When you're young, time moves slowly. A day to achild is a long weekend to an adult. A walkaround the block for an adult isn't time counted;for a child, it is a journey.
That was the walk I took the day of my graduation from PS 269.
I had attended that school more than half my life. It was a nightmare I could see from my bedroom window.
There it stood at the South West corner of the playground. The playground I had seen built; andprobably the school as well, though I don't remember.
PS 269 was built to service the community of Vanderveer.Constructed after World War II, Vanderveer soon filled with young couples. Controlled rents, electricity, gasand water included, it was perfect for WWII Veterans.
There were thirty buildings of thirty five apartments,hence, a new school was required as PS 89 had been built when Lincoln was President.
There were four classes in each grade at PS 269, no more than thirty children in a class.
There was Bright Class, Second Bright, Second Dunce and Dunce.
Of course, these were not the official names, and there was no reference to intellectual levels; there was just101, 102, which corresponded not only to the class, but the room.
Due to the number of children, we were on a modified shift system. It was only when I reached fourth grade I went to school from nine to three.
These details went through my mind on the day of graduation, my final walk to PS 269.
I was dressed in a navy blue pleated skirt, a white blouse which had embroidery on the sleeves, black princess heels with a little cameo on the front.
As I came out of the elevator in the basement, it was being painted. White speckles now dotted my shoes. I didn't mind.
Leaving the basement, up the ramp, along Foster Avenue.
I passed the handball courts of the playground. This is where big men played. I walked past the first section of basketball courts.
I walked, looking at the ground, thinking of this great step in my life.
I would leave PS 269 to attend Andries Hudde Junior High.I wanted to feel different, but I didn't. I felt as I had last year.
I didn't have friends in my class, they were all acquaintances.
I kept walking, seemed like hours, but considering the distance, it was only my age which elongated time andmade a brief walk a journey.
I came in through the playground's main gate, along,passing the sandbox I played in as a child, walking past the park keeper's house, walking past the benches where old people sat under the trees.
I walked through the 'Big Kids' section, passing thebig slides, the big monkey bars, more basketballcourts to my left, then to the fence which surroundedthe soft ball pitch where children lined up each morning before entering the school.
I went to the first line on the left, 601. I was first,for I was the smallest.
Other kids spoke about how this was the last time they would ever form this line. Some of the girls cried.I didn't feel this was a milestone that needed to be remembered.
I felt as if I were watching a not particularly interesting show on television during a forever Sunday when there's nothing to do, no where to go.
The whistle blew, we fell silent, marched into the school,which had been built backwards; the front of the school looked into the play ground, the back opened onto Nostrand Avenue.
We came past the auditorium on our left, the gymnasium on our right, passing the lunch room which was next to the auditorium, then the bathrooms on our right, into the far corridor, and along to our classrooms.
My class was the only Sixth grade on the first floor.Our homeroom was the school library. There were big tables and chairs, and bookcases along the walls.
I took my seat, roll was called, and Demeroff, my teacher made some inane remark I tuned out.
Barbara Miller was bawling loud and continuously, and I must of passed a remark for Kenneth Stoller jumped down my throat, defending her.
Finally we left the classroom for the auditorium.
We had practised our graduation.
I was the third smallest in the grade, so stood in third position. Sharon was first, then Diane, then me. We were supposed to walk in a lock step to Pomp and Circumstance,the boys going down the Right aisle, we going down the left.
The Boys forgot and walked at normal speed, so instead of us entering the middle row in a synchronised manner,it was the usual anyhow.
I remember the songs we sang, they came from a neverheard again 'Space' album full of important information I have never forgotten.
At the close of the ceremony we walked back up the aisle.
I felt nothing.
I wanted to feel something, but I so hated school,so hated my teacher, that it had dulled to thekind of indifference that didn't belong in a child.
For days after, I would jump out of a dead sleep,the nightmare of 6 - 1, of Demeroff so real Ihad to tell myself it was over.
The prison that had been P.S. 269 could never hurt me again.
