The Fourth of July was always so much fun. Every year, the town held a big picnic out by the lake. I remember being able to drink a pop out of a can…usually orange pop. We never got to drink pop at home! We played games — our favorite was a fishing game. You threw your fishing line over the top of a big, stretched out hanging sheet. Somehow a toy was attached to your fishing line and thrown back to you! We played at the playground with all our friends, and eagerly waited for it to get dark. While we were waiting, we would watch an old cartoon on a big screen. The cartoon was always faint and could barely be seen as we waiting for the sunlight to fade. When it was finally dark, we would sit back on blankets and watch the fireworks being shot off by the volunteer fire department on the other side of the lake.

August finally came, and with it the beginning of school. I always loved starting school in the fall. My second grade teacher was expecting her first baby in January. My mom, already the mother of three, was friends with her and held a baby shower for my teacher at our house. We watched as she made a gag gift for the expectant mother…a cloth diaper with a present of peanut butter and mustard inside!

For the second half of that year, a young teacher took over our class. I have absolutely no memory of her! Sometime during my years of teaching second grade, my mom confided in me — she was upset that I was to have two different teachers that year. Clearly, I didn’t suffer, but perhaps Mom’s feelings pushed me toward the decision to take a year’s leave of absence when I became pregnant. I didn’t feel it would be fair to my students or a maternity leave teacher to have a baby right at parent/teacher conference time in November. And so I had a leisurely pregnancy with my first daughter. Little did I know how much work motherhood would turn out to be!

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My first grade teacher was also the organ player at our church, and so I knew her very well. Grandma Loreeta sang solos at weddings and funerals, and we were always going up to the balcony so that Grandma could practice her singing with the church organist. Once I tripped up the steps and hit my head on the old, metal radiator. Mrs. Jansen drove us to the hospital 35 miles away while Grandma held my head in her lap with a damp washcloth on the cut. I had to get a few stitches that day.

Mrs. Jansen lived on a dairy farm. Once she brought a jar of cream to our classroom, straight from a cow. My classmates and I all took turns shaking the jar. When we opened it, there was a lump of creamy butter. We spread the butter on crackers and ate it. It tasted so fresh and delicious!

Early one morning, I woke up and saw an unfamiliar figure walk by my room. It didn’t look like Grandma or Grandpa — who could it be? I wasn’t scared; I knew that it had to be a neighbor who came over to watch us. Grandma was having a baby. Uncle Jamie was born that January morning. Our old playroom became his bedroom, but your Aunt Meredith and I didn’t care. We were so excited to have a new baby brother!

The year I was in first grade was such an exciting year for our small town, and for the whole country. We were celebrating the Bicentennial of the United States of America! Our country was 200 years old. I played the part of Betsy Ross in a play at school.  I even got to reprise my role as Betsy Ross that summer. I sat on a float and pretended to sew a flag during the Fourth of July parade. Grandma sewed herself, Aunt Meredith and me matching colonial dresses, complete with mop caps, for all of us to wear during that year-long celebration.