“Hasn’t Mama taught us how to read and write?” “There’s more to an education than just reading and writing,” Papa said. “Much more.”
I asked him when he thought we’d be moving to town.
“Well, it’ll be some time yet,” he said. “We don’t have the money now, but I’m hoping some day we will.”
From the stove where she was heating salt water for my feet, Mama said in a low voice, “I’ll pray every day and night for that day to come.
I don’t want you children to grow up without an education,
not even knowing what a bottle of soda pop is, or ever seeing the inside of a schoolhouse.
I don’t think I could stand that. I’ll just keep praying and some day the good Lord may answer my prayer.
I told my mother I had seen the schoolhouse in town. Again I had to answer a thousand questions for my sisters.
I told them it was made of red brick and was bigger than Grandpa’s store, a lot bigger.
There must have been at least a thousand kids going to school there.
I told all about the teeter-totters, the swings made out of log chains, the funny-looking pipe that ran up the side of the building,
and how I had climbed up in it and slid out like the other kids.
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