Earlier in the week, a friend sent me a link to an old LDS.net article “Top 20 Signs You are Really Getting Old- Mormon Edition.” I was happy to see that they gave MMM a shout-out on #15, but was somewhat bothered that I remember 18 out of the 20 items on the list.
The list apparently stuck in my mind, because I woke up thinking about it today, and my brain had remembered another: I remember attending Primary on Wednesday afternoons, after school.
I grew up in Bountiful, Utah, and our church building sat on the hill directly above Leo J. Muir Elementary School. On some Wednesdays, the boys my age (8-11) would come to school in their Cub Scout uniforms – neckerchiefs included. After school ended, we would tromp up the hill to the church for Primary and/or Cub Scouts.
My memory is a little fuzzy as to if we had opening exercises or not, because if we did, my friends and I probably skipped out on them. (Better said, my accomplices and I.) In retrospect, we could be a pretty terrible group of boys. I specifically remember one teacher leaving the classroom in tears, and vowing to never come back. We went through quite a few teachers. (I feel remorse, but also feel I have since been repaid.)
Our favorite thing to do was to get up the hill as quickly as we could, go into the gym (a.k.a. “Cultural Hall,”) with some Superballs, fling them at the walls, and chase them around. Sounds simple enough, right? No wi-fi required. No app to download. No supervision required (or desired). If you don’t remember Superballs, they were really, really bouncy. As I have mentioned, I was considered “hyperactive,” when I was young. That, plus other kids and a few bouncy balls were all we needed to keep ourselves wildly entertained.
But, to make it even better, I had a pair of Superball DICE. Yes, cube-shaped Superballs. (I even found a pic!)
The sharp corners and flat edges made it impossible to predict where the ball would go, and we would chase them to the point of sweaty exhaustion. Then we would go find our class/activity and an unhappy leader.
However, in order to have the liberty to do that, we had to create a “safe-zone” in the gym. The solution? Chair the doors. For those of you who did not have any delinquent tendencies as a child, (or college Freshman) “chairing the door,” means that you wedge a chair up under the handle of the door so that it cannot be opened. In our building, a folding metal chair was the perfect height to keep the gym doors closed until we were ready to come out. All the while ignoring any pounding or pleading that came from the other side. (Like I mentioned earlier – we were difficult kids.)
One afternoon, we were chasing around, and suddenly there was a huge CRASH! We all stopped and looked to the source of the sound. The chair lay on the floor, the door was open, and standing there, with a yardstick in hand, was Sister Sirpa McConkie. Apparently she had used the yardstick to slide under the door and knock the chair down. We were mortified.
Sister McConkie was a member of the Primary Presidency, and she was not happy. Even less so because her son Wayne was one of the culprits. She told us to stop what we were doing. We did.
We were scared because we got caught, but what made it even more frightening was that Sister McConkie was from Finland, and had a rather strong accent that made her sound really intense. And she was not happy with us. She made us gather up our Superballs, which she confiscated, and then proceeded to read us the riot act.
She told us it was time for us to act like young men and stop doing this kind of thing. I don’t remember the exact words, but I do remember the intensity, the accent, and the yardstick.. When she was finished, she shooed us off to class. Most of us felt bad, but we especially felt bad for Wayne that he would pay a higher price at home. Sister McConkie had given us a scare.
We were quickly repentant. Getting caught will do that to a boy. Did it last? I don’t recall. I hope so.
Funny thing – somehow, sometime – my Superball dice were returned to either me, or my parents, but I never took them to Primary again. When I think back about Sister McConkie, I just remember her as a sweet lady, my friend’s mom, and the lady from Finland who helped me with my country report in 6th grade – with the exception of this one tiny Trunchbull moment.
What amazing people there are in this church! People, like Sister McConkie, who put up with kids like me! They not only tolerate, but love, teach, serve and bless us. There’s no paycheck, no glory, and far too infrequent praise for saints like Sirpa McConkie. I figure serving in the Primary is a real-life application of “laying up treasures in heaven.”
Thanks to all of you who have served and loved my kids, and everyone else’s kids. Maybe that one “problem child” that is pushing all of your buttons will one day sort it out, and find himself singing your praises a few decades from now. Or not. Either way, I thank you.
Great memories, great thoughts. My age group growing up was one of “those” groups, too — we burned through at least four or five teachers. Thank heavens for the ones who had what it took to put up with us.
Wow! You grew up right near my grandparents. I remember playing at Muir elementary when we would visit. Small world.
I am in primary right now, and while they are a handful sometimes, I love those kids so much! Even on weeks when we have to block the doors so our sunbeams don’t escape….m
My wife is still involved in Primary and she’s 87 – doing a fabulous job. As a young woman she taught the teenagers. One time they were all going to a movie as a class activity. While waiting at the bus stop, one boy went across the street, facing his friend. As a car would come over the crest of the hill, getting closer, these two would make physical movements like they were pulling on a rope. The panicked driver would brake to a sudden stop. One of those boys used to lie on his bed and shoot down his model airplanes, hanging from the ceiling. That boy grew up to be a member of a temple presidency, and is now a stake patriarch. So that patient, loving teaching oftentimes bears good fruit. Thanks for a wonderful trip down nostalgia lane.
A story from my days in Primary leadership in the 1980’s: A teacher had a “problem child” and said she was almost happy when he didn’t come. But, she said “I should have tried a little harder because I didn’t know he would grow up to marry my daughter?” We never know the future of very active chidren, do we?
You weren’t bad kids, you’d just been in school all day and needed an outlet for all that boyish energy. Maybe another class after school was just one too many. A few minutes of wild play was probably exactly what you needed.
Plus, we’ve all heard Pres. Monson’s struggles as a boy and look at him now. A giant of faith. There’s hope for even the toughest child. God bless the Primary teachers in the trenches!
We’re raising a pile of wild little boys so do things just like the President Monson stories I’ve heard over the years. If he could grow to he the successful man he is today we have hope that ours will manage to turn out ok too. I would pay SO much money to buy a book written by President Monson’s mother. What were her tricks to surviving her son’s childhood and how did she keep him on the straight and narrow despite his shinanigans.
Having escorted an unruly during prayers kid out of the classroom on Sunday and seen the transformation when they came back in 6 minutes later, thank you! It’s not fun feeling like the bad guy but we always hope it is for the better good in the end.