Not Too Shabby

A person’s life spans decades, with the years that define childhood representing a mere fraction. Even so, the experiences during those few precious years end up shaping an entire lifetime. Children go about each day, oblivious to any importance being attached to everyday happenings, as it should be. Kids should just be kids. That’s how it works.

Life deals its cards randomly as we navigate life, often depending largely on the luck of the draw, so to speak. I count myself as one of those lucky cardholders as a graduate of “Wilson Grade School Class of 1971”.  Many might think it odd to reference graduation from the sixth grade as monumental or life altering in any way.  However, those of us who were in Mr. McBride’s sixth grade class share an understanding of such things, and we count ourselves among the very fortunate, even more than fifty years later.

There are varying schools of thought on how best to teach children. Techniques, methods, philosophies.  So one might ask, what was it? Was it his ability to toss chalk into the air, barely missing the fluorescent lights that hung from the ceiling while teaching matters of great importance?  Perhaps it was his snappy ride.  Of course it could have been Blue Baby, his trusty hack paddle, rarely used, but always vigilant. Or it could have been all those great stories about farm and family, and let’s not forget the field trips planned so we city kids could milk a cow. One might suppose it could have been any one of these things, but then again, perhaps it was the perfect blend of everything aligning just so that made that year so very special.

Yes, no, maybe so.

On a personal note, it was Mr. McBride who first called me Mikki at school, leaving Michele to be shelved indefinitely.  That might have been what clinched it for me.  I have a feeling that each of us has a similar story or two. Possibly three.  He just had a sense of knowing what it was that we needed, somehow. Pretty sure he had no idea at the time of the impact he was making on so many. I know that we didn’t. He was simply doing what he does best, doing what came natural, he was just being Mr. McBride.

It’s been said that at the end of the day, people won’t remember the words you spoke or the things you did, but that they will never forget how you made them feel.  Truer words were never spoken, and most certainly never forgotten.  Hopefully, we were able to take a portion of this intangible gift with us over the years, paying it forward as we went along our way.  Life wasn’t perfect back then, but for us it was more than enough, we were the lucky ones!

Woodrow Wilson Grade School

Class of 1971

"Not too shabby!"