There was something mystical
and magical about all the talk of our St Patrick’s Day celebration in second
grade. Not only did the two teachers
deck out the classrooms in green and all things shamrocks and leprechauns, it
would be a weeklong celebration to build up to the holiday on Friday.
It wasn’t just St. Patrick’s
Day. It was St. Patrick’s Week. Wearing green to avoid a pinch played just a
small part in the lineup. On one day, we
planted “shamrock seeds” by gluing a seed onto a piece of 8 x 10 construction
paper, and drew what we thought would grow out of it. “Anything you want. Anything you think might grow from this magic
seed,” the teacher instructed.
She probably also told us to
use our imagination. I wasn’t the only
kid who drew a green shamrock growing out of the seed. The boy who dipped his wand into the tub of
paste and then licked it drew one, too.
Mine was better in comparison, but only by a little bit. Hey, I grew up on a farm, and if you planted
a kernel of corn, you got a corn stalk.
A green bean seed yielded a green bean plant. Logic told me that if you planted a “shamrock
seed,” a shamrock would grow from it. Say
what they might, the seeds looked suspiciously like the little round things
that floated with the pickles my grandma canned. If I’d known it was a mustard seed, and what
a mustard plant looked like then, I would have drawn that.
It’s not that I didn’t love a
class party. Even better, was a class
party that took a week to prepare for.
While the whole shamrock seed thing mystified me because it seemed so
silly, I became more and more apprehensive about what was going to go down in
the gym on Friday.
On another day after noon
recess, our two second grade classes converged on the carpet in the back of one
of the classrooms to hear a story. Not
just any story, but a story about a leprechaun and his magical pot of gold that
could be found at the end of every rainbow.
I don’t recall the name of the story, but the gist of it was that
leprechauns might possibly be a little less than trustworthy. They didn’t like to be tricked because they
loved to do the tricking. They were wiry
little characters that darted all over the place, appearing here, disappearing,
and reappearing. The one thing I took
away from that storytime on the rug was that leprechauns quite possibly were
evil and perhaps something to be feared.
Next thing I know, a
leprechaun was going to be on the loose at the school. The teacher said he would leave us a treasure
map, and by following it, we could find the little green guy’s hidden stash,
just like at the end of the rainbow. A
pot of gold, maybe? We were all going to
be rich, and I couldn’t wait to spend my share of the ante. I soon came back to reality, and the thoughts
of great riches were heavily outweighed by the notion that some little green dude
was going to be roaming around and possibly ticked off like he was in the story
we’d just heard. The teachers assured us
that we’d be safe – paste boy was apprehensive, too. We were on some strange St. Patrick’s Day
wavelength, and I only hoped it didn’t mean that we’d grow up to get
married. I’d be the wife of the boy who
licked paste, and even at that age, I had enough problems. I struggled to tell time and was told if I
didn’t learn, I’d have to take second grade over again. See? I
had enough on my plate without mind melding with a paste eater.
After being convinced that
the leprechaun would drop off the map and leave the premises, I could relax and
make plans with what to do with my riches.
Toys and lots of candy probably.
I couldn’t get enough of those candy necklaces or pixie sticks. Candy cigarettes were good, too, and with
that kind of money, I could afford to throw away the ones that didn’t have good
cherries on them.
I would definitely go buy a
new bicycle because it was downright embarrassing to be riding around on my
yellow and green one, complete with the less than complementing black and white
seat. Our dog Toby had made lunch of my
original seat one day when I supposedly left it lying on its side and didn’t
use the kickstand. I say he knocked down
the bike and munched on the once flowered seat that matched, but my mom said
there was no way he would knock down a bike.
I said if he would eat a
bicycle seat, he had the power to knock down a bike, and it obviously proved he
didn’t think clearly, anyway. So, a new
bike was in order. If I had some money
leftover, maybe I’d buy something for my brother and sister. That was a big maybe. A leprechaun was visiting MY class, after
all.
Friday arrived, and not
before my obsession grew with what I’d do with my gold and what I would do if I
spied the leprechaun roaming the halls. The
teacher produced the map, which guided us around the gym, through the cafeteria,
and to the playground while we took such and such amount of steps – baby steps
– giant steps, until we arrived at our destination.
One girl ran up and snatched
the bag that was our treasure for following the leprechaun’s instructions on
the map. The teacher took it away from
her, and announced, “Well, let’s see what the leprechaun left us,” as she
slowly opened the bag building up the suspense.
I didn’t know what a piece of gold could buy, but I’d seen the episode
of “Brady Bunch” where the old gold miner seemed convinced gold was worth the
big bucks. I didn’t think that show
would mislead. I could hardly contain my
excitement even though I still felt oddly distracted by scanning the distance
for any little dudes dressed in green with buckles on their hats and
shoes.
Pot of gold, huh? The teacher produced a piece of green candy
for each kid in second grade. One of
those little wrapped Brach’s candies like they sold at the Dime Store. One piece each for all 35 of us, at the
most. What a rip off. One measly piece of candy.
That dang leprechaun. Had he tricked us? The teachers didn’t seem to be surprised that
we didn’t find his pot of gold. The
disappointment felt somehow collective among my classmates. All that excitement over the week for
this? Some kids popped the candy into
their mouths. I took mine home and fed
it to the dog. I didn’t want anything
that evil, cheapskate leprechaun had touched, and if my dog would eat a
flowered bicycle seat, he’d eat a piece of deceit-laden candy.
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