I was young at age but old enough to recognize cruelty
My eyes watered and my tummy ached
I was scared and embarrassed
With wet trousers my tiny thin legs- Shaked
I had raised my hand to go to the john
But my fourth-grade teacher, whom I'll never forget
She wouldn't let me go, why- I don't know?
But I know it was her fault, that I was soaking wet
The kids in my classroom stared at me shaking
Watching me crying, my eyes dripping water
Who will she not let go next?
The boy who sat next to me- or somebody's daughter
My mother, may she rest in peace
Rushed to the school to bring me some dry clothes
She spoke to the principle in a fiery rage
That's when all hell broke out, and a firing arose
That was the last time I saw that mean teacher
Never again would she teach in that school
I hope that she learned a good lesson in life
It's not very nice to be disturbingly cruel
Twenty-four days before Christmas in 1958 there was a huge fire
at Our Lady of the Angels, a Catholic grade school in Chicago
Eighty-seven children and three nuns died in this fire.
One of the children who passed was Mary’s little sister, Karen.
She was to be a first grader forever.
Mary was in the fourth grade at the time.
Mary spent years trying to forget that day, the worst day ever.
The frantic nuns, the commotion, the smoke, the frenzy.
Waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting on the sidewalk across the street.
Watching the school burn up, wondering where Karen was.
A sister who never came home.
Mary felt shame for leaving her.
She had wanted to run in there and rescue Karen.
But the adults restrained her.
Her family waited for hours hoping for a miracle.
Watching the front door, praying Karen would walk inside.
She never did.
Eighty-six other children did not return home either.
Probably led to heaven by the three nuns.
Sally stood alone,
In a corner of the room.
No one said "Hi",
Or asked her to stop by.
Sally started the fourth grade today,
No one looked friendly,
Or even looked her way.
Early September rain
A dampened sidewalk,
Wet leaves lead me back
To blackboards and chalk
The wood of the desks
Cupboards along the wall,
Fresh, clean and simple
Newly awakens it all
The lessons learned
Countless memories made,
A moment forgotten ...
I'm back in fourth grade
The sharpened pencils
The crayon's shaving,
Add up to the many
Aromas worth saving
Pink erasers, notebooks
A new binder that year,
The scent of paper when
An open book is near
The paints, the markers
Linger on in my mind,
And those stickers ...
The scratch 'n sniff kind
Spaghetti ... or lasagna
Drifts down the hall,
From the lunchroom
Caused excitement for all
The chocolate milk ...
I would always pick it,
Came in paper cartons
And bought with a ticket
Quiet, sun - filled skies
Meant recess for us,
Remembered radio songs
Going home on the bus
New shoes laced up
Ready for mornings cool,
And all of it brings me
Right back to school.
When I was in grammar school
There simply wasn’t any tolerance for students talking back
The religious sisters at our Catholic school were very strict (in part because they had charged over dozens of students per class)
Order and protocol were paramount
I can’t imagine my fourth grade self ever openly questioning a religious sister
So
I am amazed at the persistence of the mother in today’s gospel
As she talks back not to the Mother Superior but to Father Christ
No less!
Father Christ eventually acquiesces
Praising the determined Mother for her great faith
Where did she get such faith
courage
Perhaps mother’s bravery
Determination are due to her unconditional love for her daughter
If a mother’s love is so incredibly powerful
How much more powerful must Eternal God’s love for each of us be
Father Christ
Please help me strengthen my faith
To love you more each day
Terence Hegarty
Turned to Poetry: Jacqueline R. Mendoza
Poetry Form: Free Verse/Narrative
Date turned into Poetry: 8032024
Time turned into Poetry: 8pm
I can do it
I'm going to be a policeman
I'm going to be a policeman so that I can protect everyone
I could be like John Wayne
I'll have the fastest gun in the west
I could meet up with- "Billy the Kid"
I can do that, ya know
I'm going to be a cowboy...
I can also do that too!
Wow! I could go to a saloon- Oh Yeah!
I always wanted...
To be those guys but I wouldn't shoot anyone
I want to go to school
Well, see y'all
The bus just got here!
~Fourth Grade Student
I can do it, I swear...I can do it
I'm going to hit a home run.
I'm going to hit a home run...
Farther than any ball Babe Ruth has ever hit
Farther than any eyes had ever seen
"The crack of my bat will be heard overseas"
I can do that, ya know-
I'm also going to be an astronaut
I can also do that too!
Wow! I could play baseball on the moon- Oh yeah!
I always wanted...
To be able to see the whole world while feeling up
I wish I could go to work
Well, see y'all,
It's almost 8:00am -
My school bus will be here momentarily
And,
my little sister can play baseball too!
~Fourth Grade Student
The fourth grade band was playing
But my eyes were there alone
Not for flutes or clarinets or drums,
Just Henry on trombone.
All the music was familiar
From the practicing he’d done,
So I knew just what was coming
Once the concert had begun.
He looked confident and happy
Sitting up there on the stage
As I realized, in his childhood,
He has turned another page.
What a thrill to watch him growing
And I know if I’m around,
That wherever music takes him,
That’s the place where I’ll be found.
Helicopter parents
They are at school daily
Begging to stay longer
Criticizing other people’s children and the teacher
Wanting to bring their lunch
And take naps with their kindergarteners
Helicopter parents
Send long rambling emails to the fourth grade teacher
Why did you say this?
Why did you do that?
What did you mean when you….?
Why do you always pick on little Henry?
Helicopter parents
A teacher’s nightmares
Following their child to college now
Enrolling in the same classes
Demanding to see their child’s grade card
The college professors laugh them out of the lecture hall
God is not happy
He is furious
Nineteen lawmen standing in a hallway
While nineteen fourth-grade students get slaughtered
With an automatic rifle
Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam
Children who are texting for help
Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam
Children who are as helpless as their teachers
Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam
God sends his wrath into Uvalde, Texas
In the form of a storm seen at no other time in history
The souls of the students watch this display of anger
They had known it was possible
But never before had a front row seat
It happens, their angels tell them
Not often, but sometimes
Especially in the USA where money means more than children.
The lightning strikes are loud; the thunder is fearsome.
Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam Bam
Blood, arms and shoes strewn everywhere.
22 lives just swept away,
on a normal fourth grade day.
A place to teach,
no one would dare.
Battle cries
released from hell,
as heaven’s angels
quickly fell,
to catch young spirit’s innocence
in slaughter foul that made no sense.
Lifting them to waiting arms
in which God’s love
defied all harm.
5/26/2022
Flight Two' Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Let’s make man *****erectus the teacher said.
I did not know what they meant,
thinking it might be an appendage we should not add
As this Legos project was being done as a group project
in a fourth-grade class.
I voiced my concerns.
The teacher looked horrified.
She suggested that I look up *****erectus.
I did and felt foolish now; I could barely look at her.
I had never heard of the Pleistocene period
and barely knew where Indonesia was.
Maybe you could help with the lemonade stand?
The teacher suggested.
I ran to get the cups.
The noise level is ridiculous.
Students are turned in their seats; a no no during a pandemic.
Rooster noises waft through.
We don’t know where they come from, due to the masks.
There is a Soprano’s scream, some stomping.
We catch these students; we can see their shoes.
Dilbert stands up and wiggles his bottom.
He is in fourth grade, and never gets the attention he seeks.
No one notices Dilbert; this is a regular event during lunch.
The masks are up now, and the noise level is up.
Hooting and barking will commence soon.
As far as I am concerned, fourth grade has had their recess.
At the expense of us lunch supervisors.
She has begged to see me all day.
The teacher and I have tried to figure it out.
But it has not worked out, so I see her in the morning.
She is a fourth-grade delight.
With a big problem.
She needs to know how to control her classmates.
I suggest that she let them be themselves.
This is a letdown for her.
She thought I had a magic potion.
Sure, I do have a pointy hat, and a broom.
I again let her know that she cannot control them.
The teachers say we are loud and not focused, she tells me.
I know the eleven knuckleheads in her class.
They are not wrong.
Elsie* was poor, a little fourth-grade girl--
It was clear she was underprivileged, as
Her hair was unkempt, with never a curl,
And her clothes were frequently unclean
A local preacher came to her room and told
Her a story that happened so very long ago;
Gave her a book called the New Testament,
It was like he had given her tablets of gold
Treasuring that book, the only one she had,
She read parts of it every day, just like he said,
Until she found a special verse, John 3:16,
And that small book changed her life forever.
Elsie kept in her heart as much as she could
Each day reading verses from her precious book,
When she did not return for fifth grade I learned
She died of cancer; her NT from her hands they took.
This story is true, so many years ago
When Gideons were allowed to hand
One to each child in the fourth-grade class, so
Then, something changed throughout our land.
[*This is the true story of a little girl named Debbie
who never made it to my fifth-grade class.]
written May 15, 2021
for "He Gave Her a Book" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Mystic Rose Rose
Related Poems