Member-only story
A young teacher, a camera, and a life change
This evening a grade school classmate of mine arranged a Zoom reunion call. Thirteen of the eighty-five of us who graduated from Maple School have signed up for the call. A good turnout considering our graduation was in 1958. We’re all in our seventies, and seventeen of us are dead.
My first memory of those days was of getting to school early when the ground was freezing and sections of the upper playfield froze into long icy stretches. We’d run and slide on the slick surface. The sliding play took away my fear of being pushed around or bullied. I never felt a part of the group entirely. But the physical activity of running and sliding, casually lining up, and taking turns to glide down the ice, made me feel safe. Everyone was following the simple self-imposed rules of the play.
Sixth grade was our last in elementary school. But I remember fifth grade much more vividly. Mrs. Yorozu was our teacher. She was young, pretty, and in her second year of teaching.
She was the only teacher who ever came to my home to interview my parents. Quite an event. My parents were noticeably nervous. I’m sure my mother, having taught fourth grade for a few years, was aware of what Mrs. Yorozu was looking for and a bit fearful of what she’d find.
