Wearin Elementary

The day I started school I got sent to the corner three times and got paddled twice. I wasn't stupid, none of us Wrights were that, with Father reading us Dickens every night and mother drilling her music lessons into our heads, but I never cared for sitting still. I watched Helen with her perfect long hair and her perfect quiet voice and I realized for the first time that the kind of person Helen was was a whole lot more useful for getting by in school that the kind of person I was.

Take a look at her essay, the one Father kept and I think Baby still has. It's neat, tidy, and completely fake. You couldn't even hear Mother playing the piano until we opened the front door. But it sounds good. She was a pro at sounding good. Reading it now I can see why the school board was always awarding her prizes. Her writing sort of rolls right off the eyes, as Father used to say.

Then look at mine. All lumpy and cross-eyed. It's a wonder I didn't get paddled for it. But mine was completely true. Like what you'll get here, Emily. The straight truth.

I made a batch of sticky buns today for the Methodist Ladies' Social and wouldn't you know I burnt every one. Sticky on top and black on the bottom. I guess I'll have to shame myself and bring some storebought buns from Dellie's Grocery.

You take care now.

Love,

Aunt Jessie

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