The Ninth Grade

 

            I went to another school in the ninth grade, middle school, where I reunited with my old friends from the fourth and fifth grades and I had my friends from the new school. I know there was other grades in the school, but I hardly ever saw them.

            I had lunch before my study period, and that turned out to be the biggest blessing. Because I could not climb the steps to the lunchroom, it was in the basement again, I ate lunch in the office and got to know the teachers, principal, and secretary. Most of the time, I didn’t have anything to do, so I helped out when I could. Also, my fourth grade teacher’s husband was the principal. My mother and I would visit with them whenever we could in later years. They were a wonderful couple, as was everyone else in that school.

            The only trouble I ever really had was physical education. I soon found out that I couldn’t even play basketball as a guard. These girls really played! So, I had another dull period just watching others play.

            I am a very good student. I like to get things done and finished in the afternoons at home. If I went to school unprepared, I felt unready for the day. Thus, homework was completed after school even though I had all this time and was bored.

            . While I walked at school and around the house, I still used a wheelchair at the mall and other places where walking was longer. My mom wouldn’t go to town without me, and we had an incredibly heavy wheelchair. She would lift it in and out of the car. She got to be an expert at it and knew how to balance it. I don’t know how she did it. But my mom wouldn’t leave me behind for anything. I guess I was like about the only person I ever saw in a wheelchair back then.

            I don’t remember this because I was much younger, but mom told me about it. Our church was on a steep hill and you had to walk up many steep steps to get in. After dad wasn’t able to go to church, my uncle would carry me in every Sunday. Well, this Sunday he was helping the pastor. We got to the steps and there were men everywhere, but not one person asked if they could help my mother carry me inside. Mom managed somehow to carry me up those steps. She was furious when she told Hazel what occurred. It is a wonder we went back to that church, but we continued worshipping there.

            It takes a whole lot of determination, grit, stubbornness, or whatever you call it, to raise a handicapped person back then. My mother had it! She was my champion, my companion, my spirit lifter, and the one person I could tell anything to and she understood.

            I did not tell her everything about high school though.