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Continued from New Life, new house in New Rochelle
Yry was eager to start school in America, but she was blindsided by what the public school system had in store for her in January of 1925. Given my own limited experience with foreign students enrolled in American schools I can anticipate problems. At a time when public schools embrace the notion of hosting foreign exchange students, rigid rules and provincialism confronted my 17-year-old cousin when he came to study in the States. The school district worried that he wouldn’t be able to keep up and would impede class progress. Ironically, even the AP Algebra classes were four years behind his own skill set. I’m not surprised that the principal of New Rochelle’s Roosevelt School proclaimed my mother’s handwriting illegible. “Why, she can’t even write a proper ‘w’!”, he harrumphed. What might this illustrious principal have said about the Queen Mum’s British handwriting?! So, at the age of 12, Yry entered the 3rd grade.
She matched the indignity of this insult with typically haughty behavior. Within weeks she did the unthinkable; she got into her first and only school fight. From her hospital bed so many years later she related the tale; there was a prissy little red-headed girl who wore a fur coat to school. (Was the fur coat alone, irritant enough to set my mother’s teeth to grinding?) One day, when the teacher had stepped out of the room, some inane disagreement ensued between “Miss Prissy” and Yry. Goaded by the other kids, a pushing and shoving match broke out between the two girls. When the teacher returned Miss Prissy launched into a whining, crying, and sniffling routine; whereas, Yry stood firm with a stony face. Yry had perfected the stoic mask of the British stiff upper lip to protect herself from hurtful rebuffs. Looking from one to the other of the girls, the teacher naturally assumed that the older and stony-faced girl was the aggressor. Yry took the blame without argument. From that day on though, she battled an automatic prejudice towards red heads.
I laughed when she told this story. First of all, in my very dim memory, Grandma Noni had rusty, red hair; and secondly, in the fourth grade, I got into a very similar school yard battle with Mariellen Miles, the only red-head in my grade school class. I, too, have since fought the urge to summarily dislike red-heads.
Four months later, Yry had mastered her w’s and proved to the school administrators that, lack of formal education aside, she knew a lot more than they thought she did. She was promoted to the 4th grade. For the remaining two months of that school year she was dumped into a new class with new, unfamiliar classmates. To her complete bewilderment, her former classmates from the 3rd grade now shunned her. Again, she was the newcomer, the odd one out. The social hierarchy puzzled a child who had spent so much time alone or with adults. Her previous experience with kids had been in a family setting or at the health sanitarium where children of all ages had no choice but to mingle. The following term she entered the 5th grade, where she persevered despite, or maybe because of, social ostracism. The school newspaper, The Roosevelt Bugle, showcased several of her poems and short stories.
For a while one of the neighborhood girls befriended her. This girl assumed that friendship entitled her to paw through Yry’s dresser drawers and “borrow” choice items. Yry, bewildered by such brazen behavior, put up with it for a while. Then one day the two girls came across George Bradford, another classmate, literally hanging out in an apple tree. To Yry’s horror the neighbor girl tried to convince George to play “show and tell”—with body parts. To his credit . . . or complete embarrassment, he refused. The girls drifted apart a short time later.
” I, too, have since fought the urge to summarily dislike red-heads.” LOL. I never thought much of it, my mother had auburn hair and my brother was red-headed. Come to think of it, he was usually mild-mannered, but I did see him throw a tantrum or too, one at the kitchen table when I was 7 and he 16, clearly exclaiming to my ‘rents to stop the bickering, and once he was practicing his tennis shots (he was all-state) against one of those tennis ball tossing machines, unhappy with his own performance, he threw his Davis wood/cat gut racquet hard against the fence.
Still didn’t have any truck with red-heads until I had a torrid relationship with one late in life. Very high highs, and very low, lows. Since she had a rotten childhood which I knew from the beginning, I attributed her aberrant behavior to that bad situation. Being an all too loyal Leo, I didn’t disengage after soon enough from her emotional abuse upon me.
And, I don’t want to be prejudiced on account of hair color.
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That is funny about your brother. Rather sad about your red-headed flame.
Interestingly enough, one of my dearest friends is a faded red head. Her hair is now more blonde-white, but when she was younger she had red hair. She has the passions associated with red heads. Quick to flame! Of course, she is a bright and analytical woman and has learned to restrain her quick temper and hot passions, but I see the evidence and she talks openly about her younger days. I often wonder if I could have gotten past her red hair when we were both younger.
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Yry withstood a lot. Why do classes of kids have to find a foil? Often a bullying type will choose one and goad others to follow along. One thing is for certain, the innocent looking ones are not always so innocent. Unfortunately, that is a fact of life we must guard against. New bumper sticker, “beware of the prissy.”
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That’s priceless, Keith. Yeah, I guess the earlier kids loose their innocence, the sooner they develop coping skills to deal with the bullies that preside among us.
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Yri was such a strong and caring person, its hard to imagine her being ostracized.
My one redhead story is about a “Help Line” rep at my previous job. He has the most Irish first and last name imaginable. I pictured him as a tall red headed Irishman, probably with freckles! I was absolutely shocked the first time I saw a picture of him. A tall thin black man!!
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OMG, Glenda, that is a hoot! Great red head story.
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That must have been a difficult time!
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