A little trip down memory lane…
I was sitting in my classroom at one of those desks with a fixed work surface that slanted down toward the student. Perhaps you’ll recall they had a little groove cut into the desk, a short distance from the top, where you could place your pen or pencil.
When I picked up my book or paper that day, my pencil started rolling toward me. Probably because my hands were full, I did not catch it. However, as it fell toward my lap, I brought my legs together to keep it from hitting the floor.
It worked.
The pencil came down between my legs and was caught in the squeeze, eraser on my left leg, the point on my right. I might have squeaked a bit when the pencil lead dug into my thigh, but nobody said anything. I didn’t like drawing attention to myself back then.
It didn’t appear to bleed, so I waited until I got home to check it out. The only visible evidence was a dark spot, the approximate color of pencil lead, the skin giving it something of a blue tint.
Today, more than 55 years later, the spot remains on the inside of my right thigh, a few inches above my knee.
Here’s the point.
That was probably the most dangerous thing I experienced during fourth grade at Pine Tree Elementary School in Longview, Texas.
The most bothersome thing for me was never getting up the nerve to tell Wendy I liked her.
But absolutely no school shootings.
One more thing
Per everytownresearch.org, firearms are the leading cause of death for American children and teens.
Steve Martaindale 