Where are they now

Kelley Barracks, Stuttgart, where I taught

Job opportunities for military wives of men stationed overseas were limited.

I was lucky that I landed a post teaching nursery school. Besides wanting to be a writer, I thought that I might want to be a teacher. The wife of my husband's commanding office, who was principal of the base nursery school, may have been playing favorites, when she hired me.

I didn't care. I was assigned three-year olds. I loved almost every minute of it. Trying to invent activities and play opportunities thrilled me.  

I loved the kids. Some I still remember clearly. That was 56 years ago and they would be pushing sixty today. I wonder what became of them.

Part of it was a lesson in class differences that I hadn't really thought about growing up in New England. Most of my high school class would go onto university. The others would become secretaries, hair dressers, take over their father's shoe repair shop or dry cleaners. We represented the best of the middle-class and I suspect we thought all the world was like us -- except for the children who were starving in China if we didn't eat our dinner.

Many of those who were class cut ups or didn't tow the ordained path ended up as very successful small businessmen, but I didn't know it when I was an Army wife. Like me they were still in the process of becoming their adult selves.

These kids I remember the most.

Robin was the daughter of the general. Her hair was always tied back with a big bow. She was driven to kindergarten by her father's driver most mornings, not take the bus, that circled the base picking up the children. She talked about her horseback riding lessons. Her clothes were many, immaculate and of the highest quality.

I am not sure Robin was aware of the differences. She was merely a sweet, well behaved three-year old.

Dirk was not well-behaved. He was a captain's son and his mother would often threaten not to pick him up after school. He was why the phrase "acting out" was invented. I never had any teacher or child development training, but I discovered if I used my instinct I could change his entire behavior with a hug rather than a reprimand. Praising any bit of good behavior brought on more star behavior.

His best friend Brett, was an always willing accomplice to whatever Dirk may have thought up. I suspect wherever Brett ended up, he is the epitome of macho just based on his little boy strut. Women's Lib not withstanding, Brett was living proof that little girls and little boys are not alike.

I always felt badly that we had to ask Trinka to leave. The child was epileptic and absolutely uncontrollable. I suspect in a public school she would have been in a special needs class. The head of the school said I shouldn't blame myself. I did and I still do a bit.

Putting her in with the two-year olds and four-year olds made no difference. When she was calm, she was an intelligent, adorable little girl. I also felt badly for her mom who no longer had a few hours of calm while Trinka was in school. I wish I could have done more but it was an early lesson in the quandary do you help one while ignoring the many. Five decades later I still have no answers to the question.

Ernie was a sergeant's son. He was a quiet little boy who was happy to play by himself. He was allergic to fruit juice and sadly one day drank a glass. The result was immediate and cleaning up the mess in the toilet and trying to help him not be embarrassed was a real challenge.

Dawn was another quiet and sweet child. She jumped every time we sang the Christmas Carol, "Dawn we now our gay apparel." I stopped having them sing it.

Tiger will always be my most memorable and most challenging child although I am not sure "child" was a just description. A beautiful blond third child he lived with his mother writer and his step-father lieutenant. He could identify Bach from Beethoven, did his art work at a high school level and could identify artists' works. He was never a behavior problem. He intermingled with the other children well, but I always suspected he knew they were not on his level but he could have fun anyway. He was kind to everyone. When I was doing my lesson plans, trying to find enough to keep his mind active without looking as if I were playing favorites or not giving proper attention to others, was a constant corundum. 

I wish I knew what happened to him. At different times I've imagined him as a hippy and at others an artist. Maybe he just became a grown-up.

His mother did not fit in with the rigid social code of the base. She and I had tea together when we could. For me she was a role model. I never really fit into rigid roles either, but could pretend. My pretend was better than her pretend.

Because they were Army Brats they probably lived in other countries after Germany and on different Fort this or Fort that around the U.S. Their flats would be similar. Their furniture would be Army issue.

I doubt if any of the kids remember me. I doubt that they know each one of them touched my life in their own special way.

I didn't become a teacher. I was always meant to be some kind of writer.