My first day of school occurred in 1944. The day after Labor Day signaled the start of school when I was a child. To this day, Labor Day is the beginning of another year for me, though I am not in school and haven't sent my kids to school for decades. These days, Labor Day carries very different cultural meanings. Most schools have already started and lots of people do not get the day off from work.
We lived on an alfalfa farm; my dad irrigated with water from Diversion Dam, pictured above. As the eldest of five children I was the first to go to school. I entered the first grade; there was no kindergarten. I rode a long way on a big yellow bus, walking out to the gate at the road to catch it. I can't remember, but I'll bet my feet would not touch the floor for a few years. My dad would have nothing of the labor movement. He was one of those classic Wyoming men -- independent, Republican, very aware of national politics. He was not a Roosevelt man, though I never heard him criticize the President or appear to be disrespectful of the office. We listened to both national party conventions on the radio, and thought that surely Tom Dewey would beat Harry Truman in '48. And now I have teen grandchildren in school in Texas, and a daughter who is a third grade teacher. They are all out of school for Labor Day. The third graders will not hear President Obama's speech to them, and the older kids will be allowed to listen to a taped delayed message with parental permission, I think. This is to be sure that all indoctrination danger is avoided. Yes, it is bad here. Even their staunch Republican great-grandfather would not have thought all of that was necessary. I am glad I am not a Republican in 2009. So today I hearken back to better memories of a Labor Day long ago, and the beginning of a school year that my parents honored and that I loved for every one of my first 12 years. I wish the same love of school and love of country for my grandchildren, as I had. We shall see.
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