One of the things that stinks about getting older is how small all the big things from your youth become. That entered my mind today as I thought about Hillcrest School in Lebanon, Missouri.
For most of us, elementary school becomes routine when we’re kids. From kindergarten through fifth grade, you’re in the same classroom most of the day, with a few breaks for lunch, music and P.E., and you see the same teacher and classmates every day.
That all changed in 1987 when we were jettisoned from the comfort of Maplecrest Elementary to the jungle of Hillcrest, where every sixth-grader in the district ventured for class.
Gone were the days of same old, same old. I remember being terrified at the prospect of changing classes, having seven or eight different teachers and seeing hundreds of new faces. For those of us who were introverts, it was hell at times.
My memories of Hillcrest are plentiful. For starters, it really was chaos, especially during lunch and recess. I vividly remember 25-on-25 basketball games on the small court behind the school, which only had three goals.
While at Hillcrest, I also discovered that there were going to be teachers who simply did not like certain students. That became abundantly clear during a gifted class that included 14 popular kids and yours truly. The teacher in that class, who I won’t name here, clearly didn’t appreciate my sense of humor.
To this day, said teacher is the only one to give me detention. Admittedly, I earned it, though the punishment (three days) was extreme, given my track record of being a good and behaved student.
During lunch, one of my favorite teachers asked me not to do something (I don’t recall what exactly). Being the smart ass I’ve always been, when she turned her back, I promptly made a gesture that I was going to squirt a ketchup bottle at her. The previously mentioned teacher raced over to my table, grabbed me by the collar and screamed, “Ernie, THREE DAYS DETENTION.”
For the rest of the lunch, I sat at the teachers’ table with my head down. I didn’t look up once. That night, I had to explain to my father why I had detention. I expected to be spanked. The punishment was even more harsh: I had to apologize. To both teachers.
I did so the next day. The teacher I made fun of was curt, but kind in her response. The other teacher after I told her it would never happen again? “Oh, yes it will, Mr. Webb. I’d bet on that.” I learned a valuable lesson that day that not everybody is going to like you.
Despite those hiccups, Hillcrest had its moments. I received an award for having zero absences that year (I ignored my parents’ plea to dress up for a change and stuck with my T-shirt and sweatpants getup). Our science teacher, Mrs. Ersery, was awesome. So was the Social Studies teacher, whose name I can’t remember.
Hillcrest also was the school I attended when I got my first set of glasses. You talk about opening up a whole new world. And surviving that place proved to be great preparation for the next year, when we all moved again to the cheetah-like pace of Lebanon Junior High (then seventh through ninth grade).
But by 1988-89 at LJH, places already were getting smaller, even as life got a hell of a lot bigger.
TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS SERIES
Twelve Days of Christmas, Part IX: Mom and Christmas
Twelve Days of Christmas, Part VIII: Thank you, Hannibal
Twelve Days of Christmas, Part VII: A letter to Brenda Keller
Twelve Days of Christmas, Part VI: Booker the Cat
Twelve Days of Christmas, Part V: About Joplin, my hometown
Twelve Days of Christmas, Part IV: Christmas in Arkansas
Twelve Days of Christmas, Part III: From the archives
Twelve Days of Christmas, Part II: The Pine Tar Derby
Twelve Days of Christmas, Part I: Rest in peace, Dan Ascheman
2022 finale: The search for James “Danny” Hollingshead continues