Retrospect: Sally

Self-tutoring about people and events from the past: the tutor recalls a classmate.

When I moved to the Annapolis Valley in April 1980, I was in grade four. I don’t recall meeting Sally that grade or that summer. Yet, in grade five, I met her immediately.

Sally (her real name wasn’t Sally) was a tall girl – taller than any boy in my grade five class. While positive and outgoing, she wasn’t pretty. She didn’t talk much, but was always willing to enter a conversation when invited. She always had a smile.

How we met was that Sally made fun of one of my projects. She did so in a friendly way that was immediately disarming. Sally and I were never close, but from that minute on, we were friendly. I always felt safe around Sally; she never engaged in cruelty.

Sally became a defining part of our class and even our school. Her height gave her presence, so you could always see where she was on the playground or in a crowd. She never missed a day at school. Her constant, gentle presence brought stability and security. She seemed to be the baseline for our class: the definition of what a “normal” grade five kid might be. No one ever said so, but I don’t think I was alone in thinking so.

Looking back, I realize now that even though Sally represented normality and safety, she was actually a bit edgy. I recall one Halloween my friends and I ventured to an unfamiliar part of town we thought was a bit shifty. We didn’t trick-or-treat there, but just went there to check it out. We soon met Sally, smiling, trick-or-treating alone. Her costume was one of the members of KISS. (I didn’t even know she liked KISS.)

Across the road, Sally asked me how our trick-or-treating was going. She had a pillow case I could see was half-full.

“Not bad…you?”

“It went well…I’m packing it in. See you tomorrow.”

Sally turned 180°, then crossed a small parking lot to a big building I’d never noticed, though I’d passed it many times. It had an outdoor stairway which she climbed to the second floor. From there, she proceeded down a covered walkway to an apartment door. She unlocked the door with a key, then disappeared inside.

This situation surprised me since, to my knowledge, no other kid had a key to their residence. Either one parent was always home, or else people left their doors unlocked. (That was a village of around 1500, and divorces were yet rare — especially there.) Sally’s independence was perhaps part of what made her unique.

Throughout grade five, Sally and I would talk spontaneously as occasions presented. Looking back, I realize she never talked about herself. Other kids, for instance, would tell you they liked KISS. Yet, until I saw her Halloween costume, I’d no idea she did. What’s more, she didn’t wear the costume to school. Had I not seen her, by chance, that Halloween evening, I’d never have known.

I came to understand, partly from seeing her trick-or-treating alone, that Sally was a loner. Everyone seemed to like her, but she didn’t “hang out” with specific friends at school. She’d sit with a big crowd in the cafeteria or hang with a bunch of people on the playground. However, she never talked about after school plans with anyone. Her friendly exchanges with people were always about current events rather than anything personal. I never managed to break that ice, either, but I probably came as close as anyone to learning about Sally as a person. Kids don’t seem to think of such ideas, since they’re so often surrounded by others at school or activities.

We never worked as partners on anything — that was done much less back then, anyway. However, I wish we would’ve, because it would have been very interesting to learn her ideas.

Likely, Sally was at least a decade ahead of me in her understanding of people and the world around us. She had an advantage, though: she’d always lived there. She’d seen the evolution of her peer group as well as the village we all shared then.