Halloween 1950's

    At our house for Halloween in the late 1950's, my sisters and I wore homemade costumes. The most common were the hobo, the ghost, and the gypsy. These were easy to put together out of old clothes or, if a ghost, from an old clean sheet, cut to size. The hobo and gypsy relied on oversized clothes and accessories like a folded red printed bandana tied to a stick for the hobo to carry over her shoulder and lots of costume jewelry for the gypsy. Black crayon, or some form of charcoal, made the ghost look spookier and the hobo a bit more ragged, while Mom's makeup made the gypsy both mysterious and glamorous.

     We each carried a plain paper grocery bag as we walked from house to house in our neighborhood. We went no further, especially after the news story of razor blades being found in apples on some vague Halloween night.

     We never went trick-or-treating alone either.  Our father always went with us. We were shy kids and only hesitantly repeated, "Trick or treat," holding out our bags. In those days, it really was a treat to have a piece of candy dropped into our bags, and we sure were hoping we didn't get any fruit or a dollar bill. They just weren't the same treat as a piece of candy.

     Once home we carefully picked over our candy, dividing into favorites and trade-ables and were able to have a piece a day each day following Halloween. My favorites were always the Hershey Krackel and Three Muskateers bars. But one day the bags of candy would be gone, and that was that until the next Halloween. It's just how it was.


(c) Copyright 2016 Malvena Baxter

   

The First Day of Kindergarten

September 1952

     Autumn smells like the start of school. The air changes, the daylight hours are shorter, the sun is lower in the sky. The days are getting cooler. Since I always loved school and the new school year began in September, the Fall and school are as natural together as chocolate cookies and milk.

     For me, starting school was one of the most exciting things to happen in my five years of life. It was right up there with having the crust cut off my peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich and then having the sandwich cut into triangles instead of squares. It was a wiggle, giggle, and body moving kind of happiness.

     For the first ever day of school, my Nanny Mac made me a new dress, and my father took me for a new pair of shoes. I don’t remember a thing about the dress except it was pretty, but I do remember my red Mary Janes with the small flower design punched into the leather on top and the shiny silver buckles at the sides. Every day my father would buckle my shoes and fold over the tops of my white ankle socks.

“There you go,” he would say, tapping the top of the shoe last fastened, and I would walk away, so proud of my new shoes, dreaming that they were Buster Browns, just like the ones advertised on the “Tarzan” show on Saturday morning TV. 

“One two, buckle my shoe. Three, four, shut the door…”  away I would hop happy as could be.


(c) Copyright 2016 Malvena Baxter

Walking to School

     Because I was only in kindergarten, I always walked to school with someone older which was no problem. I had older cousins, a grade or two ahead of me, who lived in two neighboring duplexes. Georgie, Frankie, and Loretta had the job of getting us little kids to school safe and sound. As we headed up Fifth Street, it seemed like the group walking to school gradually got larger and larger as we passed house after house.  But we kept on walking, collecting kids like you’d collect baseball cards. It was only one block to the school, so there was no problem.

     To me, the Osgood School was awe inspiring. It was a mammoth looking building, and its playground equally as large with all sizes of kids running every which way. But the possible overwhelmingness of it wasn’t ever a problem because everyone was involved with a game, endless bantering, or the quietness of a nervous stomach. Once the school bell finally rang, all the students lined up to file in, the scary big kids at one door, the primary kids at the second. When everyone was quiet, a teacher led the lines into the school and to each classroom. And though it was all large in scope, and I was little, there was nooo problem. 

(c) Copyright 2016 Malvena Baxter

Inside Miss Parks' Kindergarten Classroom

     Miss Parks was my kindergarten teacher, small and pretty like my mother. She sat us on the floor around her, saying aloud our names and handing us each a paper crown with our name printed in big large black letters on the front. We wore these every day and stored them in our cubbies when we went home. We drew pictures on rough yellow paper with new crayons, painted with thick, bright, primary colored tempera while standing at little wooden easels, and sang songs while Miss Parks played the piano. Kindergarten was full of fun things to do. It was going to be nooooo problem.

     On our first day around mid-morning, we stopped and had a snack with a small carton of milk. Miss Parks then opened a door to the adjoining room. It was a big room with no tables. We could play games and dance in this room without bumping into anything. What would we be doing now?

    And then Miss Parks began to pull up the top window shade and pull down the bottom one. One after another on each of the four eight foot high divided windows, dimming the sunlight and quieting the children.

     “All right everyone,” she said softly.  “We’ve done so much this morning, it’s time to get your blanket from the cubbie and find a place to spread it out and lie down. It’s naptime.”  

     “Who needs help?” she asked.

     I froze in place. Naptime?

     What!        Now?

     Right in the middle of this great day? Lie down and nap? Are you kidding?

     I don’t need help. I’m not tired.

     Oh, no. Everyone is fixing a blanket.

     “Is there a problem?” the teacher asked.

     I looked around. She was looking at me.

     I hesitated, but I was the only one who did.

     “No,” I finally thought. “There’s no problem,” and I quietly walked over to get my own blanket from behind the cubbie door and then carefully stretched it out on the hard wood floor while I could still find a space near someone I knew.

     It didn’t take long to learn that nap time signaled the ending of the day. Once all the blankets were neatly stored back in the cupboard quiet storybook time began, and then it was time to go home --just in time for lunch.

     Half day kindergarten was really too short a day for me, but, with the exception of the unexpected nap time, there was no question that I was going to love school.

     It was really all going to be nooo problem. 


(c) Copyright 2016 Malvena Baxter