Notes on Third Grade.

Notes on Third Grade


I grew up in Riverside California, a sunny burg east of Los Angeles known for smog and navel oranges. St. Francis de Sales elementary school was exactly twelve blocks from my house. It was part of a typical Catholic parish, the church, the school and the rectory - all conjoined by a beige stucco exterior - wrapped around one city block. In the center of the block was a paved parking lot that doubled as the school playground. The third-grade classroom was fairly close to the main attraction, three doors down a faux-stone hallway from the arched church entrance. The first graders were allowed closest proximity to the church by virtue of their shorter legs. These six-year-olds didn’t have to go to mass though, apparently their minds still waffled in a pre-age-of-reason haze. By third grade our eight-year-old souls had a moral compass and first communion to boot. Original sin, mortal sin and multiplication tables were all at the core of our being....