Almost everyone who had reached at least the beginning of their senior years will tell you they have some regrets.  The definition of some will vary by individual, but most seniors are easily capable of providing five to ten with little effort.  My biggest regrets are things I didn't do vis-a -vis things I did do.

 

Gloria Jones (name changed) was my age and was in the same classroom with me at least three of the six years I was in school in Rockingham.  The first time was in Ms. McCown's second grade (49-50) class back at the Grammar School at the corner of Washington and Lawrence Streets.  She was not in my classroom in the first or sixth grade.  Gloria's real name involved a three-syllable first name, and a one-syllable last name.  You would find at least ten ladies in Rockingham with the same first name, and at least fifty people with the same last name; however, she was the only person I have ever known with that exact name.  She had a nice name; so her name was not the source of her problem.

 

Usually in each class, I had a young lady that I particularly liked as a girl friend or sweetheart.   The second grade was no exception.  This young lady we will call Annie (name changed) was easily the prettiest girl in the class.  I made every effort to be with her as much as I could, such as in assembly or at lunch when the class would go together to the lunchroom.  I even carried her books home for her after school although she lived less than a block from the school.  I was engrossed with this young lady; so I didn't pay much attention to Gloria.  The same sort of thing went on in each of my classes up through the sixth grade (53-54).  Gloria was a fine looking young lady although she was not the prettiest; she was at least in the middle, maybe even a little above average.  She was the right height and the right weight; so that was not her problem.

 

What was her problem?  I'm still not sure, but everybody seemed to shun her as if she had the plague or something like that.  The other girls didn't like her, and the boys would tease each other about her by saying the other boy liked Gloria.  When we went to the lunchroom, she was invariably the last girl in the girl's line.  Therefore, whoever the first boy was, he would be required to set by her.  So the boys made a major effort to not have to set by her.  The teachers were oblivious to the situation, or at least they appeared to be.  Since I had a girlfriend and everyone in the class knew that, they rarely teased me about Gloria.  So if I just happened to get seated beside her, unlike everyone else, I was civil toward her.  In fact, I was the only one in the whole room who would even talk to her, but even I didn't talk very much with her.

 

Back in those days, at our house we were required to take a bath every Saturday night whether we needed it or not.  I wore the same set of jeans for an entire week before they were laundered.  I wore my shirts continuously until my Mother came and took them off the hangers to complete a wash load.  So if smell could have been the problem, I would have had that problem myself.   Yet I had no problem socializing with any of my classmates.  I don't remember any of the other students with an odor problem.  Gloria always seamed to be neatly dressed and clean.  So this wasn't her problem.

 

Looking back at this today, the only reason I can discern for her problem is that she lived on the wrong side of town.  That's not a good reason; but young children can be mighty cruel sometimes without realizing it.  But I lived on the same side of town she did.  In fact I had to go by her house as I walked home from school.  I remember at least on one occasion walking briefly with her on the way home.  Her father was a merchant in town; so they probably were better off financially than my family.  I think she was an only child, whereas, my parents had five children to support.  My biggest regret is that I didn't make friends with her.  All she needed was a friend.   I think she was also in my room in the fourth and fifth grade.  {By the way, my fifth grade teacher was Mrs. Ida Huneycutt, wife of the Richmond County Public School Superintendent.  Their son, Dr. Jimmy Huneycutt, Ph. D., was one of my mathematics professors in graduate school down in Raleigh in 1969 after I was separated from the Air Force.}  I don't remember Gloria much from the fourth or fifth grades.  I had other girl friends in both grades, and usually she was the prettiest girl in the class.   Remember Patricia from my previous essay Old Hundred?

 

The punch line comes in the sixth grade.  It was the last day of class, and we were walking down the stairs at the far end of the L.J. Bell School.  She was several steps ahead of me as we were leaving, and I noticed she was crying.  I hurried to catch up with her to ask her what was wrong.  She said she had not been promoted.   There were more than a few students who didn't get promoted, so that alone is not that bad.  What was sad was that she had no one with whom to share her misery; she was all by herself except for me.  I remember that we walked together for a little while, and then some friend distracted me, and I was gone.  Later that night, I decided that I would get to know her better next year.  Actually that would have been difficult since I was promoted to the seventh grade and would be in Junior High; whereas she would still be at L.J. Bell.  Also I didn't know at that time my family would move to Gastonia permanently within three weeks.  I remember some discussion at home of the possibility of moving, but it never seemed to be serious until it happened.

 

The moral of this story is to never judge people by their physical looks or their worldly possessions.  The real measure of a person is what's in their heart and their soul.  Youthful physical beauty doesn't last long.