And My First Pumpkin Roll

I entered first grade in the late ’50s without any kindergarten classes, early intervention or preparation. I could not read nor write. By today’s standards, that sounds pretty primitive but I believe it was the norm in those days. The only thing I knew about school, I learned from my older sister, Diane, who started school about the year I was born. I considered her pretty much the expert.

I have some vague memories of Daddy reading Bible verses and comic strips to me. There was no sense of urgency or a concerted effort of teaching me letters or numbers. It was simply that he read and I listened.

Momma definitely had ideas about my appearance for my first days of school. So there was preparation in those last summer weeks. That’s when I learned about permanents. My hair was what could be described by Momma as “straight as a board.” Momma wasn’t having that. So she decided my hair needed some improvements. I saw a small box on the kitchen table with “Toni” written on the front. There was a picture of a beautiful lady with fashionably wavy hair on the box. What Momma didn’t tell me was that after she was done rolling my hair on various colored plastic rollers and squirting cold, foul-smelling liquid over each rod that I would smell like a chemistry lab gone awry for weeks after, especially when it got wet. Oh, and my hair looked a fright. When my locks dried and Momma brushed it out, she led me proudly to the hallway full-length mirror. As soon as I saw the new hairdo, I began to wail. She assured me it would “relax.” I was doubtful.

Momma spent a lot of time huddled over her White sewing machine which was in her bedroom. Her bed was where she laid out the material and patterns. She made all of our clothes. For the first day, I had a blue plaid dress with puffed sleeves and a flared skirt. She also purchased a satchel type booksack for me to carry. It looked official but it was empty.

That first day of school, I was so excited. I would get to follow my sister on the big yellow bus. Our neighbor was also the bus driver. I would soon learn that she had but one goal and that was to get her route completed quickly. If you were not visible in the driveway, you were likely to get left. She only believed in slowing and blowing. Sometimes I would be halfway down our long gravel driveway and I’d watch her sail by with my mouth agape. Living next door to the bus driver gave us no special privileges.

I was a bit overwhelmed when I finally arrived at school on that first day. I followed the herd of children to the elementary building where we just milled around. I didn’t really know anyone. My sister informed me that there were buildings for junior high and high school so I had to make sure I went to the correct place. I will never forget standing among that throng of children and peering up that steep flight of stairs wondering what was up there? I still see clearly a little girl with blue ink smeared all over her lips and face. It seems she had some of those press-on tattoos and apparently didn’t realize when she wet them with her mouth, she was going to look like a smurf. I just stood there staring at her and then the ear-splitting school bell suddenly started clanging and everyone quickly entered the building. I wondered if the little girl went all day looking like that.

Somehow I ended up in my assigned first-grade classroom. Blackboards covered two walls. Those long green strips with the dotted lines sat above the blackboard and there was my first glimpse of the alphabet in upper and lower case.

Mrs. Nellie Walker was my teacher. She was hardly taller than any of her students but she exuded a calm authority. I do not remember her raising her voice or getting flustered. If one was staring out those big, back windows she simply put her hand on their shoulder and gave them some nonverbal communication. That usually worked. The rules were clearly articulated on that first day. I was not interested in finding out what happens if I broke the rules so I committed them to memory. Besides, Momma had already given me the “talk” about behaving at school. I certainly didn’t want on her bad side either.

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Over the next few weeks and months, Mrs. Walker introduced all of us to free pencils and free Indian Chief tablets. I finally had something to put in my booksack. She taught us penmanship and boy was that a challenge on those tablet pages. One single erasure could leave a hole as big as a dime. Mrs. Walker was not a coddler. Start again! She also introduced us to the school library which was small, dark and musty but had a never-ending supply of books. Who cared if you couldn’t read. You could look at the pictures.

We wrote “Our News” every day. It was repetitive. We would write the date and a few sentences. Students would vie to have their information included in our news. One thing she said repeatedly was that our letters had to sit on the line. I think I was pretty good at that.

Reading seemed to come easy for me. We would sit in small circles and take turns reading about Alice, Jerry and Jip. I loved reading aloud. Some kids struggled but Mrs. Walker had patience in abundance. She gently led them along. For me, she was the type of teacher that made me want to do more and know more. I decided then that I loved school.

Like school, I loved baking. I am not trained but rather come from the school of hard knocks. After all, Momma said, if you can read, you can cook. Well, that’s debatable. I’ve had quite a few flubs in my lifetime and I read the recipe.

My friend Betty, recently shared her Mother’s Pumpkin Roll recipe with me. Her Momma was Mearline Popwell Worley. I had never baked a Pumpkin Roll and was surprised at the few ingredients, quick baking time and ease of rolling up. You need a jelly roll pan to bake this in. Click here to see on Amazon. (Betty is sitting in front of me in that first grade picture.)

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I am thankful for friends like Betty, who willingly share family recipes and offer tips so I will be successful. I am thankful for those teachers like Mrs. Nellie Walker who had high expectations and left us no other option but to succeed. She was bound and determined that this classful of illiterates would leave her fold enlightened and ready for second grade. It seems she did her job because I saw most of those kids in my second grade class. All those sows ears turned right into silk purses. Well, that might be an exaggeration!

If you have not tried a Pumpkin Roll, make it your goal this season. You will want to make more and give as gifts! Then share your recipe with a friend!

Baking is love made edible.  
-Unknown