My son started the third grade last week.  He’s a “big kid” now, taking his recess and lunch with the fourth and fifth graders.  And, for the first time, his classroom is located in the main building, on the second floor.

And, as has become my tradition, this week’s post involves memories from my third grade year.  (In case you missed it, you can read about my own second grade memories here, and my first grade memories here.)

My third grade teacher was Mrs. Chisnell.  She had orangey-red hair, was a Bruins fan, and wore sunglasses that were decorated with small sticker-letters spelling out “U-C-L-A.”  My elementary school wasn’t air conditioned at that time, except for one building.  Two rooms upstairs, two rooms downstairs, and, luckily,  Mrs. Chisnell’s room was upstairs in this special, air-conditioned building. 

I remember we had to learn multiplication that year.  There was no question about it; every student was expected to master the times-tables.

When going through my papers to find my third grade school picture, I also found a thank you note from another teacher at the school.  She thanked me for helping with the “little ones.”  Apparently, even when I was nine years old, I had the desire to help and work with children.

It makes me wonder about what path my son’s life will take.  Will the things he’s passionate about now be the things he’s passionate about in his professional life?  We’ll see.  Meanwhile, I just feel lucky to be his mom and watch him grow up.