tucker was his name I believe, but we got along. During my one year at Grace Seminary, I also helped serve banquets.
I had another part-time job, whether at the same time or before or after or for how long I cannot remember--secretarial work for Dr. Toirac at Spanish World Gospel Broadcasting. He was from Cuba and passionate about getting the Gospel out to his fellow countrymen.
Oh, I also attempted to teach Spanish at a Christian school in Warsaw. Looking back on that is very embarrassing. I had no clue how to teach language at the time and had no curriculum, textbook, or guidance of any kind. Poor kids!
So, what did I learn? Lots. I had so much to figure out about life in general and the American culture. I am still learning!
Mocha With Linda reminds us that this is Teacher Appreciation Week and asks us to look back at all the good memories, reflect on the positive influence they had in our lives, and maybe even go back and say thank you.
Here is Prompt # 8:
Tell us about the teachers from your school days. Who were your favorites? Why did you like them? How did they influence your life, your occupation, or another aspect? Have you ever gone back, seen or contacted a favorite teacher to express your appreciation? Do you still keep up with any of your teachers? Was Teacher Appreciation Day/Week celebrated when you were in school?
I am going to begin by responding to the last question.
In Argentina we celebrated DÃa del Maestro on September 11 to honor Domingo Faustino Sarmiento whose major influence in the area of education earned him the title of "The Teacher" of Latin America. His involvements and achievements were many, and he was also Argentina's seventh president.
So, on the anniversary of his death we remembered him with speeches and songs. I can still sing the Hymn to Sarmiento. The funny thing is that I do not remember doing anything special for our teachers. Has it been too long? Is it a failing memory issue?
After last year's Teachers' Day, a childhood friend mentioned that he had sent flowers to our favorite teacher, and also called her. Now in her eighties, she still remembered and mentioned me, "la rubiecita tan callada y buena alumna"--the little blondie so quiet and such a good student.
When I told my brother, he agreed that Srta. Dina, our 6th grade teacher was his favorite as well. However, I am at a loss to describe the qualities or characteristics that made her 'the best'. I do have one treasured photo where I am standing next to her, and my brother is next the the principal.
I have wanted to write to Srta. Dina ever since I heard about my friend's kind gesture. So, today, thanks to Linda's prompting, I made a copy of the photo and as soon as I have finished writing this post, I am going to find or make an appropriate card para escribirle unas lÃneas a mi maestra favorita.
P.S.: My brother who has a keen perceptive memory has this to say about our favorite teacher:
I´m not sure, but if I had to hazard a guess, there were at least three things. 1) I don´t remember her having any one preferred student, she cared about us all, 2) She knew her subject matter, and 3) She kept order in the classroom. All of these things added up to a sense of safety in the classroom that I did not seem to have other years.
How old were you (approximately) when you attended your first funeral? Did your parents shield you from death and grief or was it viewed as a natural part of life? Did you experience any significant loss(es) in your growing up years? What were your early impressions of death and dying? And while I do not intend this in any irreverent way, are there any amusing memories associated with a death or funeral? If you have kids, how have you handled this subject with them? Feel free to share as vulnerably or as shallowly as you want!
I have no recollection of funerals during my childhood. So I consulted my brother who has a very good memory. He mentioned three deaths that left an impression on him, but none involved our participation in any way.
When my maternal grandfather died we were ending our five-year term in Argentina. In those days international travel was not as common an occurrence as it is today, so Mother did not even consider possible to attend his funeral. Grandma Hirschy passed some 21 years later. I was married and had three children. Almost all of her offspring were present. The family by then numbered 100. That was my first funeral experience, a memorable event.
The one death that stands out in my childhood memories was that of Eva Perón. I had attended public school where large portraits of the dictator and his wife were everywhere and homage was regularly enforced. When Evita died we were out of the country, on our return voyage after a one-year furlough in the US.
I recently came across a letter where Mother describes the experience I remember most.
July 31st, 1952
"We anchored in the RÃo de la Plata about 7 a.m. and were unable to get a dock until about 3 p.m. Because of the mourning for the first lady ships evidently had lined up in the channel waiting to unload etc. For 3 or 4 days no one had worked at the docks so you can imagine what kind of a mess it is down there with baggage everywhere. Just before we got off the boat we had to stand still for 15 min. doing homage to the deceased. Like some man behind us said, you can make us shut up, but can't make us do homage to her."
Her popularity and fame were unequaled among first ladies and her mausoleum in La Recoleta is probably the most visited tomb in South America.
If you have a child in your life, your calendar for April and May is probably quickly filling up with end-of-year activities - performances, recitals, etc. Did you take lessons as a child? Piano or another instrument? Gymnastics or dance? Other types of lessons? Were they weekly? How much were you required to practice between lessons? Did you participate in recitals? If so, do any of them stand out in your memory? Did they foster a love or a hate for that activity? Did you want to take lessons in a certain thing that you never got to? And if you have kids now, how did your experiences with taking lessons like these impact the activities you had/have them do?
Yes, I took piano lessons as a child and teenager. The profesora lived around the corner and her name was Sra. Amelia (?) Villani de Jones. (Now I'm curious about the Jones surname in Argentina, and I wonder if she is still alive???)
I think my lessons were an hour a week. I never felt that I practiced enough (the perfectionist in me). However, recently reading some family letters from my grandparents archives, I came across a mention in my parents letter to them to the effect that I was quite faithful! In any case, I passed all ten annual exams and I believe ended up with the title of "Profesora de piano".
We did not have recitals as we know them here, but these exams were daunting events. We prepared and memorized several pieces for months. In December, after school was out, on our assigned day we went to the conservatory, el Conservatorio Santa Cecilia, in downtown Buenos Aires and when our turn came entered alone into the great room and played for the judges or examiners.
It was our BIG day. We dressed up and traveled by train and bus to the capital, so nervous and excited.
I still have one of the dresses my mother made me for the occasion.
I did enjoy playing the piano and still do. I eventually helped out by playing music for the church services, though not on the piano. The Templo, as we called our church building, had a harmonium, a fold up pump organ. I even played for a wedding once on that little armonio.
My dad and brothers played a variety of brass instruments.
I found only one photo where I am playing the piano at home for the family in our house on Chiclana in Don Bosco, a suburb of Buenos Aires.
A challenge for those who read my SIL's blog Just a Southern Girl:
Which one of my brothers is her hubby?
Linda has challenged us again this week with another interesting topic.
Check out her answers and those of all who link up. And, of course, por supuesto, you must read mine, and comment too, por favor, pretty please!
What were birthdays like when you were growing up? Were they a big deal or understated? Did you have parties? Get to choose what or where the family ate for dinner? Are there any particular birthday traditions that you remember? Is there any birthday that stands out (good OR bad!), either due to the events surrounding it or due to the particular present(s) you received?
My initial response was that birthdays, when my brothers and I were growing up in Argentina, were understated compared to nowadays. I don't remember having a party every year, though we always got a birthday cake. Can't remember having a choice of meal either, but that could have something to do with my poor memory. Old photos help to fill in those gaps.
(Dad's own handwriting. He made the doll buggy.)
Two birthday celebrations stand out, however, one in the US during our first furlough, and another in Argentina just before our second home leave. I recently wrote about the latter for my writing course, so I will simply copy it at the end. Oh, and if you would care to critique my writing, I would be very grateful.
About the first one. It was my 8th birthday and as a family we were due to visit one of the supporting churches in Canton, Ohio. I remember a table laden with gifts and much food, of course. It made a huge impression on me because I had never seen such a celebration. I have no recollection of any of the gifts, though, only the enormity of the event!
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Thirteenth Birthday Party—May, 1957
“Why don’t you go put on your new clothes?” Mother said.
“What for?” I thought, but I dutifully went upstairs to my room and got out the pleated skirt and matching sweater set.
We had made several trips to Quilmes, by bus or train; walked the length of the long shopping district; searched in numerous fabric shops for my whimsical color choice--pink and gray.
Mother would not give up until she had found the perfect plaid combination. How I loved that wool skirt, it was light and soft and the colors pleased me. I wore it for years, carefully applying imperceptible patches where it had become threadbare.
But why now, nothing special going on, why should I wear my best clothes?
Then the doorbell rang and my friends began to arrive.
“¡Feliz cumpleaños!” they said.
Mother knew how much I had missed my friends from elementary school years.
They had all started back to school in March, each following a different track.
Delia had decided to go the secretarial route and was attending Escuela Comercial.
Others preparing for university chose the Escuela Nacional. And I did not need to make up my mind yet because in a couple months we would be returning to the US for a year in time for fall classes in America.
Mother was getting out the food she had prepared. I could smell the bologna salad sandwiches. My friends loved these. She also knew how to make homemade marshmallows because they were not available in Argentina. And my favorite birthday cake--the Never Fail Chocolate Cake with Seven Minute White Icing.
We played games, but mostly talked. I wanted to hear about their secondary school experience so far. All these schools were in Quilmes, the city twenty minutes away. They traveled by public transport. Some had morning sessions, others afternoon, and there was a night school option. Thus the same school building could accommodate three different programs with totally separate administration and teachers. Obviously the structures were simpler and the systems less complex than in the US. I was soon to find that out for myself. This was also like a going away party. A year is a long time to be away from close friends. Already I missed them and knew I would never catch up with them in school.
But for now, this was such a thoughtful surprise my Mother had prepared. We did not usually have birthday parties with our friends. Though the details have faded, Mother’s loving efforts to make that day special remain a sweet memory.
The flashback this week surrounds our fashion memories. You may elaborate on your childhood Easter fashionsand/or share about styles in general. What fashions were popular when you were growing up? (Any time from birth to high school graduation) What did you beg to wear? What style did you happily embrace that you now look back and think, "Ugh! Whatever possessed me to wear that? ( Of course, pictures would be great - the more hideous embarrassing, the better!) Have any of these come back into style? What have you worn that you vowed you never would? (You can also include hairstyles in your walk down Memorial Fashions Lane!)
I am away from home this week so I thought I wouldn't have any photos to share, but I discovered a couple in previous posts way back.
My mother made my outfits when I was very young. This wool coat and hat are turquoise with velvet brown trim. I wonder if she used patterns or was such a talented seamstress. I wish I had photos of all the cute dresses she sewed for me, and the sweaters she knitted.
Attending school in Argentina I was not concerned about dressing fashionably because we wore uniforms--white starched pleated dress-like cover-alls, long-sleeved, buttoned cuffs, round collars, buttoned and tied in the back. (If I were home I could post a cute picture.)
Anyway, when I went to 8th grade in the US, I could not believe how many clothes were necessary to survive school in reasonable fashion. Those were the days of poodle skirts, saddle shoes, bobby socks, plenty of petticoats (What were they called, those ruffly, starchy, scratchy monstruosities?) I cannot say that I "happily embraced" any of that, which only added to my feeling like I didn't belong in the country of my birth.
BTW, that was the year Elvis visited our small-town school! (He was about 10 years older than me.)
So, I never was a fashion expert, just do my best to not stand out as odd or too extravagant
Here's the outfit my granddaughter helped me select for my birthday last year.
I am wearing it today on this beautifully sunny day in Tennessee!
I decided to join Mocha with Linda's crowd and look back on my lifetime experiences to pull out memories on whatever topic she chooses for the week. This week is the Easter edition, and I thought I was going to draw a blank. I honestly have no recollection of coloring eggs or Easter egg hunts, Easter baskets or wearing special Easter outfits. So, my entry may be quite different from all the others. As I mulled the questions over last evening and into the night, some images and events came to mind. I will give this a try.
What was Easter like when you were little? For example, did you receive a basket with toys and candy? Was the Easter Bunny part of your family's celebration? Did your family integrate both secular and spiritual aspects of the day? Did you dye Easter eggs. . . .and did your family eat them afterwards? Did you usually get a new outfit? (Post a picture if you have one!) Does any Easter stand out particularly? You might also share how your Easter today is similar or different to your childhood?
I called Mother and asked her what we used to do.
She said, "Nothing special. We didn't celebrate much. We were more practical."
For those who may not know, I grew up in a missionary family in Argentina.
I cannot remember whether egg hunts and such were practiced there then. By now they probably have an Easter Bunny and everything else as many American customs have spread abroad.
There are three Easters that stand out, each from a different period of our life.
Toward the end of our time on the ship Doulos, both Mike and I took part in the musical production of Breakfast in Galilee, directed by one of our best friends. It was a very special experience. I remember that at the time I had longer hair and wore two braids pinned on top framing my face. I wore a white sheet toga-like costume and looked the part for those times, at least I think so.
When we settled in small town USA, we kept hearing a lot about the Marion Easter Pageant. One year we got up at 5 a.m. to make sure we could get in to the early Easter Sunday performance. That was a powerfully stirring experience. Sadly it has been discontinued.
In 1991 we sent out a special Easter letter and our daughter contributed the art work.
Since living in the States, we have tried to do more. Our children especially keep up with traditions with their kids. This year Mike and I will be traveling. Another bicycling training trip is planned for next week.
So, friends new and old, this is my first meager contribution to Friday Flashback.
Whether we celebrate with all the trimmings and traditions or none, let us rejoice because He lives!
