FullSizeRenderThe door looks old … but then again … so am I!  When I returned to my home town of Seward, NE this past week, I took the opportunity to walk through my old grade school.  There were lots of memories … the good, the bad, the ugly … and … the funny …and the downright dumb!

It was behind this door in particular that I learned several life lessons.  But before you begin to wonder, let me tell you what happened in that boy’s bathroom at St. John Lutheran.

Being raised by farmer grandparents, I grew up wearing bib-overalls.  That was OK … until I reached 4th grade when it seemed that more and more boys were wearing jeans.  Of course, I asked for a pair too, but was reminded that my overalls were new and they would have to do.

However, I took the matter into my own hands (as well as a big pair of scissors I “borrowed” from my teacher’s desk) and headed to the boy’s room under false pretenses.

It was there I cut off the bib and straps … only to discover that I no longer had any way of keeping my pants from falling down!

After a few moments of panic I headed to find my grandfather who worked at the school as its custodian.  I presented him with the cut-off tops & the scissors with one hand, while holding my dignity up with the other!

My grandpa said “Follow me” and off we walked silently out of the school to our house, 2 blocks away.  Entering home he went and found my grandma, who saw the evidence, and surprisingly said nothing.  Instead she curled her finger in a “come this way” motion and the 3 of us went to the car.

In silence we headed to Seward Dry Goods, where upon entering (me still holding my butchered bib-overalls up), my grandpa said, “The boy needs a pair of jeans.”

Within 20 minutes, wearing a pair of stiff new bluejeans I was dropped off at school, told to return the scissors and also told that my grandpa would talk to Miss Bartels after school.

I do not recall the outcome of that conversation, though Miss Bartels did comment on me wearing “new” jeans the next day … with sort of a smirk on her face … as though imagining me holding up my pants with one hand and her scissors in the other!

As far as my grandpa and grandma were concerned, the case was closed.  No mention was ever made of the butcher job again … though when I wanted a new pair the following year … I was told I needed to pay for them myself … or make a pair out of an old pair of bib-overalls that my grandma had kept for such a time as this!