I Was A Grade School Brownie

I was in Girl Scouts until I started sixth grade. I think. I seem to remember even in fifth grade my interest was wandering.

I was in Brownies in elementary school. At the end of second grade I got a prize because I wore my uniform, brought my dues (.10¢) and attended every meeting.

This was my prize:

It’s a pin and I still think its cute. This is one of the few relics I have from the early-70’s prehistoric era. Another one is a piggy bank that a kid named Kenny gave me for my birthday one year and I’ll have to take a photo and put it up later this week because it is awesome.

Two other girls also won a pin. One of them was Beth Rosenfield. I remember because here’s our school picture that year:

Yes, we were the two girls who wore our brownie uniforms to school pictures. Even the beanie. The beanie really cracks me up. The third girl must have been in a different class.

Thanks to the miracle of the Internet, I think this is my elementary school which back then was called Rhoda Street Elementary School and now is a school for special needs kids. At least it was in 2003. It doesn’t look that different. I wish there was a photo of the cafeteria. I can still remember how it smelled. Sour milk and creamed corn.

We (me and my sister) usually brought our lunch and we had cream cheese and jelly sandwiches, and/or cream cheese on celery sticks. Sometimes big hunks of lettuce and giant zucchini that our babysitter grew and sliced very thin and we dipped them in a sugary vinaigrette.

I was going to put the entire school photo up and brag about how many of those kids names I can remember except that the name I remember for about 7 of the boys is Stuart. And according to this popular names of the 70’s chart, that’s unlikely.

I walked to school with my friends or my babysitter (But not my sister? Why do I have no memories of going to school with my sister?) and then in 3rd grade I was allowed to ride my bike.

In first grade at the end of school there was this fad (?) called scrubbing and older kids would chase the younger kids and write on their arms and legs with red crayons or lipstick. I was *terrified* of getting scrubbed. Terrified as in jelly knees and knotted stomach. I didn’t get scrubbed.

This entry was posted in doing it wrong. Bookmark the permalink.