Theo Goes Country

December 12 2011

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I earned my elementary education at Roberdel Grammar School located at the community edge of Roberdel mill village.  The mill was located on the edge headed toward the town of Rockingham while the school was on the edge headed toward the mill village of Ledbetter.  The school catered to grades 1-8 with total student enrollment somewhere between 175 and 200.  These grades were covered by 6 teachers and a principal and sometimes by only 6 teachers including a teaching principal.  A minimum of 30 kids filled a classroom.  Several teachers taught an entire grade and a split grade all in the same room.  For example Mrs. Kathleen Terry, my 6th grade teacher taught the 23 kids in my grade and about 12-13 kids in the 7th grade.  Likewise, the 8th grade teacher taught the entire 8th grade and 12-13 7th graders.  Yet, even with this handicap, the students that went on to high school adapted to the faster pace and did well.  Unlike teachers of today, no teacher at Roberdel used teaching as a stepping stone to administration (i.e. assistant principal, principal, district titles, and so forth).  All of our teachers were completely happy being career teachers.

We were one big, happy family.  I knew all 180 plus students by first name and they knew me.  Roberdel was full of my relatives, McDonalds, Usserys, and Thompsons.  Practically all of the school parents were blue collar workers.  Some parents either worked in the mill, on a farm, or both.  The majority of those who did not dodge lint in the mill or turn soil on the farm filled the jobs of mailmen, route salesmen with delivery trucks, mechanics, carpenters, painters, plumbers, and truck drivers.  Every family had a garden in their backyard to supplement their grocery bill.  Our parents worked hard for their money.  They instilled that same work ethic in their kids.  Making good grades and behaving in school was our job.  A bad grade knocked one of our privileges off of our fun menu.  It might mean losing the opportunity to see Wally and the Beaver trying to talk their way out of a predicament with Cleve and June on the latest invention in home entertainment, the black and white television.  Misbehaving in the classroom usually earned a spanking at home as well as at school.  A kid at Roberdel had no option but to behave.  Furthermore, a teacher-parent tag team was impossible to fight.  The formula for producing productive, law-abiding future adult citizens was in place and working quite well.  In Mom and Dad’s humble opinion as well as the kids in the classroom, no other educational institution in the county, the state, the country, or the world offered a more ideal situation for a child’s complete educational upbringing.  Roberdel Grammar School was perfection spelled with a capital P.  No improvements were needed for our little country school or so everyone thought.

Summer was a welcomed relief for the Roberdel school kids.  We could sleep late most mornings and our parents even moved our bedtimes back.  Later bedtimes allowed us to see television programs never viewed before.  Many summer nights I slept under the covers frightened out of my wits by the Twilight Zone.  The summers always offered the opportunity to earn money by working for cousins Carnie and Vernon McDonald pulling watermelons and cropping tobacco.  Summer weekends were always the times for community kids to play baseball, America’s favorite past time, with their Nellie Fox gloves and Mickey Mantle Louisville Slugger wooden bats.  The family vacation was the highlight of a kid’s summer.  Either drives to the beach to pick up sea shells and eat fresh seafood or trips to the mountains to see real Indians and drive through the clouds were the primary destinations. 

Eventually, Belk’s back-to-school advertisements in the Richmond County Journal, the local newspaper, brought the kids back to the reality statement, “time stands still for no one.”  Even though a kid would never admit his true feelings, deep down every kid was eager to begin the new school year.  That sentiment was true not only at Roberdel Grammar School but true at every grammar school in America.  In fact, no kid had a problem with the universal homework assignment: “Write a paper, ‘What I Did This Summer’, and be prepared tomorrow to read it to the class.”  However, little did we kids now know at summer’s end, how different our new school year at Roberdel would become.

I glanced across the school grounds as Bus #8 rolled onto the circle on the first day of school.  I recognized a strange car parked in the teachers’ parking lot.  It was not a new car.  In fact, it was an old faded blue Plymouth 2 door sedan that had seen its better days.  I wondered just which teacher drove that car as our bus stopped and I stepped into the aisle to exit the bus.  Before my first foot hit the ground, a stranger greeted me and the other students with “Welcome back to school!  Watch your step.  Listen up for the bell.  Don’t be late to class!”  This stranger was a short, busty woman with high heels, red lips, and a big beauty shop teased hair-do.  The high heels and big hair made her look much taller than she really was.  Who could this stranger be?  Could she be a new teacher?  As we waited on the playground for the 8:30 bell to ring, speculation about the short stranger was the topic of conversation.  When the bell rang, we hastily scampered to our classrooms in anticipation of learning the identity of this stranger.  Just who could this stranger be?  In addition, we hustled to our new classroom to claim our new desk.  No one wanted to sit on the front desks and everyone wanted to sit beside or behind his or her best friend.  After our teacher repositioned us to fit her seating chart, she began to read us her list of rules to live by in her in the school years ahead.  Suddenly, a knock at the door grabbed the attention of everyone.   

A short, busty woman walked through the door of our classroom and our teacher stopped in the middle of Rule #6.  “Class,” our teacher announced, “I would like for you to meet our new principal, Mrs. Theo Smith.”   I reasoned to myself that she must be driving that old blue car even though she did not seem tall enough to see over the steering wheel.  “I would like for everyone to stand up & introduce themselves.”  One by one, we rose and gave our names.  For every student, that day was the day our world of perfection at Roberdel Grammar was redefined.

When it was my turn, I stood up by my desk and projected with pride, “My name is Bobby McDonald!”

“Cecil McDonald is your dad, right?” Mrs. Smith asked.

“Yes Ma’am,” I replied as I wondered how she knew my pop.

“Your dad is my mailman,” Mrs. Smith explained.  “He told me to let him know if I had any problems with you and your brothers.  If I did, he said to just give him a phone call.  I don’t have to worry about you boys, right?”

“No ma’am, “I replied.  My little brother Gary was only a first grader but in the back of my mind, I wanted to tell her the message needed to be delivered to my brother Ken.  He had a shorter fuse than me and never backed down from anyone no matter the size and/or age.  I usually had to step in the middle of his confrontations.  Many times, I ended up in a fight myself defending Ken.  What a predicament I was now in.  The new principal on her very first day knew me and my dad.  She had just confirmed that with one phone call a paddling at school would guarantee a spanking at home.

Mrs. Theo Smith proved to be a strict disciplinarian.  “No discipline, no pride.  No pride, no discipline” was Mrs. Smith’s motto.  Theo didn’t just speak these words, she lived these words.  She brought her own Board of Education with her.  Mrs. Smith swung a mean paddle when it was legal and parents actually encouraged discipline by paddling if needed, years before the child psychologists decided a paddling would ruin a child for life.  She also operated under the guidelines of Old Testament scriptures.  “Spare the rod and spoil the child.”  Consequently, our beloved principal never spoiled the child.  Mrs. Smith had a powerful stroke and was an effective switch-hitter whenever a student bent over in her office.  When you left Mrs. Smith’s office after she delivered her swings of discipline, you were full of pride: proud that you had survived.  Yet on your way back to class, you realized you deserved exactly what you received.  Theo loved her kids at Roberdel and we loved her.  She never backed down from any challenge for her students, whether academic or athletic.  Her attitude was, “Bring it on!  These are my kids!”  Yes, with pride came discipline.  She trained a person to do his best.  That is all that Theo asked.  Anyone who fell under her umbrella became a better person.  I know I did! 

Mrs. Smith also had a secret weapon or two in her bag of disciplinary tricks.  When we stood in the cafeteria lunch line, we were not allowed to talk until we sat down with our plates.  Occasionally, Mrs. Smith would slip up on the back of a lunch line.  With one single thump on the head, she could ring your bell and get your attention.  “No talking in line,” was all she ever said.  Your accusation, trial, verdict, and sentence were delivered with one swift thump of Theo’s middle finger.  The verdict: guilty as charged of talking in the lunch line.   

My fears of our new principal subsided as the year progressed.  Mrs. Smith introduced programs new to Roberdel that excited students.  Prior to Mrs. Smith’s arrival, our musical instruments were wooden blocks, sand blocks, triangular chimes, hand held drums, and tambourines.  Personally, I couldn’t carry a tune in a 5 gallon bucket.  The only instrument I could play was the comb and wax paper.

Mrs. Smith thought the Roberdel students were intelligent enough to play real musical instruments.  She came up with enough instruments and enough students to start the first, and to my knowledge, the only Roberdel Grammar School Band.  The challenge was too big for one band instructor to tackle alone.  Mrs. Smith never started something she couldn’t finish.  She had a game plan.  Early on, she contracted another instructor who did not cost her the first nickel.  The instructor was a skinny kid wearing big glasses.  Yes, Theo volunteered her son, Ken.  To the outsider, Ken was just another kid wanting to play in the band.  However, he separated himself by playing his instrument with such energy and excitement.  Ken’s enthusiasm was contagious.  Everyone in the room wanted to play just like Ken.  Hence with Ken’s help, the Roberdel Grammar School Band began to take shape.  Their first performance was a student assembly program.  With the kids’ first time stage fright conquered, Theo later introduced the parents to an all-star performance at a PTA meeting.  Parents were excited by the newly discovered talents of their children.  Mrs. Smith scored big!  It was her foresight in the hunger of students and the passion of teaching her love for music that endeared her to the Roberdel community. 

I interviewed Ken and asked him what his instrument of choice was before donning the tall white hat of Rockingham High School Drum Major.  The following quote is an excerpt from that interview.

“Honestly, I never played an instrument in the marching band as I was always the drum major.  I did play in the concert band and my instrument was the clarinet.  I also played alto saxophone and some tenor and baritone saxophone in the dance band.

I majored in instrumental and vocal music in college and my instrument was the clarinet.  In the college marching band I played alto saxophone, and in the college dance band I played the tenor saxophone.  I was a woodwind player and thus can play all of them to some degree.  My major instrument was clarinet, but as you worded it, ‘my instrument of choice’ was always saxophone.

I was an assistant band director and woodwind instructor at a local high school for 36 years and retired.  I loved every minute of it.  I also taught majorettes to twirl until color guard took over, especially in competition.

Music has always been an important of my life.  Wonder why?  I learned to play the saxophone from Mama at Roberdel.  She even had band classes there.  She switched me to clarinet because she would say, ’If you can play clarinet, you will be able to play all woodwinds and the saxophones will be easy because they are fingered the same as the upper register of the clarinet.’  Thanks for asking.  The question brings back the best memories of my life.”   

I am sure Mrs. Smith did not cut off her character molding philosophy when she cut off the light in her office to go home.  Later on in life when I entered high school, I met her son Ken.  He was living proof that Theo lived her principles of discipline and pride 24/7.  Mrs. Smith probably used several gross of thumps to develop those characteristics in Ken but they worked.  He was a good guy.  Ken loved to joke around and had a sharp wit just like his mother.  Ken loved to pull your leg but never let you leave his presence without correcting the prank.  The Theo in him would not let you walk away without delivering the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.  Mrs. Smith planted that seed of truth in every student under her guidance.

Personally, Mrs. Smith taught me some lessons about life that I still remember and think about almost every day.  One situation concerned dealing with the opposite sex while the other lesson was about the perils of the tongue.

That particular year I experienced puppy love for the first time.  I fell for Judy Gibson.  Judy was the only blue-eyed blonde at Roberdel Grammar.  In fact, she was the first blue-eyed blonde my age I had ever seen.  I had always thought all of God’s angels were blue-eyed blondes.  Her daddy Charles owned Skyline Terrace Barbershop and happened to be my barber.  Every two weeks I sat in Charles’ chair as he cut my flat-top.  Occasionally, Daddy bought me a jar of Butch’s Hair Wax from Charles.  Charles always kidded me about having a girlfriend.  I left my crush at Roberdel when I stepped onto Bus #8.  As I sat in Charles’ chair, I could only hope Judy did the same when she hopped onto her bike at the end of the school day.  When it came to the opposite sex, I took the attitude that what happens at Roberdel Grammar, stays at Roberdel Grammar.  My mother teased me about every girl who ever had a crush on me and every girl I ever had a crush on.  I didn’t want her to know I was sweet on Judy.

I was not the only kid who thought Judy was cute.  Blue eyes and blonde hair also hypnotized Roger Dale Simmons.  Roger Dale was a Roberdel Village boy who was a year behind me in school as was Judy.  He was a big kid for his age and God gave him a barrel shaped chest.  Roger Dale was just a young boy who did not know his own strength.  He could impress anyone with his muscles and raw power.  He told me Judy was going to be his girlfriend.  I viewed Roger Dale’s proclamation as an unspoken warning.  Yet, love is blind and I accepted his warning as a challenge.  Flashing big muscles was not the only way to win a young girl’s heart.  I offered to push Judy in the playground swings at recess.  Brains will win out over brawn every time, or at least I thought so. 

Judy’s class broke for recess a few minutes before my class.  She was already sitting in a swing when I reached the playground.  Hurriedly, I made my way to the swings.  I slipped behind Judy and gently shoved her in the middle of her back to put the swing in motion.  The more I pushed, the bolder I became.  Soon I was grabbing and squeezing her tiny waist as I swung Judy.  In fact, I began throwing out more lines than Elvis in one of his movies with Ann Margaret.  I was in puppy dog love heaven until along came Roger Dale.  Furthermore, he was not by himself.  My brother Ken was with him.  However, they were not playing.  Roger Dale had his right arm around Ken’s throat while Ken’s feet were dangling in the air.  Ken was not even able to open his mouth to complain as he hung suspended by his chin.  My dad believed the only fair fight was a fight you were winning.  The only scenario worse that losing a fight was watching your brother lose a fight while you did nothing to help.

Roger Dale posed in front of the swings as Judy swung back and forth.  He stared at me not saying a word but waiting for a reaction from me as Ken gasped for air.  I grabbed the chains of the swing and brought Judy to a standstill.  “Roger Dale, let go of Ken!” I demanded. 

“Make me,” Roger Dale answered.  He just drew the line in the sand.  I certainly did not intimidate him because I was older.

As much as I dreaded tangling with little Charles Atlas, I stepped around Judy and repeated myself, “Roger Dale, let go of Ken!”  To emphasize my point, I balled my fists up and pulled them up in a Sugar Ray Leonard pose. Roger Dale glared back at me with a cold stare.  “Didn’t you hear what I said?” I quizzed again.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?  Make me!  Roger Dale snapped back.  That was not the response I was hoping for.  I had no choice but to step over on Roger Dale’s side of the line.  Ken had quit struggling to get free and just swung to and fro from my friend Roger Dale’s clutches.  Even puppy love can lead to conflict among friends.

Suddenly, Cousin Ed Ussery crept up behind Roger Dale.  The Usserys were a family of 7 boys and 3 girls.  The brother had to rumble with each other just to survive among 7 brothers.  In fact, my 2 brothers and I have had disagreements with the Ussery gang that lead to punches.  Yet, we always had each other’s back.  You ask “Why?”  Their mother Flora was a McDonald before her marriage.  Blood is thicker than water was a reality and not simply an old wives tale among our families.  I could read Ed’s mind.  He logically reasoned that muscleman Roger Dale might be more than a handful for Ken and me.  He just wanted to even the odds up.  Ed crept ever closer to Roger Dale.  I nodded my head and like a cat upon a mouse, Ed leaped onto Roger Dale’s back.  Roger Dale released Ken in order to pull Ed off his back.  I tackled Roger Dale around the knees and all three of us tumbled to the ground.  It was not much of a fight as Ken, Ed, and I struggled to hold Roger on the ground as he battled to get up.  We wrestled and rolled over the playground.  At least, Ken could breathe again.   Without warning, a voice none of us wanted to hear shouted, “Boys, stop that right now!  What are you doing?  Stop it I said!”  Some tattle-tell had reported us to Mrs. Smith.  “Let’s go to my office and explain to me what provoked you guys to fight like cats and dogs.”  All I could think about as we marched to the Principal’s office was Theo’s first day.  “Your daddy said if I the McDonald brothers gave me any problems, just give him a phone call.”  It looked like Ken and I were facing a Theo paddling on the spot and a Cecil spanking at home.  I should have been playing baseball instead of swinging Judy.

Mrs. Smith ushered us into her office and shut the door behind her.  It is never a good sign when you are behind closed doors in the principal’s office.  “Ok guys; explain to me why you boys were fighting instead of playing.” Mrs. Smith demanded.  One by one, we each tried to justify our actions.  I was ready to bend over and take my punishment like a man. “Fellows, I think all four of you are telling me a little blonde-headed girl is at the bottom of this disagreement, right?  Should I have brought Judy to my office and paddled her?”  All four of us stared at each other, afraid to say anything.  “Of course, I shouldn’t have.  You guys are too young to be chasing girls. Chasing girls will do nothing but get you and the girls in trouble.  Just look where you are now!  Chasing girls and success in school have never mixed.  Boys, you have plenty of time left in life to chase girls.  I want you to have fun with each other doing activities together that boys have participated in since the beginning of time.  I want you to remember what I am telling you now for the rest of your life.  Do I need to paddle all four of you to help you remember?” Theo concluded. 

“No ma’am,” we answered in the one voice unison of the Mormon Boys’ Tabernacle Choir.  Had we really escaped Theo’s iron-fisted hand of justice?  Even Houndini had never been so lucky.

“Ok, I didn’t think I would.  Just remember what I told you,” Theo reminded us.  “Before I let you boys go back outside to recess, I want you to shake hands and apologize to each other.”  We passed apologizes and handshakes with a vigor matched only by campaign workers outside a polling door on Election Day.  On the way back to enjoy the rest of our recess, we all patted each other on the back for the school kid equivalent of the Governor Death Pardon.  None of our playmates would believe we had left Theo’s office without a paddling.

It was springtime outside and my mind flipped from the birds and bees to the game of baseball.  No one ever told Judy the advice Mrs. Smith passed along to us that day in her office.  The Rockingham High classes of 1966 and 1967 celebrated our 45th high school reunion this past October.  I saw Judy for the first time since my last day of high school.  I asked her if she remembered the day she was in the 5th grade and Roger Dale interrupted our swinging with a death choke hold on Ken.  Judy remembered that day well.  I never mentioned the conversation in Mrs. Smith’s office.  Hence, Judy if you are reading this memory as legendary Paul Harvey would say, “Now you know the rest of the story.”

I often think of that afternoon all four of us sat in Mrs. Smith’s office whenever I hear about some young pregnant teen-ager or a homicide or suicide involving young love.  Theo hit the nail on the head with her advice.  I passed this advice to my three daughters on their first day of college.  They listened well.  By the way, my daddy gave me the same speech, “chasing the opposite sex and success in school do not mix.”  I was able to make it work for me.  I have only been married forty years.

Mrs. Smith was always at school prior to the arrival of the first student and left when the last student departed.  She greeted each bus driver in the morning and bid farewell to each driver in the afternoon.  Mrs. Smith’s teachers loved the “no bus duty” policy.  They either used the time to prepare the lesson plan for the next day or just as an “early out.”  Hence, Mrs. Smith had no problem securing a volunteer when she needed to leave right after school.  The teachers would be disappointed if they had to work for any other principal in the county.

We kids had 45-60 minutes for the buses to arrive at Roberdel.  All the bus drivers were high school students themselves.  High School students flocked to the schools once school was out at 3:30.  At 3:45, the fleet of buses began to roll out of the parking lot with high school students on board.  The next stop was down at the bottom of the hill at L.J. Bell, the city grammar school.  Each bus rolled back up the hill filled to capacity with first through twelfth graders.  To qualify as a bus rider, one must have live at least 2 miles away.  Hence, you can imagine how many were eligible to ride.  By the time stops were made to unload the city kids, the Roberdel buses arrived between 4:15 and 4:30.

The after school wait was no problem for the rural kids of Roberdel.  We considered it to just another recess after school.  Some of the nerds and girls actually used the time to do their homework.  Chores were waiting at home for most.  Mrs. Smith allowed us to check out different balls to play with as a method to occupy time.  Her only rule was if you check it out, you leave it at the front door upon bus arrival.  That student was always the last to step onto the bus.  A popular game we played while waiting on the bus was Dodge Ball.  We guys tried either to knock the feet out from a player or “tag” him with a smash throw to the head.  Boys will be boys.  Red Rover was another popular game.  “Red Rover, Red Rover, send Johnny right over” was the manhood challenge sent to Johnny by Team A.  Johnny left his B teammates and sprinted toward A teammates stand at the opposite end of the field with fists and forearms interlocked.  The goal was to break the human chain.

We came up with a macho version of Red Rover that we renamed Macho Red Rover.”  Two goal lines were the safe territories.  To start the game, all participants with the exception of one lined up behind one of the goal lines.  At the shout of “Go!” all players broke ran toward the opposite goal line.  The guy in the middle tackled one of the runners. The tackled player then joined the tackle team in the middle.  The object of the game was to be the last one tackled.  Basically, the game was football without the pads and without the football.  It was a survival of the toughest, roughest, and fastest.  It was a time to display your manhood.  If you chose not to play, your buddies grouped you with the sissies and girls.  I never was the first or last to be tackled.  To be first would have been an embarrassment to the family name.  Likewise to complain about the pain or injury from a tackle would have raised questions from your friends.  I can still remember the first time I was hurt too much to continue playing. 

Ronnie Davis was probably the most athletic kid to pass through Roberdel during my enrollment.  He threw and caught baseball right-handed but batted left-handed.  He could absolutely injure a first baseman with his line drives.  Unfortunately, only seventh and eighth graders were allowed to play on school teams.  Ronnie was a sixth grader when I was in the eighth.  We never had an organized field day where grades competed against each other.  However, it was a consensus that Ronnie was the fastest kid at Roberdel even in the sixth grade.  Our first football team at Roberdel was when I was in the seventh grade.  Once again, Ronnie was tough enough but not old enough.  He probably owed his toughness to his upbringing.  Ronnie grew up on the hill of Ledbetter Mill Village.  Most kids reared in a mill village had a grit and determination about them that you did not find in most other kids.  Limited playground facilities in a mill village usually meant if you were tough enough to play, no age divisions exited.  The field was not shared.  If you wanted to play you gritted your teeth and played.  The old played hard against the young and the young played hard against the old.  The results were tough-nosed kids who usually played older than their age.  Such a kid was Ronnie Davis.  Ronnie rode my bus.

While waiting for bus #8, we opted to play Macho Red Rover over Dodge Ball.  I was tackled early in the game and decided to redeem myself by tackling Ronnie Davis.  Back and forth, Ronnie ran as I chased him.  Time and time again, I saw him cross the goal in front of me.  As tackles were being made all over the field, the selection of runners to tackle became less and less.  I knew I could never outrun Ronnie.  The longer we played, the faster Ronnie ran and the slower I ran.  With plenty of help now to chase, I figured with the right angle I could catch him.  One more time, Ronnie broke for the other end.  I had the angle but was running out of field.  With one last desperate effort, I dove for Ronnie’s legs.  All I caught was his heel planted firmly under my chin.  I lay on the ground in pain.  I could live with a bruised chin.  However, my injury was much worse than a bruise.  Michael Jordan and I shared a signature trait in showmanship.  However, I have always told my friends that Michael copied me not visa-versa since I am older than Michael.  When I played sports as a kid, I stuck my tongue between my teeth when I concentrated just as Michael did when he made game winning shots.

My pain intensified as I lay there face down.  As I sat up, my taste buds screamed, “Blood, blood!”  All my friends had gathered around me waiting for me to move.  I spit out a mouth full of blood and my buddies panicked!  While one friend ran ahead to alert Mrs. Smith, the others escorted me to her office.

“McDonald, what happened to you?” Mrs. Smith wondered out loud.  We explained the accident as she entered her first aid mode.  “Follow me,” she demanded.  We walked straight to the water cooler.  Mrs. Smith filled an eight ounce glass with cold water.  “Rinse your mouth and spit in the cooler basin.”  When I emptied the glass, she filled it once more and repeated her instructions.  After several more rinses,   I finally quit tasting blood.  “Stick your tongue out at me,” Theo chuckled.  “You never thought you could get away with that move looking me in the eye, did you?” I finally broke into a grin.  “It looks like you are going to live.  She then poured a solution into a small medicine cup.  Now rinse your mouth with this solution and hold it in your mouth and slowly count to 60 before you spit it out.  Finally, rinse your mouth with one more glass of water,” Mrs. Smith demanded.  I thought my tongue was going to fall off.  My tongue felt as if I had bitten it again.  The small amount of fluid in the medicine cup seemed to multiply in volume.  Finally I reached 60 and emptied my mouth into the basin.  I was foaming at the mouth like a mad dog.  What had I been conned into taking?  Was this a medical aid or was this a punishment tactic?  Had Theo gone mad?  Mrs. Smith had given me a medicine cup full of hydrogen peroxide.  She later explained to me that the hydrogen peroxide was interacting with the bacteria, germs, and saliva in my mouth.  I learned later in Mrs. Frances Brooks’ 12th grade chemistry class that the content of my mouth was a catalyst for a chemical reaction.  The bacteria and germs served to break down the hydrogen peroxide.  The foaming was the result of the oxygen being released from the compound.  In foaming, the hydrogen peroxide was killing germs and bacteria.  By the way, the bleeding also stopped.  Doctor Smith actually knew what she was doing.

When we returned to the Principal’s Office, Mrs. Smith picked up the phone and called my mama to explain what happened.  Mrs. Smith told me I had bitten my tongue so deeply that a doctor may have even put a stitch in my tongue if I were sitting in his office.  She advised that the last task I did at night before I went to bed was rinse my mouth with hydrogen peroxide and the first job I did in the morning when I awoke was to rinse my mouth with the same solution.  “McDonald, remember that your tongue can get you in trouble if it is not in your mouth.  God gave you 2 ears and 1 tongue,” she proclaimed.  “Now get back outside before your bus comes and leaves without you.  I didn’t understand why she even brought my ears into the conversation.  However, I did not ask why.  I just wanted out of that office and back outside with my friends.  I was never in my comfort zone while sitting in the Principal’s Office.

Amazingly, God and hydrogen peroxide healed my tongue quickly.  When God created man, He knew how important a good tongue was to man’s well-being.  If only a skinned knee or a skinned elbow would heal as quickly as an injured tongue, Band-Aid Corporation would cease to exist.

Fortunately, the warm weather brought the marble season.  Shooting marbles became the favorite time killer while we kids waited on the buses after school.  Two weeks were about all the time the marble shooting sharks needed to win the marbles of most of the players.  The number of shooters dropped to about 3 or 4.  A young boy can watch only so much marble shooting if he has no marbles.  One of my schoolmates suggested we play Macho Red Rover while we waited for the buses.  Even the sharks picked up their marbles and joined in.

As the Major League Baseball Hall-of-Famer Yogi Berra once said, “It’s déjà vu all over again.”  History did repeat itself.  The heel of Ronnie Davis landed squarely on my chin as I stuck out my tongue in concentration on my goal line dive for Ronnie.  You guessed it.  My buddies helped me up and we made a return trip to Mrs. Smith’s office again.  I wondered what she would say this time as I waited alone with my bleeding tongue. 

“Spit and rinse one more time, McDonald,” Mrs. Smith repeated after several rinses and a shot of hydrogen peroxide.  “I can’t believe you bit that tongue again.”  The embarrassment was actually more painful than the bite.  “Can you remember what I told you 2 weeks ago when you tried to bite that tongue off?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said with a sheepish grin on my face.  You told me to keep my tongue in my mouth.  My tongue can get me in trouble if I can’t keep it in my mouth.  You told me I had 2 ears and 1 tongue but I don’t know why you said that.  I hurt my tongue not my ears”

“You either temporarily forgot while playing or just don’t follow communications.  Maybe you can remember now.  It looks like you bit your tongue in exactly the same place you did 2 weeks ago, “Theo analyzed as she examined my tongue under the light of a small flashlight.  “This time you did not bite it that hard.  It’s not bleeding as much as it was 2 weeks ago.  McDonald, you have made that tongue of yours as tough as an old leather boot tongue.  However, bite it in the same place one more time as hard and as deep as you did 2 weeks ago and you will be picking half of your tongue up off the floor.  Remember this: your tongue will always get you in trouble if you can’t control it.  Your tongue can be a useful tool if you use it properly.  However, at times it benefits you more to keep your mouth closed and your ears open.  After all, God gave you 2 ears.  I wasn’t worried about you hurting your ears playing Red Rover.  You always come out ahead if you keep your mouth closed and your ears open to listen to the spoken word.  You can never put your tongue in gear if your mouth is closed.  Think about what was said before you open your mouth to answer or give your viewpoint.  Don’t forget what I just said.  It might not make much sense to you now but the older you get the more sense it will make.  I’m through preaching to you, McDonald.  Go get in that bus line before Pete Ussery drives up in #8.”

Theo Smith was at Roberdel Grammar School for one year only.  Roughly, 50 plus springs have come and gone since her reign at my little country school.  Yet, the lessons she taught to yours truly and other students have been around for a lifetime.  These truths she stressed to her students have withstood the test of time.  The principles of truth have never nor will ever change.  I met the girl I fell in love with 27 days before I graduated from college.  I chased her with a college diploma in hand.  Fourteen months later, I said “I do!”  Year 40 in my marriage just recently rolled by as my marriage license shares equal wall space and billing in my den.  Theo was right.  I was successful chasing a diploma because I did not spend all my time chasing women and I was successful chasing a girl because I did not spend all my time chasing an education and a girl.

I no longer stick my tongue out while concentrating although I still occasionally bite my tongue.  However, I no longer chomp with the same snapping turtle force I used in my grammar school days.  Generally, it only happens when my mouth is too full of food. I keep a bottle of hydrogen peroxide in my bathroom to self-doctor any body cuts or scrapes inside as well as outside my mouth.  I sometimes stick my tongue out while standing in front of a mirror just to see if the scar I acquired from tackling Ronnie Davis is still visible.  It is quite visible but now produces a grin and not the pain of long ago.  I chuckle to myself when I think how difficult communicating would be with half of my tongue missing.  Just like I had to battle Roger Dale, I still have to battle customers daily as I sell cars.  I am successful because I listen with 2 ears to their wants, needs, and budget parameters before I speak up and try to tackle the sale.  Theo was right again.  The older I become, the more sense it makes to listen to the other side of the story with 2 ears before I put my 1 tongue in gear. 

Theo returned to the city school system.  She touched the lives of every student at my little country school.  We were fortunate to experience the tutelage and guidance of Mrs. Theo Smith.  This lady stepped away from a job in familiar surroundings and close friends in a busy city life into a new job in strange surroundings with strange associates in a blue-collar, rural environment.  This lady is still loved by so many former students of the city school system.  Mrs. Smith’s image and legacy pops to the forefront of everyone’s mind when they do a mental goggle of the word “Theo.” If Mrs. Smith had not gone country, “Theo” would still be spinning the search engines in the minds of the Roberdel kids.  Her move to Roberdel Grammar was our gain.  We learned a lot from her and not all she taught can be found in a book.  If Mrs. Smith were alive today, I think she would probably admit she learned from us also.  There will never be another “Theo!”  She will forever be one of my precious childhood memories of growing up in Rockingham, North Carolina -a small textile town in the South in the ‘50s & ‘60s.