I wish I could remember my 2nd grade teacher’s name. But I can’t. My first grade teacher was Ms. Martin. My second grade teacher wasn’t mean like Ms. Martin who was all the time whacking kids with a yardstick. Ms. Martin was short, dark haired, and boney. My second grade teacher was short, grey haired, frumpy and sort of rounded. But I don’t remember having learned any academics in her class unlike Ms. Martin who more or less tattooed your Dick and Jane to your ass.
Every day in second grade we started off with the Pledge of Allegiance, followed by a group recitation of the Lords Prayer, and then some reading from the Bible. This was followed by what you’d have to call a little sermon on the material read for that day. Ms. X, I will call her, was strong on the New Testament and read to us about Jesus, which is where I really got the idea that he loved Me, because of the stories about him and children, especially the one about bring the children unto me and lest ye be like one of them you won’t get into the Kingdom of Heaven. Maybe this was Ms. X’s way of building up our self-esteem.
But she was also pretty strong on the more Old Testament stuff, especially honor thy father and thy mother. That was a big one because she would go on about how our fathers and especially mothers loved us and thus we should honor them as the Commandment says. I can remember vividly the day she told us about the power of a mother’s love. I can still see the room; she was wearing a frumpy dress with a blue pattern, and she told us this story she must have gotten from Reader’s Digest.
It seems there was this loving mother whose little boy got a powerful stomach ache and fearing that it might be the appendix, the loving mother got her boy in the car and when her little boy bellowed out in pain, she lost track of the road for a moment and went too fast around a curve, and the car rolled over and over and came to rest smack dab in the middle of the railroad tracks. Now she had been thrown free but the little boy was stuck, and no sooner did she stand up and get the cobwebs out of her head than she sees his train heading right for the car with her boy still trapped in it. So this loving mother goes over and with the power of her love, LIFTS THAT CAR RIGHT UP so her little boy can crawl out, and just in the nick of time too, since no sooner had they gotten away than the train hit the car and smacked it to smithereens. And she had done all this on a broken leg though she hadn’t known it because of her powerful love, and so she carried the boy the rest of the way to the doctor—on one leg, mind you—and saved his life because it was the appendix. And this all goes to show there is no force more powerful than a mother’s love.
I found this story of the power of a mother’s love horrifying. I got enough guilt tripping at home without the public school system getting into it too.