It was the time – almost seven decades ago – when education officials started to regulate the age of those entering the first grade – they must be at least 7 years old.
My parents we’re reluctant to enrol me in the first grade after I expressed the desire to go to school – as I was only 5 years and 7 months old then.
My mother went to see the first-grade teacher who later made an assessment – that I’d be allowed in the classroom only on a “visitor status” as I was not age-ready yet. That status meant I could be dropped anytime depending on my classroom behavior.
My parents’ decision to allow me to start in school was apparently based on their observation that I had started to learn how to read and write – as early as the age of 4, and a little later, how to solve simple numeric problems.
My appreciation of the magazines, newspapers and other publications my father subscribed to added to their belief that I was capable enough to go to school even if I was still underage.
And so late in May of 1958, my mother and I went to the public school that stood tall on a hill about 500+ meters from home.
The teacher asked me that day, “How old are you?” My reply was quick as I was taught as home – “I am 5-and-a-half years old”.
That’s good, the teacher said, but when higher school officials come and ask how old you are, tell them you’re already 7 or else you couldn’t be enrolled.
I understood and I nodded in agreement. I wanted to be in school because I was often left at home alone when my big brothers and sisters went to their classes.
I remember I coped well with my bigger classmates but there was that slice in a 5-year-old boy’s life that a Grade 1 classroom could not prevent: taking siesta after lunch.
I was later told that our teacher, during the early afternoon pep up song-and-dance sessions, had to tell my classmates to sing softly because I, with my face flat on the table, was asleep.
My classroom siesta went on for a few months until I got used to the day’s grind of things.
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Those were the days, too, when wearing shoes to school was a rarity. Many of my fellow Grade 1 learners went to school barefoot then.
One thing that remains vivid in my mind was our footwear. Rubber slippers came later – during third grade. Prior to that, I had the “luxury” of wearing ‘bakya’ along with about less than half of my classmates. The others went to school barefoot.
Wearing wooden shoes somehow appealed to me for one particular reason – they brought to my imagination the adventures of twins Kit and Kat, characters in Dutch children’s storybooks, which church friends of my father sent from the United States. Kit and Kat illustrations showed they were wearing traditional Dutch wooden shoes.
Their adventures allowed my young mind to travel beyond boundaries and gain insights into the culture and traditions of people on the other side of the globe. I could imagine the clacking sounds of Kit and Kat’s wooden shoes as they ran in fields of tulips in full bloom, a windmill and a flowing river on the background.
Unlike the Dutch wooden shoes which were carved from a block of wood, however, our bakya had a front band (often a transparent one or leather) that kept it from slipping as it was nailed to the sides with ‘claritos’.
At the end of the day, the pairs of ‘bakya’ were held on both hands as most schoolchildren, especially the bigger ones, raced barefoot downhill to navigate a 200+-meter stretch of rough road to the main street corner for the fastest runner-of-the day honors.
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Toward the end of the first grading period (there were six in a schoolyear then), the team from the higher office came and went from room to room.
Noticing someone smaller than most pupils, a team member approached me. “Do you know how to read now?” she asked.
As I nodded, she handed me a small book for me to read. “That’s good,” she said after I read the fourth sentence, my teacher smiling beside her. She then asked me a couple of questions to check my comprehension. Then, that question:
“And how old are you now?”
Forgetting the earlier prompt, I was quick with my reply:
“I am 5-and-a-half years old.” I saw my teacher swallow a lump on her throat.
My mother later told me that I won over the visiting supervisor with my reading and comprehension skills.
By the end of the schoolyear, my teacher declared: “You are now Grade 2-ready…”
I survived the journey that started one June day almost seven decades ago – well enough that on commencement day that schoolyear and thereafter, my parents proudly went up on stage to pin my top honors award.
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It’s time to start another child’s journey this month – at least two or three generations after mine. While the setting, mode, methodology and conditions may be different, the challenges, dreams and aspirations have remained identical.
What Proverbs 22:6 says serves as guide, reminder and anchor for parents as they launch their kids to another level: “Start children off on the way they should go, and even when they are old they will not turn from it.”
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Still about children…
On Thursday, June 11, the world community will celebrate the International Day of Play, which was declared by a UN General Assembly Resolution adopted in March 2024.
The day celebrates the power of play and raise awareness on its role in the development and well-being of every child.
The focus of the observance this year is “Protect Play, Protect Childhood.” The theme, UN said, is a reminder for governments, businesses, schools and families “that happy and healthy childhoods are built on play.”
Reiterating the significance of the observance, Catherine Russell, UNICEF executive director, said:
“Play is a sign that children feel safe and nurtured and loved. They feel somewhat that they can be children even in the midst of great difficulty.”
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Jesus said, ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.’ (Matthew 19:14) | NWI
