Growing Up Southern: July 29, 2017

I learned about true love in the third grade. I’m talking absolute, undying, ephemeral, unspoiled, transcendent love. I guess I was eight or so.

The object of my awakening was a little older, early twenties I guess. She taught our class, and was named “Miss Roundtree.” Her father was some sort of state politician, but that meant nothing to us. Oh, I had rivals for her affection, no doubt, but that just made me work harder for it. I’m sure she noticed the way I went back over the blackboard an extra time when I was the “erasure monitor.” Diligence is important to a woman.

She had to notice when I put an extra flourish in writing my name, demonstrating a flair for good penmanship. I’m sure she knew that I was the only one who didn’t torment Linda Sue Castleberry.

She even remarked on how my life’s ambitions changed with the subject her teaching.

As we learned to read, I knew I would be a writer when I grew up, and told her so. When we studied nature, I announced my plans to become a doctor. When we moved to math, I was proud to announce plans for a career in engineering. I wasn’t sure what engineering was, but when she told us about a friend of hers who was good in math and became an engineer, that was good enough. I’m sure I would have announced plans for roofing houses had she mentioned it favorably.

But it was science, namely astronomy, that captured me. She had a special affection for it and passed that to me. She made the night skies a place of wonder and amazement. Hooked, I was.

I got off to a rough start in my obsession when I gave a report to the class about a planet that could be “seen with the naked eye.” I pronounced it to rhyme with “snaked” and the other kids laughed at me. Miss Roundtree just smiled. She knew a genius when she saw one.

Undeterred, I began counting the days when I could enter college and become an astronomer. That meant quit counting the days until I could quit school and join the Navy. Life choices can prove difficult. But then, the Navy had, itself, supplanted lighting out for Texas to become a cowboy. Plans change.

Anyway, Miss Roundtree soon had me standing out in the back yard of our house, amidst the South Arkansas mosquitoes and other bugs, staring into the night sky to find a constellation or planet. My mother thought I was crazy. I ignored her. What did she know about love, anyway?

A treat arranged by Miss Roundtree provided both the highlight and the ultimate downfall of my astronomical plans. She arranged for the class members to visit the home of a man in our city who had a telescope.

A real telescope. He had set it up in his back yard and we were allowed a brief look at a marvelous view of the moon. Oh, the wonder and fascination. What a splendiferous lifetime of study and discovery lay ahead. I began to dream of moving to a larger city when I was grown, a city where people would value my achievements. Look out world, here comes Jimmie!

It all crashed the next day with Miss Roundtree’s opening question.

“How many saw the moon through the telescope at my boyfriend’s house last night?”

Her boyfriend? She hadn’t said nothing about no stinking boyfriend. I didn’t even raise my hand. Those jilted in love often behave that way, retreating into themselves so to speak. I felt betrayed, fooled, led on. I had learned all those names of planets and constellations to please a woman who loved someone else.

Recess brought no relief. Even multiple scoots down the “slicky-slide” failed to remove the cloud of bitter disappointment. I ignored a smile from Penny Purdue, one of the prettiest girls in class. My mood was that sour. The sky was even dark and stormy.

To hell with astronomy. Falsely let to its lure, I would show that uncaring woman. She had dashed my plans for fame as a renowned scientist. She would rue the day she had deceived me.

Thus sulking, I heard someone call my name. Don Puckett, a sixth-grader, and the best athlete in school, was yelling that his team needed a right fielder. Me? A third-grader? Hot damn! I had new hope for life.

Anyway, there was always the Navy, or maybe the New York Yankees.

Life goes on.