Shell Knob Elementary
1993
There are a unique group of children who walk through the halls of schools every year. They look almost identical to other students. They are invited to the same events as their classmates. But, these kids experience their education in ways that others will never know. We call these folks: teachers’ kids. Hello, I’m Jake. I was a teacher’s kid.
There were aspects of being the child of a teacher that put pressure on school for me. The school district my dad taught in was tiny. I think we had seventeen kids graduate from 8th grade to high school. If a grade started to slip, my teacher would simply walk down the hall and give my dad a heads-up. I didn't have a damn chance.
I realized that when I got caught the punishment would be twofold. Once I had served my detention(s) at school, there were at least extra chores for me at home, if not a grounding. My options were clearly:
A. Get my act together and behave
B. Don’t get caught
That double jeopardy business had to go.
We didn’t live in the school district where my dad taught. Some of my closest friends growing up were the kids of other staff members. There weren’t any kids around home, that was just me and the creek. Looking back, I’m pretty thankful for my alone time. Memories from that school are ingrained in my memory. My first smell of popcorn probably came from the old gym in Shell Knob, Missouri. I can recently remember not enjoying my first sampling of relish on a hot dog. Dad was also the basketball coach, so I’m kind of a concession stand connoisseur.
The gym became the lunchroom and the smells changed from pickles and over-carbonated sodas to rectangular pizza and the occasional spoiled milk carton at the bottom of the cooler. Breakfast and lunch always came from the cafeteria. An afternoon snack from the vending machine or the gas station on the way home was always inevitable. During tournament weeks, I feasted like a king in the hospitality room. The basketball tournaments had been sponsored by Pizza Hut for years. Somewhere along the way Subway got in on the charitable contributions, and we had a smorgasbord on our hands.
The Ray family were a big part of Shell Knob school, for me. Lanetta was in charge of the lunchroom starting early in the morning before students arrived for breakfast. Her three boys and I played after school nearly every day. I watched in horror after school as their middle son busted his head open on the playground. On game nights, their family would be the last to leave the building for they had the task of cleaning after each evening's events in the gym. Their Ozark farm house was filled with every book in the Star Wars canon, NES games, and the best kinds of love.
Mornings always came early, because Lanetta was in the school building by 6:00 am each day. Her three boys and I had a full run of the school for just a little while during those mornings. I stayed with the Rays a few nights during tournament weeks. Lanetta was always delighted to have me over and treated me just like one of her own, without the chores that usually came with living on their farm. It’s the first time I recall sleeping in a bunk bed, a dream finally come true. She gave “goodnights” all around and kissed all the kids, including me.
That struck me oddly in the moment. That was when I realized that since being adopted, mom hadn’t told me goodnight but a few times. It took a lot more years to really start to understand that my mom wasn’t like everyone else’s mom. She later revealed that she didn’t have much interest in me, since she already had her kids.
Lanetta Ray passed away this year. She served people her whole life, at school and at her home. I can still hear her laugh in my memory, regardless of which thankless job she was putting all her efforts into. She will always be a reminder for me to be good to folks, because you never know who needs it.
WE STRIVE FOR GREATNESS WHILE WE STRUGGLE TO PUT FOOD ON THE TABLE.
