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It’s time to change school start time

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I’m telling you, when I get all grown up, things are gonna change for the better around here.
The very first thing on my short list is making sure the powers that be don’t start school until summer is over. The school board folks just start and stop school when they get good and ready.
Shucks, things are just getting all organized. The grass isn’t growing so fast any longer that I have to mow every week.
Plus, the afternoons are startin’ to cool off. Old Tiger doesn’t have to stop his runnin’ quite as much around for a bowl of cool water.
The garden is drying out a bit.
“I reckon we can quit watering the tomatoes every afternoon,” Mama said.
Last year’s school shoes were pretty scuffed and worn, but they were well broken in and comfortable. I wasn’t lookin’ forward to having to break in another pair, but I was excited about packing away these terrible short britches that used to be long ’uns.
By now, Mama ought know that short britches are an open invitation for bug bites and banged-up knees. I have to give her credit. Mama’s pretty smart and good at marbles, but, well, you can’t expect grown-ups to know everything.
If the short britches get packed away, it means I’ll be more comfortable when the men come out to the farm bottoms to  cut the oats. You end up covered in chaff and itching from head to toe.
Daddy wants to make sure nothing goes to waste. We’ll go down there and get up the leftover straw.
I know as soon as he dumps some of the straw in the wooden troughs and covers it in molasses, the cows will lick the troughs clean.
I parked my bicycle and sat on the porch. Tiger dropped by for some scratching. Evidently he had an itch, too.
The war might be over, but getting the most for your money is still an everyday affair.
Daddy said things are booming again, but I’d wager my bicycle inner-tubes had more Monkey Grip cold patches than the Goodyear Blimp.
Up in the Motor City, new cars were rolling off the same assembly lines that once produced Sherman tanks, Jeeps and bombers.
Returning soldiers and sailors had made it back home and the sidewalks up and down Main Street were crowded.
Mama finally threw our old ration books in the trash can.
Bless Pete, it sure is good to see Hershey bars on the candy counter at Mr. Bucklew’s place.
Sugar was available and we made gallons of “penny” drink. It sure beat white syrup.
Very shortly, I’d be back in class.
With the 1946 school year starting Sept. 5, Mama said it’s about time to head downtown ourselves for a back-to-school shopping trip.
I’m startin’ to believe that maybe the stores on Main Street have a deal with Mr. Lockwood and the school board folks.
Goin’ back to school means those Blue Horse composition books, notebook paper and Eagle brand No. 2 pencils will have cash register bells ringing from one end of Main Street to the Depot.
I imagine we’ll have to go by Belks. I’m not much on shopping, but they have this x-ray machine you can stick your foot in to get it sized. That means I’ll have to wear socks without holes in ’em.
I’m waitin’ for someboby to invent a machine you lay down in so the lady in the pant’s department can tell if your britches are too short or too long.
Yep, it’s just like Daddy said, things are booming.
I could tell by the sidewalk in front of our house.
Tiger perks up every time one of the  schoolteachers who live on Chesterfield Avenue pass by. I got a few days of freedom left before I’ll be spending a school year with ’em.
It’s kinda funny how nice a teacher can be when they aren’t standing in the front of a classroom.
Mr. Joe Connors, who lives up the block, smiled and nodded as he walked by. Mr. Connors always stops to visit with Aunt Bess when she’s on the porch.
I hope he’ll be smilin’ like that next week when I have to stand up in a line and spell out a bunch new words I can’t even pronounce.
Here comes Mrs. Tennant. She’s the very first person at our school to have contact lens. Every morning she takes out her eyes, pours in some stuff and then sticks her eyes right back in her eye sockets.
Man, it’s scary, but we got used to it before school let out in May.
Here comes Mrs. Joe Coulbourne. She’s kind of a school celebrity, since they named our airport after her husband.
I had already had a run-in with their son, who owned a real honest-to-goodness race car with a real motor.
That race car embarrassed me several years ago.
Before I got reading down to an art, he had a banner painted on the side of the car announcing an event at the Armory.
I figured it was a fancy “for sale” sign and asked him much was he asking for.
He snickered and explained the sign to me. I had made a point to avoid him since that day.
It ain’t funny to be stupid. One good thing about school, is it cuts down on asking dumb questions like that one.
The sun is starting to set, but I think I’ll sit out here on the porch and enjoy it with Tiger. This time next week, it’ll be rising a little earlier than I’d like it to be. So will I.