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Oaks and Acorns


            
            
            
             I was never sure why the big six-foot senior football players were afraid to break the rules at school. Whether it was from the stern tone of Mrs. Turner's rebuke, "Are you boys supposed to be out here?" Or maybe it was fear of the long knotty switch she carried, which was always an added measure of insurance to listen and do as expected. We very seldom saw Mrs. Turner without that switch. The big tall switch bush was right outside her window. No one wanted to hear those dreaded words, "Go get me a switch!" It was understood, if a whipping was given at school, then another was to be expected upon arriving home. I never could figure out how our parents knew about what happened at school by the time we got home, seeing as, no one owned a telephone in the neighborhood. Mrs. Turner's favorite words were always, "This is going to hurt me worse than it does you." From the looks of those big burly looking seniors, with tears rolling down their faces, I never really believed it was the truth.
             Everyone in our small community attended the same elementary school under the tall grand oak trees. Grades one through eight were all housed in the same building. I can still smell the scent of the pine seed oiled sawdust used to keep the old knotty pine wood floors shining. Someone kept watch as we took turns sliding down the long halls. When the lookout yelled, "Here she comes," we would all scatter like baby chicks, knowing what it meant if we got caught.
             My father and every other parent who had grown up in our neighborhood had attended this same segregated school. Mrs. Turner had been his teacher when he was in elementary school also. The school had become the monument of the entire community, and Mrs. Turner was greatly respected. She taught us in the first grade that the word Elon .
             was Greek for the word oak. All around town, big tall oak trees could be seen on almost every corner.


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