The Black Dress Story

I've heard my mother tell many stories over my life.  Some of them, such as the one where she knew which baby was hers in the nursery at the hospital because I was the one sucking my thumb, jumping up and down on the bed, I heard over and over.    The other evening, I heard a story from my mother's past I'd never heard before.

She taught high school math for a number of years before I was born—and before she met my father as well—at a high school in the city she (and I) still live in.    She told us she waited until test days to wear her black dresses.   She didn't immediately tell us why.   Thoughts of her wearing "mourning wear," because she was just one of those terribly difficult teachers in school, crossed my mind.   By my mother is not that type.

She said she had one student come up to her one day who had figured out the reason.   She said, "Ms. Fulmer, do you wear black only on test days because it's the only time you won't get chalk from the chalk board all over your dress?"    Sure enough, that was the reason.

There were chalkboards throughout my entire primary school days and into high school.   I don't know that I ever looked at the color of my teacher's clothing and considered how all the chalk board work must have factored into their outfits.

Forty-five years and there are still new stories to be told.   Perhaps I won't run out of things to say with this blog after all...

The Big Boy Update:  My son mentioned Pahmer in passing to his sister at dinner.  I asked him if Pahmer lived in our neighborhood.  He said, "Pahmer lives in our house.  He's small as a mouse.  I don't think you can see him."

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My daughter knows there are juice boxes in the garage refrigerator.   She's not invited to go and get one whenever she pleases.   Sometimes she likes to open the door and get one, "ready" for when it's time to have a juice box.   One time, she even put the straw in the juice box.   She said she didn't drink any of it, but I wasn't so sure.