Pencils & Procrastination

 

When I was a kid, I loved using any excuse to sharpen my pencil.  

I went to school in a pretty strict (and by that I mean I absolutely hated it) private Catholic school and the only good thing I can honestly think about it, other than the Universal Monsters book collection they had in the library which I went through several times with wild abandon, were the times when I got to sharpen my pencil.  There was also the 4th grade talent show, but by that point I was just skirting by, sticking it out so I could actually participate in the talent show.  All my other friends at that point were enrolled at public school.  Oh, how I longed for not having to wear a uniform to school! Those pants were ridiculously itchy!  BUT, back to sharpening my pencil.  

My love of sharpening pencils began around the 2nd grade.  This was about the same time I really started hating going to school.  Other kids were having a great time! I mean, second grade! What's to hate about second grade, right?  Well, y'all didn't have Sister Roseann as your teacher.  Y'all also probably didn't have trouble memorizing your times tables.  

While the other kids were enjoying extra recess, I was "enjoying" extra homework.  Extra recess meant extra trouble for Jess.  All of my teachers were constantly saying things like: "She's so bright! She just needs to apply herself!" 

My Mom was Panameña. She demanded perfection much like a Tiger Mom but she had a temper.  You hear about the whole "tiger mom" style of parenting where they just telling you you're not good enough?  This was worse - add in a chancla (flip flop or sandal for you gringo's out there).  La chancla tigre!  I am fairly sure because my horrible ability to memorize anything (multiplication was the least of my concerns, and who the hell makes an 8 year old memorize the Gettysburg address anyway?) and my Mom's thought of more punishment is going to make me want to do better (boy did she get that one wrong), may or may not have led her to rallying my teachers into giving me extra work and it all started with Sister Roseann - [in my opinion] the meanest teacher in the entire school.  

Oh, don't worry- there were many a horrible or mean teacher that I had the pleasure of disliking, but Sister Roseann?  She gets the honor of being the absolute first teacher I ever hated.  She is also, however, the person that I credit with giving me my love of pencil sharpeners.  

So, there I was, second grade and having trouble with my times tables.  In the afternoons we were allowed a second recess.  It was 15 minutes to go outside and run around.  There were very few times that I was afforded the luxury of that extra recess, though, because Sr. Roseann would keep me and a few other kids at our desks, doing practice time tests the whole 15 minutes all the other kids were outside.  The only joy that I would get during that time was from the few moments spent wistfully staring out the window while sharpening my pencil.  

My favorite pencil sharpeners were the big clunky ones, they had multiple different sized holes that would hold your pencil into place.  Sister Roseann would always ask if anyone would need to sharpen their pencils before we began and of course, there would be a line of us.  Each of us "bad" kids (looking back I see that we were just the neuro-divergent kids, not really bad at all) would go up to the pencil sharpener, figuring out ways to slow the dreaded time tests down.  There was one kid that half the time would break the lead in his pencil as he pulled it out of the sharpener just so he could sharpen it again.  

Sister Roseann eventually wised up to our little scheme, though, and would give everyone pre-sharpened pencils before the test.  But, up until that time, this is how it would go.  

I would make my way through the line and once up to the sharpener, I would have to click the correct guide into place for my pencil.  St. Roseann would give me a look that I took as I was going to hell for needing to sharpen my pencil so much.  The guide would usually already be in place, but I didn't know that.  Click, click, click... Yeah, that's the ticket!  I looked outside.... The two Ashley's are attempting a tandem, no hands dismount from the monkey bars?! What?!  I'm missing this for multiplication?! How was any of this remotely fair?! Chug, chug, chug. I turned the handle, grinding my pencil to a point.  Sister Roseann would look at me, eyes narrowing in annoyance.  

What? I'm just over here sharpening my pencil.  It's really dull!  AND you're the one making my pencil lead get used faster with all the extra homework!

For those few moments I got to pretend that I was outside, too.  I was attempting a one legged flip off the bars, running with abandon while dodging whoever was "it" at the moment.  I was hoping and praying that if we played a short game of Red Rover that my name would not be called. 

Those pencil sharpeners were an absolute delight, allowing me the tiniest bit of happy. Unfortunately, Sr. Roseann got wise to our procrastination tactics and when we came back from Christmas vacation the pencil sharpener was on the other side of the room.  My playground view replaced by the cafeteria and where we had our assemblies, mass when it was too cold to walk up the hill to the church, and our various musical programs and plays that were put on.  

I don't miss that school by any stretch of the imagination - it was hell.  I do, however, still get excited by those big, beefy pencil sharpeners.