In the fall of 1950, we moved to the rural Kansas town of Altoona. I was 7 years old and in the second grade, and moving to a new school in a new town was, for me, a scary experience. Actually, the school at Altoona had fewer than 140 kids, but that was a lot more than at the school I had left.
So there I was, in a totally strange place. I didn’t know anyone and had no idea where anything was. However, I quickly figured out that when everyone suddenly left the room at 10:30 a.m. and 2:30 p.m., it was recess time! And when the teacher lined us up later in the morning, saying that it was time to walk the four blocks to the school cafeteria, I knew that it was lunch time. The thought of having to go to a cafeteria was scary, because I used to be able to go home each day for lunch. I had no idea how we would get our food at a strange place called a cafeteria.
Somehow, I managed to survive those first two or three weeks, and soon, school at Altoona was no longer a big-scary-monster thing.
After about four or five weeks, during recess one Friday afternoon, this redheaded girl in our class ran up to me and told me that she loved me. I didn’t have any idea what she was talking about. I was an only child and my understanding of love was that parents and grandparents loved their kids and grandkids, most aunts and uncles liked their nieces and nephews, and cousins were kids that I had to put up with only once in a while.