The post on Hawthorn Avenue School reminded me of one of the saddest moments in my youth. In second grade I had Miss Raisin as my teacher. She was African American, a great teacher, (and more important to me at the moment) I fell totally in love with her. I had a great year with her in 2nd grade.
Come third grade, I am on the Safety Patrol (crossing guards.) This was cool partly because of the responsibility, but also because once we went off patrol, we marched for a few minutes military style in front of the school. I later became the captain and called out the march commands. We also originally wore metal arm bands that needed to be polished once a month. Later we switched to the white straps across the shoulders and around the waist you could see from further away.
My post was corner of Nye and Clinton Place. (One good thing about this corner is that everyday I passed a local grocery store and bought a Kosher pickel for a nickel from a barrel wrapped up in waxed paper.....mmmm.)
One day a student stepped off the curb before I said go. I told him to get back up on the curb and he refused. So I followed him and "reported" him to his teacher.......who happened to be Miss Raisin. Well for whatever reason, he lied about what happened, and she believed him. What a blow! My true love, my idol, not believing me on this. As you can tell, I may have recovered, but can still remember the pain.
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