Of a Love for School and Learning and Thoughts of Censorship

Yagottabekiddinme!

At this time of year when I was a kid, the smell of autumn and the ring of the school bells were in the air. The sun was setting earlier, and nights were cooler. We no longer sat on our porch in the dark of a warm evening. I had traded and pitched all the cards I wanted. I swung many a bat and whiffed at many a ball. The excitement of fireworks had long ended. I was bored. It was time.

It was only three months before that when on the last day of school, I had dreams of boundless freedom, thinking there would never be enough time in the day, nor enough days in the week to appreciate all I anticipated: hot summer days, games, beaches, pools and movies. Now, all were on the wane. I had borrowed enough books from the Sprague House Branch Library in Mt. Pleasant.

When my parents said, “It won’t be long now. Soon you’ll be going back to school,” I had to feign indifference with a shrug and an “Aw, c’mon,” to hide my excitement about returning. Among friends, it didn’t seem ‘cool’ to want to go back to school.

Sure, I was sad that summer was over and a little frightened because of the unknown:  new teachers, new assignments, books, friends, and soon a new school. But these uncertainties only stuck around for a while and disappeared after the first week.

As I readied for the fourth grade at Academy Avenue Elementary School in Providence, I had a pencil box that needed restocking. My aunt worked in a bank and distributed pencils to her nieces and nephews. In addition to the pencils, I collected all the things necessary for a well-stocked pencil box: paper, a pencil sharpener, glue, erasers, a few crayons (I loved Crayola’s waxy smell), and a small ruler; all fitting neatly in the firm cardboard box that folded over twice and snapped shut with a pop.

It was good to be prepared.

I even thought about that dreaded assignment, “What I Did On My Summer Vacation,” the one where the class groaned when the teacher mentioned it. I had already planned to write about a pig farm I visited.

Even the anxiety of moving from one school to another enhanced the enthusiasm and the challenge. Like the year I transferred to junior high school.

The first day was the chance to find my way around, to learn the pathways to new classes, to meet new teachers, and to learn about independence. Sure, I had some worries. We all did. But it was eased by reconnecting with friends I had not seen for a while. We all seemed to share the enthusiasm of that first day.

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The long-gone pencil box was replaced by a lunch bag as we stayed at school for lunch. George J. West Junior High School meant a locker, homeroom, and moving from class to class.

George J. West School

Seeing friends, you haven't seen in a while can make that first day a good one.

I may have been different in harboring excitement about returning to school after the summer vacation, but I don’t think so. I liked the idea of new experiences. I liked the anticipation of learning something new; a new sport; a new club; new friends. I liked the routine of school and its predictability.

And the junior high school had a library. One to complement my neighborhood’s gem and the main branch in the city. All the havens where I got lost in my youth. Where I was free to explore.

As I thought of how I freely wandered around in our libraries( “my” libraries because library frequenters are possessive) I began to think of censorship.

I loved those libraries. I roamed those havens, picking and choosing what I wanted, reading what I wished, often asking the librarian for suggestions, always receiving a stack, never hearing of something off limits, never being told I could not take something home.

I felt free in the library; free to choose; free to learn; to discover; to find peace;  to explore; to travel; to step back into history. How refreshing. The world opened to me.

Censorship? What was that? And what would it be? Oh sure, I was a Catholic and knew of the Legion of Decency who told us the movies to avoid ------- more reason to run to see what they considered off-limits. I don’t remember what we saw. I don’t remember any lives being tainted by the Legion’s threatening suggestions.

That takes me to my discovery of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, written in the 14th century, one of the most banned books in literary history. Yagottabekiddinme! I remember the day I discovered his work. Sure, they were racy tales, but they were hysterical. I could not get enough of the characters Chaucer conjured up. So I read his brilliant writings. And I read them again. And I was entertained. Immersed. Taken to another place. And I learned. Is that not what books are supposed to do? Teach? Help us explore. Expand our lives. Help us grow.

I can’t believe this work continues to be challenged in many school systems in the country. It was once banned in Lake City, Florida, and even removed from a college prep course at a high school in Illinois in 1995, labeling its sexual content inappropriate for students. My goodness. Yagottabekiddinme!

You’d think that in the last 700+ years, our society might have gone beyond such self-righteousness.

In the light of returning to school, the place where we want our students, our children, to grow, the place I loved and once was reticent to admit, one might think we’d all have an open mind. But I guess not.

Just be careful about what’s in that pencil box. Return to school. I loved it. Yagottabekiddinme.

Banning books? Learning requires literary debate, diversity, discourse, and tolerance thereof; even if it’s challenging. A certain few cannot, and should not, limit the growth of many. Unacceptable. Undemocratic.

What would Chaucer think?

Yagottabekiddinme!