In my hometown, it is a sad day.
My elementary school is being torn
down. After years of sitting empty, a new business is going to replace the
historic building.
Many of the residents are upset about
this. Should they be? Of course, but there is a “but” to this
whole thing. Although it pains me to see my beloved old school
reduced to a pile of rubble, I get it. I get what is happening.
It is a total metaphor for the
direction of my town, and many others. We, as a society, are in many ways, selfish. Turning a blind eye. Ignorant. Too quiet.
Where to start? My little school housed
students in Kindergarten through grade 5 for many, many years. We had
four K-5 neighborhood schools in this town as far back as I could
remember. About 10 years ago, or so, our town decided to change it up
a bit. Our schools were aging, so they decided to build a new school
– a “primary” school, for PreK through grade 2. They closed two
of the elementary schools, including mine, and left the remaining two
neighborhood schools to house grades 3 to 5.
And that was the end of my school. The
building sat, unused, for a quite a while. There was talk about
putting our town offices in it, but that was squashed, primarily
because this school sits in a certain part of my town which is...
well, less privileged? A lower income demographic? I'm trying to put
it nicely, I guess. I grew up in this part of town and I see nothing
wrong with it, but for my entire life, this part of town has been
considered just “less” than the other part. No Town Hall would
every be located here.
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| The windows to my 4th grade classroom, with my absolute favorite teacher. |
Many ideas for the little school were
thrown out: Senior centers, community centers, teen centers, etc. But
each and every one of those ideas costs money. And my town does not
have money. Our taxes our low, and each spring, our residents are
very reluctant to pass a increase in our town and school budgets. We
just get by, and barely, and even now, with meager increases, our
town roads need help. Each and every department in town could use
some extra cash. So spending any amount the luxury of refurbishing an
old drafty school into a community center is not exactly a wise use
of tax dollars when there are potholes to be fixed.
Eventually the town decided that they
needed to get rid of these excess, unused properties. So my little
school went up for sale. A businessman bought it, and he wanted to
turn it into senior apartments. However, parking requirements were an
issue; he couldn't get the number of apartments he wanted out of the
building; and finally, the economy tanked. And that was that.
The businessman got an offer from a
chain pharmacy which had a location down the road and wanted to
relocated. They applied to come to town, and that was that. A done
deal.
And all the while, over the years, few,
if any, came out to speak to save this building. There were a few
history afficionados, but not enough. Not enough voices. There are voices
now, today, as a wrecking ball tears through the side of the
building, but where were they?
This whole situation is a metaphor, as
I said. We are so wrapped up in our microcosms, our tiny worlds, not
paying attention. This whole issue with the school played out for
years in our local newspapers, but was anyone reading? Was anyone
speaking out in public participation sessions in meetings? Was anyone
writing letters? Not really. Now the visual is in front of them, and
people are upset. Cursing the town. Cursing the pharmacy chain.
But they really have no one to blame but
themselves.
There is something to be said for
preserving the past – both physically and mentally. Last night,
there was a gathering of former students and teachers at the school
site, and many reminisced about the old days, and many realized how
strong friendships were formed over the years at the school.
Today, in my town, children don't have
the opportunity to be in the same building for 6 years of their
lives, growing up around the same children, the same families, and
their neighbors, walking to school in droves and stopping to buy penny candy on the way home. It's different. And I don't think it's better
either. Those families all knew each other and each other's kids and
when something was amiss, parents knew right away. And we had
teachers watch us grow, physically and mentally, and our siblings as
well. We had gym teachers and art teachers and principals who were
with us for years. We had siblings in school with us. Today, in my
town, we flit from school to school, and by the time you get your
bearings in one building with one group of kids you are on to the next school. There is no foundation. Less
of a sense of belonging. I doubt that people would turn out in droves
in 40 years to see our primary school torn down. It's just not the
same.
The building is a loss. We don't value
the old, because the old is costly of both time and money. But today,
while there is crying and moaning about “How did this happen?” -- I hope that my neighbors have learned a valuable lesson about
preserving the past, preserving tradition, preserving a town and a community and a neighborhood, and
most importantly, bonding together early to make a difference in
the future by learning from days gone by.
Don't just sit back. Speak up.
Forget about what others may think about you.
If your convictions are strong enough, and right enough,
there are others out there who feel the same way.
And they will see your bravery and speak up too.
And together, you just might make a difference in the future.
