What a monumental year for this girl. The third grade was in fact, one of the most important years of my entire life; I have so many events that I can pinpoint to having started during, right before, or around that time. I will let you in on a really big family secret at this point; I changed the spelling of my name from Judy Stringfellow to Jude Stringfellow during the third grade because that's when this girl learned about the long "e" sound and believe it or not, I didn't believe it was true. I thought the teacher was some sort of "new-fangled idiot" (my dad's words) because she wanted to teach me something that my Aunt Wilma had not already taught me. I was absolutely sure that Mrs. Tipton was trying to fool me. She was trying to make me look stupid when she told me that I could spell my name with a "y" at the end of it, with an "i" at the end of it, or even an "e" if I wanted to, because I could put a line over the top of that "e" and it would be pronounced like the sound of the letter itself. Who did she think she was talking to?
To say my precious parents were not all that into education would be an understatement. I didn't come from a long line of educated, college graduates, in fact, there were (are) so very few actual college graduates in my immediate and extended family, that I can assure you that Mrs. Tipton was not very popular with my parents when I informed them about my choice to change the spelling of my name to make it at least appear to be Jude, since that's what my daddy always called me anyway. Since I could now spell it J-U-D-E and people could still call me "Judy" was good enough for me - - for about a week, then I decided it would be Jude and that it would rhyme with rude, and you can bet I knew all about that word. I was that word. I can still be that word.
The third grade also brought about the decision I made to be independent enough to sass-mouth my mother when she told me she wanted to see me fold my socks and place them properly in the drawer instead of leaving them in a pile on my bed with both dirty and clean clothes. I tried to explain to her that I knew which ones were clean and which ones were dirty, but she would have none of it. I also tried to explain to her that the dog really liked sleeping in and on top of my clothes, that from time to time I used my clothes as a make-shift body pillow, stuffing them into a pillowcase so I could do that, but again, she was adamant about me putting them away.
One day I came home and she had taken all of my socks out of my drawer and had matched them for me. I thought that was nice and all, but since I had already decided NOT to fold my socks it was a good time to reveal to the woman who gave birth to me, that I had no intention of wearing matched socks ever again! I wanted to be different, and that was the best thing I could come up with so that I could in fact be different. Unmatched socks. I'm not sure it was really that I wanted to be different, I am pretty sure I just didn't want to take the time to match my damn socks and put them away properly. It took too much time.
Mom looked at me and with that wit and brilliance she often mustered in her face, she said to her youngest kid, "OK, have it your way, but if I ever catch you matching your socks again you'll have to not only fold them and put them away properly, you'll have to wash them by hand and let them dry outside too." I accepted the challenge -- that was....well, over 50 years ago. I'm obstinate. I admit that. I don't fold my socks, and I don't match them either, and it's more or less a thang now and has less to do with obeying mom. People who know me always expect to be able to look down at my feet and see that I have on two different colored socks. They may both be white or gray, but they have a different trim usually -- I am who I am.
The third grade was the year I learned how to answer the telephone appropriately. Why that wasn't talked about at home I have no idea. I remember very clearly seeing a telephone in the Media Center and it was connected to a very long wire that connected to the office of the school. I could follow the cord more than 60 feet to see that it was attached to the principal's office but was displayed like the Crown Jewels on a podium, almost like something that was to be worshipped. Again, I was not pleased with Mrs. Tipton's methods of teaching myself if this was the case. I knew at that age we were not supposed to be bowing down to anything and here we were, us children, on our knees, around the base of the new telephone stand just waiting for our turn to be introduced to it as if it was a new visitor to our homes.
When it rang I was to pick it up carefully and take a breath. Why I was instructed to take a breath always set poorly with me. I was told I could use the time it took to inhale and exhale to think about what I would say to the person on the other side of the "line". I was to breathe and then clearly state the words, "Hello, Stringfellow residence. This is Jude". Today I laugh, and I shutter too, I would beat the tar out of my grandkids if they announced to everyone who called what our last name is, and who they are. It really was a different time, wasn't it? We're talking end of the '60s here, not the end of the '70s, '80s, '90s or more recent times. We're talking about a time when courtesy was paramount. I passed the telephone test with flying colors, not that my parents were willing to ever let me actually try answering the phone at home. No one was calling for me. I was told that a number of times, therefore when the phone rang I was NOT to answer it. That was for an adult. I was 9.
I ditched school for the first time in the third grade too. I jumped on a trampoline for the first time in gym class, did my first backflip without using my hands, and even managed to eat a few tadpoles on a dare without dying. Brian Adams has a song about the Summer of '69 and how he got his first real six-string guitar; I learned to play chess that summer. My cousin Gene (Aunt Wilma's son) taught me, and I learned to ride a bike. My sisters had them, I didn't have one, so I took one when they weren't looking. I took it, went all the way to the top of the hill with it, and climbed up onto the seat. I couldn't quite reach the pedals when I sat down, but I did OK when I stood up, so that's how I rode it. I never crashed it either -- God alone knows why. I think my Guardian Angel knew more about bike riding than I did.
The school I attended and began attending in the third grade was a new concept type of school. It was an experimental type concept, an open concept. There were NO WALLS between classrooms. I could stand on a chair and see all the way to the other end of the school. I could see the entire primary side; grades 1-3, and I could see through the open concept Media Center into the elementary side of the world, grades 4-6. My brother and my sister were over there on that side. Teachers taught, kids learned, people made noises, and you could visually see and audibly hear everything going on in every classroom if you sat still enough and paid attention. I sat still enough and paid attention, and when I did that I could hear 4 or 5 teachers teaching all at the same time, as well as the Librarian who was hosting a class in the Media Center. Talk about distractions! The experiment ultimately failed, but I learned.
I learned I could multi-listen, I could multi-watch, I could multi-learn, I could divide my brain into sections all at the same time, and I could hear conversations far away and up close. I could not have known then that this conditioning of my brain would lend itself to being so very useful as an adult when I'm in public places listening, being able to hear and listen to several private and public conversations at the same time. So many of the kids I went to school with have commented that the years they spent at Apollo Elementary were some of the worst because they just couldn't concentrate. I don't remember that at all. I remember it being interesting, fun, full of lessons because I would be listening to one teacher teaching Science and another teaching English while my own teacher was demonstrating how to properly introduce myself over the telephone. It was - - fascinating.
I don't match my socks, I misspell my name intentionally, and I absolutely refuse to believe a single thing any teacher tells me if I don't agree with it first. I check out literally everything they say because I just know people have agendas and want others to just simply go along with whatever it is that they are told. I have always, and I do mean always, been stubborn and insubordinate. I guess it is part of my initial makeup, but it also a cognitive choice. I trust myself and I trust Jesus. The others who I trusted, my dad, my grandpa, my cousin Gene, and my Aunt Wilma (and yes, my sweet Uncle Marvin, who could have told me the sky was green and I would have believed him) were all gone - - just me and Jesus left. That's a majority - - even without me being part of that equation.
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