“The RoseBouquet”

(Sorting my books reminds me how my fascination with books all started years ago).

When I started school it was to a small one-room country school near Laird, Saskatchewan, on the Canadian prairies. I’d had to wait a year because my appendix nearly burst before it was removed the year earlier, so I was impatient to go to school and learn to read.

On top of that I had to learn English. My parents spoke Plaut Dietsche, or Low German, at home though they knew a bit of English. Mom had prepared me for my first day by training me for weeks to have a few handy English answers ready.

If they said to me, “What is your name?” I should answer, “Ruth Marlene Friesen.”

If anyone said to me, “How old are you?” I should reply, “Seven years old.”

On the big day, Dad took time from his work as a farmhand to drive me the three miles or so to the school on his tractor. While he went to find the teacher at the Teacherage I walked up to the school steps with my lunch in a lard pail, to greet the students I saw were already there.

One of them asked or said something, and I rattled off my answers, “Ruth Marlene Friesen seven years old.”

The big boys hooted and did cartwheels. While I had a sinking feeling that this had not gone the way Mom had told me.

To continue this story…
How I Learned to Read