Good morning! My elementary school days occurred at a point in history when our little wooden desks still had inkwell holes in them. Not that we were still using pen and ink to write, but our desks had yet to be upgraded. After all, they were sturdy, the wood had developed a lovely golden patina over decades of use, and they were perfectly functional. When you lifted the desktop lid, you could find old ink stains, carved initials, misspelled graffiti, mysterious scratches, and fossilized globs of chewing gum that had likely been there throughout a great many presidential administrations.

This was also a time when students routinely received medical exams and inoculations at school. I can still remember being lined up for all sorts of inspections and tests—hearing exams, eye exams, scoliosis checks, and even dental exams. The visiting dental staff handed out toothbrushes with bristles stiff enough to remove rust from our bicycles, along with little red tablets we were instructed to chew so the dentist could see how well we had brushed our teeth. The theory was that the tablets would stain areas where plaque and tartar had accumulated.

We children, of course, interpreted this less as preventive dentistry and more as an opportunity for amusement.

We chewed the tablets enthusiastically, causing them to foam in our mouths and transform an otherwise ordinary classroom into a gathering of miniature rabid vampires. We grinned at one another with delight, displaying alarming crimson teeth and frothing blood-red lips, all while giggling hysterically. 

In retrospect, it’s rather amazing what schools once handled without much fanfare. Vaccinations, dental exams, hearing tests—everything arrived in neat little waves throughout the year, usually accompanied by clipboards, folding tables, and stern adults who smelled faintly of rubbing alcohol and a potpourri of chemicals. Parents signed permission slips, children stood in line, and life simply carried on.

There was also something oddly comforting about those old classrooms and their battered desks. Each scar, ink stain, and doodle hinted at generations of children who had sat there before us—daydreaming through arithmetic lessons, chewing gum when they weren’t supposed to, and probably praying they wouldn’t be called on to read aloud. Long before computers, tablets, and smartboards entered the classroom, those old desks quietly carried the weight of countless lunches, homework assignments, and anxious little elbows.

Looking back now, I realize those memories belong to a world that has mostly vanished. The desks are gone. The inkwells are gone. Even the terrifying instant-vampire tablets seem to have disappeared into history. But perhaps that is the nature of childhood itself. At the time, we rarely recognize we are living through “the good old days.” We only discover it years later, when a random memory resurfaces and suddenly, we can almost smell the pencil shavings, floor wax, and chalk dust all over again.

I hope all is well in your corner of the world! 🌞 