A Peripatetic Childhood

At the time, it seemed quite normal to change schools as often as I did. In retrospect, it must have been somewhat daunting. I can still feel my stomach clench as I took a deep breath before setting foot into each new school.

In brief:

Kindergarten: Mexico City

1st Grade: Townshend, Vt. Elementary School, Mrs. Elsie Poole, my favorite teacher.

1st Grade (several months): Darien, Conn Public Elementary School.

2nd Grade Whately, MA Elementary School

3rd Grade Townshend, Vt. Elementary School, with the same teacher, Mrs. Poole!

1,2,3 Grades: Public School of L'Isle sur la Sorgue, France (I started from scratch as I knew no French)

4th and 5th Grades: Villa Bice, Scuola Elementare, Alassio, Italy- teacher: Signora Mela (Apple)

Middle School, 1a, 2a, 3a media: Convent of St. Vincent, Alassio, Italy (favorite nun, Suor Rosantida)

4a and 5a ginnasio: Liceo Classico Michelangiolo, Florence, Italy (a different teacher for almost all 10 subjects- Italian, French, Latin, Greek, History, Philosophy, Math, Physics, Chemistry, History of Art)

1a, 2a, 3a liceo: Liceo Classico Michelangiolo, Florence, Italy (same subjects!)

Final State exams that still surface in my dreams...

I suppose that moving from school to school, from one country, language and culture to another must have been challenging, but my mother sought the best education for me, and heralded the frequent changes as great adventures. Indeed they were. I have vivid memories of each school and can even conjure up the faces and names of a surprising number of little friends, age 6 up. I wouldn't trade those years for a more traditional type of schooling, even if given the opportunity. The multifaceted experiences of my childhood taught me to be flexible, adaptable, unafraid of new situations, appreciative of ever-widening horizons without ever forgetting the friends and relationships from the past.

A few associations.

Mexico: the heady perfume of mimosa, the rhythmic sound of women making tortillas, and magic of names such as Popocatepetl and Iztaccihuatl.

Townshend, Vt.: rusty swings and seesaws in the dirt-packed school yard, refusal to pledge allegiance to the flag, getting a C in deportment because I was such a chatterbox.

Darien, Conn: recess time... being rolled in the muddy snow and called offensive racial epithets,

the misery of chicken pox, watching with terror as my infant cousin Robin rolled off bed (luckily she was unscathed).

Whately, MA: the dingy candy store across from our school where my classmates and I bought root beer barrels for 2 cents each, listening to Peter and the Wolf, over and over again, from the safety of grandfather Robinson's lap, waiting up all night for the Easter bunny to hop into my room, only to discover that it was Mother!

Isle sur la Sorgue, France: the heartbreaking song of the nightingale perched in the wisteria outside my window, ballet classes with the elegant Mlle. Barre, sneaking into a patisserie to buy a hot chocolate croissant on the way home.

Villa Bice, Alassio: wearing a black smock with a starched white collar and a blue bow like all the other children, roller skating by the hour along the sea wall and riding my bicycle without touching the handle bars!

San Vincenzo, Alassio: Chapel every morning before class, my first exposure to Latin and the Iliad, walking to school at a snail pace in hopes of seeing handsome, blond, blue-eyed Roberto, the grandson of a friend of mother's.

Liceo Michelangiolo, Florence: same black smock but worn unbuttoned down the front, the first intense crushes that generated reams of letters exchanged every morning, bidding farewell to our adolescent years as we drifted off in different directions, headed for college.

Today I look back on those years with deep nostalgia, yet am content to be the age I am and to have gone through decades of riveting experiences, travels around the world, anti-war protests, marriage, childrearing, thirty years of teaching, divorce, and a renewed life, through writing and social activism.