Essays On Memories Of My School Days

Remembering my school days…

I loved school growing up. I’m a proud product of public schools, and I was lucky to have so many smart, dedicated teachers. I can still recite their names and something about each and every one of them today.

It’s funny what school memories have stuck with me over the years: Miss Taylor reading to my first-grade class from Winnie-the-Pooh every morning. Miss Cappuccio, my second-grade teacher, challenging us to write from one to one thousand. It was an impossible task for our tiny hands, but the exercise taught me what it meant to follow through on big projects.

I was a classic tomboy all through elementary school. My fifth-grade class had the school’s most incorrigible boys, and when Mrs. Krause left the room, she would put me or one of the other girls in charge. As soon as the door closed behind her, the boys would start acting up. I got a reputation for being able to stand up to them, which may be why I was elected co-captain of the safety patrol for the next year.

Then there was my sixth-grade teacher, Mrs. King, who drilled us in grammar, but also encouraged us to think and write creatively. She would say “Hillary, don’t put your light under a bushel basket.” It took me a while to learn what that meant, but it has stayed with me. It was an assignment from Mrs. King that led me to write my first autobiography, which I later found in a box of papers after I left the White House.

My teachers helped to shape my childhood — and my future. When it was time to make one of the biggest decisions of my adult life — where to attend college — I got much needed guidance from two teachers, Misses Fahlstrom and Altman. Had it not been for their mentorship, I would not have considered “going East” to Wellesley. But they encouraged me to enroll in a college that would stretch my wings and my mind, and I’ll always be glad that I did.

Beginning in kindergarten and all the way through high school and college, my teachers were among the biggest influences in my life. I have always been grateful for all they did to challenge and support me. I’ll be thinking about them, and every teacher returning to the classroom, on the first day of school.

To all of our teachers: Thank you for all you do to guide our kids and inspire a lifelong love of learning. And to parents and students: Wishing you all a happy and successful school year!

School Days are the Happiest Days of your Life?

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School Days are the Happiest Days of your Life?

When I was given this assignment, my initial reaction was this is
easy! Half an hours writing- homework complete. Fifteen minutes later
I find that it is incredibly difficult to sort out the jumble of
thoughts, memories and feelings, that are fighting each other in the
race to be the first to blot this pristine white page.(melodramatic,
but true)

I suppose I could take the easy way out, and write that looking back;
my school days were happy, carefree days. The sun always shone. I had
no real worries. Friends were plentiful and life was all about, fun,
fun, fun. Well I could, but that would entail not being completely
honest. I mean, certainly a not immodest percentage of school,
(compared with life today) was carefree but by no means all of it. My
over-riding recollections of school are the memories of never quite
fitting in; the never quite making it into the 'in crowd.' Not that I
wanted in, you understand. I wanted to be different (not another
lemming) just not so different that I stood out.

I blame my mother for that mentality for she drummed it into us all.
If I spoke the usual refrain," but all my friends are her response
was always." if your friend stuck her hand in the fire- would you do
it too?" Well the answer to that was no, and when you said so, mum
would smile and say," of course not love, you have your own mind.
You're not a lemming; don't be afraid to be different." I was left
feeling proud of myself for being 'different', but oh God, I still
wanted that denim jacket, or those Adidas trainers, or to stay out for
that extra half an hour; or the myriad of other 'things' that would
have enabled me to fit in. Money was always tight when I was at
school. With four kids to buy for - I feel mum used the lemming story
no us, just so she wouldn't have to say "I can't afford it." At
school, every deficit, both real and imagined between you and the 'in
crowd' made you insecure. It could be your haircut, shoes or even just
the number of pleats our gym skirt had. (Mine had none.) Plain skirts
were cheaper.

Positive Body Image, or lack of it in my case, was a major problem. I
went through school convinced that I was fat and ugly. Fat!? I was
only 81/2 stones! I would kill to be that weight again - and as for my

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"School Days are the Happiest Days of your Life?." 10 Mar 2018

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other two attributes? My boobs started growing in p.6. By p.7, I was
into my first bra- and didn't the bra-less school bully love me! By
third year, my chest rivaled Sam Foxes! My bust was a shapely 34DD;
couple that to a 24" waist and 35"hips, I must have had a figure to
die for. So what was the problem? Well, unfortunately the girls I
wanted to be like were more akin to Kate Moss than Sammy Fox; you know
the type, tall and thin with no discernable bust or hips. I felt like
a freak; I walked around school for the whole five years with my
shoulders rounded, sucking in my non-existent stomach!

I remember at the start of second year, being bought knee-high white
socks. They were hand-picked by myself, and had a very elegant criss-
cross diamond pattern down one side. On the second week of wearing
them, the elastic on one sock broke, and the stupid thing would
gradually slide down my leg as I walked. I remember being absolutely
mortified. Everyone else's socks stayed up, and I was constantly
hauling at mine. So I badgered my mum to buy new ones. She did- three
weeks of mortification later; within days of proudly wearing my new
'stay ups', an 'in girl' decided it would be cool to wear your socks
bunched around your ankles - and did my mum allow me to bunch up my
new socks? Like hell she did. I was the only girl in my class to wear
them knee-high for weeks!

I think older generations must look back on their school days through
the milky glaze of cataracts, when they say that school days were the
happiest. I would buy into that sentimentality about primary school,
but I'm still young enough to remember the insecurities, angst and
loneliness of secondary school, fuelled as they were by the raging
hormones of puberty, and the overwhelming need to conform. Adolescence
and school aren't any less stressful of difficult than adulthood. Your
perception of life, and how you relate to it, grows as you so -as does
your ability to prioritise difficulties and problems. A teenager's
world is smaller than an adult; and they play the major role within
it. Adults see the bigger picture, and realise that they are,
unreality a very small cog.

So, would I go back to my school days? If I could return with the
knowledge and life experiences I have now, simply to enjoy the freedom
of school; the answer would be yes! - Send me now. But to return as I
was then, with all the insecurities, self-doubt and trauma that
puberty, adolescence and school invariably bring? Not in a million

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