When I was in second grade, I was a new student at a new school. It was a very small rural school where everyone knew everyone and half the class was cousins. When kids are young, they make friends easily and quickly, and I was soon surrounded by a circle of friends who I still love to this day. (Hi Kristi H.! Hey, Holly O.!)
One day in class our teacher, Mrs. Patterson, made us stop our work because she wanted to talk to us. This was never good. You see, Mrs. Patterson liked to scream and throw things....things like erasers, chalk, shoes, the metal chalk holder...just small things that couldn't do permanent damage but would hurt like the dickens if you were hit. Unfortunately, Jesse sat in front of me and he loved to talk. Often, he would see Mrs. Patterson winding up to chunk something at his head, and he would duck. I, on the other hand, didn't always see what was going on because Jesse's big head was in the way. Until it wasn't. Then it was too late. Many days I went home with a red mark on my forehead.
On this day, though, Mrs. Patterson didn't want to tell us how rotten we were. Today, she wanted to tell us about a new student we would be getting tomorrow. Imogene.
She told us that Imogene was special and would need a lot of our help. She asked that we do our very best to make her welcome, that we play with her at recess, and make her feel like she truly belonged here. My friends and I looked around at each other. We didn't see what the big deal was. We got new kids all the time, and they didn't get introduced the day before, but okay...whatever.. we'll be friends with her.
The next day, Imogene showed up during cutting and pasting. Our desks had been arranged in loose circles all over the room. There were about five of us in my little circle working together on our projects. The teacher asked us all to put down our scissors and welcome our new student.
Imogene was a tall girl, taller than anyone else in my class. I loved the many ponytails she had all over her head and her beautiful dark skin. She smiled shyly and waved to us. We smiled and waved back.
Mrs. Patterson sat Imogene down at our table. She admonished us to remember the talk yesterday. We all smiled at Imogene and tried our best to make her welcome.
Weeks before, several of my friends had come up with the ingenious idea of sticking a marker in and out of the paste to color it. It made the most beautiful Easter egg colors. We thought it was awesome, and every one of us had a different color of paste, thanks to one of my friend's Crayola markers. As soon as we went back to work, Imogene stuck her hands in one of the containers of paste and began to eat. She didn't talk much and often what she said wasn't clear, but she kept smiling and going back for more and more paste.
"Lemon," she said and then took the stick from the yellow paste and licked it clean. "Gwape" and there went the purple. "Cherry." "Lime." She got frustrated and grunted at us if we tried to work, so someone came up with the idea of feeding her the paste so that some of the others could work.
Looking back on this as an adult, I can see where someone might see malice, but we were genuinely trying to help her. We were not making fun. We were trying to be welcoming in the only way our little, sheltered seven year old selves could. The teacher said be nice. Imogene wanted paste. If that's what she wanted, that's what we were going to give her.
So we did.
I don't know how long we fed it to her. It seemed like forever. Some colors she liked better than others. I do remember the moment Mrs. Patterson saw us, though. The proverbial poop hit the fan.
"WHAT ARE YOU GIRLS DOING," she screamed at us.
One of us, daring to bring the wrath down upon her individual head, said, "We're trying to help her feel welcome."
Apparently, it was not the thing to say. My friends and I got held in from recess that day. A fate worse than death when you're in second grade. Mrs. Patterson called in the principal and they talked to us about being nice and how disappointed in us they were. My friends and I tried to explain, but their minds were made up. We had been "ugly" to her on purpose. We were threatened with a phone call to our parents if we didn't straighten up immediately. We all knew if our moms got a phone call about something we did at school, we'd get it twice as bad at home, so we quickly agreed that we would all do better.
The next day, we resolved as a group to be even friendlier, even nicer, even more welcoming. At recess, we decided to do the one thing that would show we were truly trying to help Imogene out.... the one thing that truly showed you had a friend.... the one thing everyone wanted.... to be pushed on the swings.
Oh yes, my friends. The swings.
My elementary school had the most amazing swings ever. If you could get someone to push you high enough and you pumped your legs hard enough, you could see over the elementary school all the way to the junior high. That was the true test of friendship in second grade. It took a long time for someone to push you that hard. They were sacrificing their own recess to help you out.
It was an amazing feeling to be that high. Your back was parallel to the ground. You had that crazy little drop in your stomach, the one where you're almost afraid, but not really. There was just this second or two of slack in the chains when you got to the apex of the upswing and you were even with the top bar. Then gravity would kick in and pull you back toward the ground with a jerk. You'd pump your legs as hard as you could and pull back on the chains. Your friend would push you on the way back up and give you that little extra bit.
Wow, those were the good times.
Now, we decided it wouldn't be fair if only one of us got to push Imogene. We all wanted to show Mrs. Patterson and our principal that we had changed, so we talked her in to sitting on the swing and then we all lined up to push her.
The first few pushes were good. Each one of us would push her, and then go to the back of the line. Imogene went higher and higher into that beautiful blue sky. She laughed and tried to clap. We warned her not to let go.
We pushed her higher.
Somewhere along the way, she began to get scared and started making noises.
We all called up to her, "Hold on!"
"Just a little bit further."
"You can almost see it!"
And we kept pushing the swing.
Because we wanted to be her friend.
Because we wanted to welcome her.
Because we could never have guessed what would happen next.
Imogene let go.
Yep, let go.
She had just reached the very tip-top. If she would have just moved her head a little, she would have seen the junior high. Instead, with her back even with the ground, on that little jerk from the swing, she gasped and let go. And fell probably 15 feet.
She landed hard. We all screamed and ran to her body, sure we had killed her.
The teachers came running. We gathered around her, and Imogene was making the most awful little noises. This gaspy, raspy, trying-to-breathe-but-can't-get-air noise. Her eyes were closed, and I can still see the little pieces of gravel in her hair.
The teachers were furious. They separated us and sent us to the wall. I started crying. I was positive she was going to die and I was going to jail for murder. How would I make it in prison when I couldn't even fix my own hair yet?
Suddenly, there was a commotion and Imogene sat up. She kept saying something, and at first I couldn't make it out.
I was closest to the back door and as they brought her by me on the way to the nurse, I could hear her say, "Imogene fell out of the swing!" and then she gasped, her hands raised to the sides of her face, fingers splayed. Over and over she said this...."Imogene fell out of the swing...*gasp* Imogene fell out of the swing....*gasp*" Over and over she made the motions. "Imogene fell out of the swing...*gasp* Imogene fell out of the swing.....*gasp*"
As she passed me, she smiled.
She knew we hadn't meant to hurt her.
The teachers on the other hand were under no such illusions. They were sure we had masterminded the whole thing. We each got sent to the principal's office and our parents were called.
When I look back on it, I'm almost amazed by how pure our motives were. We didn't mean to hurt her. We weren't trying to make fun. We wanted to show her friendship and acceptance. We wanted to make her feel like she was one of us. Our methods may have been misguided, but that's all anyone can truly hope for.. someone who wants to help us belong.
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